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Curve's the Word // [Circe +/- Words Day 3]
Jun 29, 2015 21:38:52 GMT -5
Post by garnet beauford d8 [earthling] on Jun 29, 2015 21:38:52 GMT -5
[googlefont="Coda Caption:800"]
lyon
She should have told Orion right then what she and Elya and Gunner already knew. That it was dangerous to associate with murderesses. That it was impossible that they would all survive this ordeal. That deep down, a quarter heart wasn't enough to make it home, but that wasn't going to stop her. Circe put her duct taped fingers to the rotting desk and pulled, ripping apart wood and nails and mold. She was digging into the drawers, trying to find something dry, something useful. Maybe, she thought as she picked a splinter out her thumb, she could get Gunner to explain to Orion.
The immediate wave of disgust at her cowardice overwhelmed her. She stepped back from the desk, kicked her pile of soggy wood. One board rolled into the shadows and sent two white sparks shooting into the air.
Circe dove behind the desk, wondering what sort of trap this was. The fluttering pair angled out through a broken window, stories above where she crouched. She followed their path to the lines of windows. She crept alongside machines, rolling her feet, the firewood and angst forgotten. Her stomach was so much stronger, so much more whole, than her heart.
A little light leaked in from the outside through the dusty windows. A flock of the birds pecked at the ground. She spent whole minutes crouched, watching. She forced her breathing to be perfectly even as she disrobed, opening up Nat's jacket to be a trap. Inch by inch she crept, narrowing in on a fat, cocky little bird. He pecked at the other birds more than he pecked at the earth. He was going to be so delicious. What did anything else matter?
1-4
lyon
circe
district two female
She should have told Orion right then what she and Elya and Gunner already knew. That it was dangerous to associate with murderesses. That it was impossible that they would all survive this ordeal. That deep down, a quarter heart wasn't enough to make it home, but that wasn't going to stop her. Circe put her duct taped fingers to the rotting desk and pulled, ripping apart wood and nails and mold. She was digging into the drawers, trying to find something dry, something useful. Maybe, she thought as she picked a splinter out her thumb, she could get Gunner to explain to Orion.
The immediate wave of disgust at her cowardice overwhelmed her. She stepped back from the desk, kicked her pile of soggy wood. One board rolled into the shadows and sent two white sparks shooting into the air.
Circe dove behind the desk, wondering what sort of trap this was. The fluttering pair angled out through a broken window, stories above where she crouched. She followed their path to the lines of windows. She crept alongside machines, rolling her feet, the firewood and angst forgotten. Her stomach was so much stronger, so much more whole, than her heart.
A little light leaked in from the outside through the dusty windows. A flock of the birds pecked at the ground. She spent whole minutes crouched, watching. She forced her breathing to be perfectly even as she disrobed, opening up Nat's jacket to be a trap. Inch by inch she crept, narrowing in on a fat, cocky little bird. He pecked at the other birds more than he pecked at the earth. He was going to be so delicious. What did anything else matter?
OOC Notes
here birdies! come to mama!
she's not actually going to eat curve, p.s.
here birdies! come to mama!
she's not actually going to eat curve, p.s.
[Circe attempts to catch Curve's the Word]
lBUZ2nJ21-4
[GREAT SUCCESS]
lBUZ2nJ21-4
[GREAT SUCCESS]
1-4
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