#timeswept

“B-o-r-i-n-g~”

“Excuse me, sir... Are you quite alright? You’ve been lingering for a while, I noticed.” He was soft-spoken and curious, a polite smile lifting the corners of painted lips. Not often he approached strangers, extending as much as a simple hello, but he supposed years had made him more open.

“Trapped! Enslaved! Oh, how grueling it is to work with these young ones. Always running about, never a moment’s rest! My eyes may be more sore than your own.” A laugh. One of delight, of helpless joy. Such a thing he had begun to savor more and more as he aged and grown with all but his body ever-changing. He allows himself to be guided into a dance -- the both of them stepping on toes, clumsy, improper. Yet, he simply did not care. Let his drink spill. Allow the eyes of others to fall upon them, either perplexed or filled with envy. For who danced with them tonight? Certainly not they!

“Tell me, lover! Speak your nonsense for all to hear, or whisper it into my ear. I would delight in whatever story is told as long as it is spoken by you.” The dip did little to startle him. His back arched, leg swung high into the air, and he allowed Mekhi to sway him this way and that as he pleased. That is until they straightened, and the blind man’s arms settled leisurely about the other’s neck.

∞ Dodie Random Lyrics ∞ @timeswept

“—one day,” Nezumi huffs, sweat dripping down his back and making his hair cling to his face, “You will stop your pointless rambling and let me scale a mountain in peace. I’d like to cross this before the Sun goes down.”

Nezumi glances at the sky. The Sun is high up, shinning mercilessly at him. It must be around noon which means that they have less than an hour or so to make it to the apex and start descending.

“Besides, I don’t need to be ‘okay’ or ‘fine’. I don’t need that kind of luxury. All I want is to be alive—to live and survive another day. That’s all I want. None of that spoiled shit.”

Stargate: Atlantis — Home { Sentence Starters } @timeswept

Nezumi pulls at the sleeve of his shirt—or rather what used to be a long-sleeved shirt in the past but the forest and time have worn it into something akin to a strange rag. It’s difficult to tell where the original shirt begins and where Nezumi has fixed it with bits and pieces of other clothes. Sometimes he had to sacrifice a scarf, other times it was part of his pants that he sewed onto it. 

It isn’t a bad shirt by any means and it has been through a lot, endured a lot of Nezumi’s escapades and brushes with death, which is precisely why now Mekhi is getting a nasty glare. Nezumi steps back from him, holding onto his chest as if Mekhi has been trying to rip his clothes off right there on the spot. He doesn’t understand why Mekhi would suddenly want to dress him up.