( guns ) and roses | xenos/toni
Feb 17, 2017 0:33:36 GMT -5
Post by Stare on Feb 17, 2017 0:33:36 GMT -5
[googlefont="Sanchez:400"]
Toni had always been a wanderer, but being at the Roost always made her feel entirely uprooted.
It wasn't her home, and she'd accepted long ago that it never could be. Fate had carved out her place seventeen years ago in a rickety old house with four con men that she loved more than she thought she could ever love real parents. Her height at each year was marked next to the light switch, her childhood toys were hidden with the spiders under the loose floorboard next to her bed, there was still a dent in the wall at the base of the stairs from when she'd tumbled into it. There was a room for her in the Roost, for the nights when she came back too late or too smokey or too bloody to go home, but it was bare and void of the memories that made a place home.
But somehow, in a way she couldn't explain, the Roost felt too familiar to only be a place she went. She knew the seams in the wood on the front door, had memorized the number of steps to each floor, had chosen her favorite window to slip through out onto the roof. She couldn't call it a home, though. Calling it a home blurred the lines. Work became her life, the Crows became her family, and Gunnar became... someone other than her boss. Someone she often had to remind herself he wasn't.
Maybe it was that uprooted, confused feeling that had made her argue with him today. Maybe that was the reason his offhand, sarcastic drawl grated her more than usual. Maybe that was why she'd stormed out in a huff, by far the most dramatic exit she'd made in a long while. And maybe that was why she was where she was now, bracing herself against the cold to practice tossing knives into the targets she'd painted months ago on the back of the building.
Stupid Gunnar. Stupid Roost.
But as she flicked another blade just left of the bullseye, she found that, as usual, the person she was most angry with was herself.
how do i learn my dreams to mold
to lay them bare in the morning cold?
if they're still out there then the chasm grows
for all you know, for all you've known
to lay them bare in the morning cold?
if they're still out there then the chasm grows
for all you know, for all you've known
Toni had always been a wanderer, but being at the Roost always made her feel entirely uprooted.
It wasn't her home, and she'd accepted long ago that it never could be. Fate had carved out her place seventeen years ago in a rickety old house with four con men that she loved more than she thought she could ever love real parents. Her height at each year was marked next to the light switch, her childhood toys were hidden with the spiders under the loose floorboard next to her bed, there was still a dent in the wall at the base of the stairs from when she'd tumbled into it. There was a room for her in the Roost, for the nights when she came back too late or too smokey or too bloody to go home, but it was bare and void of the memories that made a place home.
But somehow, in a way she couldn't explain, the Roost felt too familiar to only be a place she went. She knew the seams in the wood on the front door, had memorized the number of steps to each floor, had chosen her favorite window to slip through out onto the roof. She couldn't call it a home, though. Calling it a home blurred the lines. Work became her life, the Crows became her family, and Gunnar became... someone other than her boss. Someone she often had to remind herself he wasn't.
Maybe it was that uprooted, confused feeling that had made her argue with him today. Maybe that was the reason his offhand, sarcastic drawl grated her more than usual. Maybe that was why she'd stormed out in a huff, by far the most dramatic exit she'd made in a long while. And maybe that was why she was where she was now, bracing herself against the cold to practice tossing knives into the targets she'd painted months ago on the back of the building.
Stupid Gunnar. Stupid Roost.
But as she flicked another blade just left of the bullseye, she found that, as usual, the person she was most angry with was herself.
let me down easy, let me down slow
if all good things ever come and go
let me back down in a place i know
hold that nail for the hammer stroke
if all good things ever come and go
let me back down in a place i know
hold that nail for the hammer stroke