two sides, one coin — francisco. & nico.
Feb 18, 2019 5:39:16 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Feb 18, 2019 5:39:16 GMT -5
The sky spreads out above him, littered with stars, and echoes the window lights. It wraps its ethereal arms around the skyscrapers that precede the clouds, all rising to dizzy heights.
But, the stars do not warm Francisco’s fingertips as he discreetly reaches out for them.
Even in the Capitol, the winter is merciless and brutal. He adjusts the woolen cape along his worn shoulder-blades, letting the faux fur embrace him until the cold dissipates and his bones slacken. He clings onto the luxury and the comfort they shower in him, like a moth drawn to a flare, indulgently.
He’ll memorize the corners of this serene, blue sky before a blood-soaked red one greets him.
Nico Thorne’s mouth is drawn to a thin, solemn line behind him. His face, its sharp edges jagged even more by the Capitol lights, flickers between Francis and an enigmatic world of his own. He wonders what Nico Thorne’s world would be. Brimmed with kaleidoscopic lights and star-glow as Francis’s is, or is it the dark of space, an ever-spreading mass that never ceases?
Francis’s bet is the latter, considering how the boy’s gaze never rests on anything: a relentless and restless creature. He quietly takes a seat beside him on the low stone border that circles an old tree, its leaves emerald and rustling despite the cold. There’s a sense of magic and mirth on the rooftop to Francisco, but he is not certain that Nico feels it in his heart – tastes it on the wind – hears its distant susurrus.
“Myrcella’s taking a pretty long time, right?” Clothed arms wrap around his own physique, a nervous tic, an involuntary need to guard himself from whatever menace and hazard the other could hurl at Francisco.
“This alliance is an interesting one.” It was interesting; a girl of the moon overhead, a war machine whose veins are all blood and mortar oil – one less than the other, a sharp and lethal blade that screams untouchable,
But, the stars do not warm Francisco’s fingertips as he discreetly reaches out for them.
Even in the Capitol, the winter is merciless and brutal. He adjusts the woolen cape along his worn shoulder-blades, letting the faux fur embrace him until the cold dissipates and his bones slacken. He clings onto the luxury and the comfort they shower in him, like a moth drawn to a flare, indulgently.
He’ll memorize the corners of this serene, blue sky before a blood-soaked red one greets him.
Nico Thorne’s mouth is drawn to a thin, solemn line behind him. His face, its sharp edges jagged even more by the Capitol lights, flickers between Francis and an enigmatic world of his own. He wonders what Nico Thorne’s world would be. Brimmed with kaleidoscopic lights and star-glow as Francis’s is, or is it the dark of space, an ever-spreading mass that never ceases?
Francis’s bet is the latter, considering how the boy’s gaze never rests on anything: a relentless and restless creature. He quietly takes a seat beside him on the low stone border that circles an old tree, its leaves emerald and rustling despite the cold. There’s a sense of magic and mirth on the rooftop to Francisco, but he is not certain that Nico feels it in his heart – tastes it on the wind – hears its distant susurrus.
“Myrcella’s taking a pretty long time, right?” Clothed arms wrap around his own physique, a nervous tic, an involuntary need to guard himself from whatever menace and hazard the other could hurl at Francisco.
“This alliance is an interesting one.” It was interesting; a girl of the moon overhead, a war machine whose veins are all blood and mortar oil – one less than the other, a sharp and lethal blade that screams untouchable,
and Francisco Bloom –
feeble hands,
feeble heart,
feeble soul.
“I am much aware of my role in this alliance,” His eyes rise, hopeful to meet the other boy’s. “But, I cannot – no matter how much I try – figure out what yours is.” Two predators and one lamb make sense but Nico, a mysterious outline sitting there with downcast eyes, is neither to Francis.
