02-05-2019, 09:24 PM
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Simplistic the gathering of letters, given the fragile husk of breath caught upon the edge of tongue. It bore little matter the casing, what slight weight it held onto with tentative grip, touching lips from brief expanse of but seconds before it rose, dull the echoing ring of disbelief once it had been allowed its time. Yet it is nothing, the mere structure of impulsive reaction formed within the wake of chemicals touching about the surface of veins and nerve endings, a force pulled forth from the dark depths of a mind thought tamed.
Fine the darkness that bore the aspect of faint smoke clinging to a body grown frail, press of bone apparent where skin seemed nought but a paper covering, broken in uneven patching of ivory. Amusing almost the faint structure of a cross he bore upon his chest, shadowed where his head lingered low, vacant his mind of such things as the religious undertone such as this held. It mattered little the disbelief curling about the slow tumble of thought, soft the huff of breath parting the press of dark lips, lingering on blunted points before it arose. He knew the tales, heard of the one deemed Cupid who held tight the holiday drawn about the early days of a year new to this earth, yet he had not tread their terrain, felt the earth grown course and rigid beneath a chilled touch.
Winter wore upon a frozen brow its crown, clutched at the loose top soil until fragments of ice gave a low, dull song beneath the wandering press of claw, stole from trembling chest each breath. There was nothing here to speak of the affection attributed to the hum of chemical, imperfect its balance until base instinct found its place in the forefront, no arrows bearing points sharpened so through the skin they may break. No, the beast which made his approach was one lacking such things no matter the home the twist of a sharp smile made within the corner of his lips, split the surface of a ebony muzzle speckled with ivory, lack clear in the depths of brown.
Temptation touched in his eyes, brief its time as attention found the offerings, soft the sound parting his teeth, need within the huff of breath breaking apart into the gentle murmur of a bitten off whine. Strangers all, few their numbers though expected such a thing, lacking within this place the time to nurse woes over the forgotten aspect of romance. Press of tongue to lips, contemplation for the brief expanse of moments before sights were set upon one, larger then he, imposing his figure no matter the meagre offering of fat and muscle upon Crow himself. Slight the stray for little and far between the meals allowed, heavy the tone of flowers clinging to the wispy fineness of his fur, originating from a weight familiar pressing against his side. Old the tin of the milk can, worn until the white paint was largely peeled away from its surface, the dull sheen of silver visible in patches.
“If you are the best there is to offer then I am glad I brought something of my own, no offence -” his gaze moved towards Imali as the comment passed his lips, almost sheepish the grin fixed upon his lips “- but I find any sort of party boring without something strong.” Rasping wheeze escaped after his words, hollow the ring of mirth buried within the sound, drawn forth until his voice failed him. Twist of displeasure, moment of hesitant as he worried at the line securing his tin about his chest, though to its origin one may only guess. Apparent the issue with his voice, be it from disuse or something deeper then such time had seen fit to make worse, rasping croak rolling from his tongue with practised ease yet there was a difficultly in hiding the broken mess of his speech.
Extracted from the tin, large pressed to his skin though its size was proven near tiny when he placed it before him, a bottle near full with liquid shining with a sheen of golden brown. Held out once more Crow fixed a smile to his lips but smaller was this, honey sweet the twist of dark skin broken beneath the press of his, worried at in times when nought else may calm the beat of his heart. Accustomed to the taste was he but he knew the type of man he stood beside, rough about edges that had grown worn from a life that cared little for him, callous in a way he may never have wished for but rather was forced to become, ease within this situation learned from long days of having to insert himself into conversation without breaking the flow.
Use was there, so too within the other lupine grown more comfortable, the leather of his stetson settling comfortably which offered little of the sharp lines of his features, a disappointing fact but one Crow would allow to slip his mind for the moment, and so he would take it.
[div style="text-align:center;font-size:10px;color:#000; line-height:80%; width:410px; font-family:arial; color:#4f4f4f; padding:15px"]![[Image: crow-test.png]](https://i.ibb.co/ZSSGBgZ/crow-test.png)
the false healer ● tags ● written by hattrick
[div style="text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;color:#000; line-height:112%; width:370px; font-family:arial;"]Love.the false healer ● tags ● written by hattrick
Simplistic the gathering of letters, given the fragile husk of breath caught upon the edge of tongue. It bore little matter the casing, what slight weight it held onto with tentative grip, touching lips from brief expanse of but seconds before it rose, dull the echoing ring of disbelief once it had been allowed its time. Yet it is nothing, the mere structure of impulsive reaction formed within the wake of chemicals touching about the surface of veins and nerve endings, a force pulled forth from the dark depths of a mind thought tamed.
Fine the darkness that bore the aspect of faint smoke clinging to a body grown frail, press of bone apparent where skin seemed nought but a paper covering, broken in uneven patching of ivory. Amusing almost the faint structure of a cross he bore upon his chest, shadowed where his head lingered low, vacant his mind of such things as the religious undertone such as this held. It mattered little the disbelief curling about the slow tumble of thought, soft the huff of breath parting the press of dark lips, lingering on blunted points before it arose. He knew the tales, heard of the one deemed Cupid who held tight the holiday drawn about the early days of a year new to this earth, yet he had not tread their terrain, felt the earth grown course and rigid beneath a chilled touch.
Winter wore upon a frozen brow its crown, clutched at the loose top soil until fragments of ice gave a low, dull song beneath the wandering press of claw, stole from trembling chest each breath. There was nothing here to speak of the affection attributed to the hum of chemical, imperfect its balance until base instinct found its place in the forefront, no arrows bearing points sharpened so through the skin they may break. No, the beast which made his approach was one lacking such things no matter the home the twist of a sharp smile made within the corner of his lips, split the surface of a ebony muzzle speckled with ivory, lack clear in the depths of brown.
Temptation touched in his eyes, brief its time as attention found the offerings, soft the sound parting his teeth, need within the huff of breath breaking apart into the gentle murmur of a bitten off whine. Strangers all, few their numbers though expected such a thing, lacking within this place the time to nurse woes over the forgotten aspect of romance. Press of tongue to lips, contemplation for the brief expanse of moments before sights were set upon one, larger then he, imposing his figure no matter the meagre offering of fat and muscle upon Crow himself. Slight the stray for little and far between the meals allowed, heavy the tone of flowers clinging to the wispy fineness of his fur, originating from a weight familiar pressing against his side. Old the tin of the milk can, worn until the white paint was largely peeled away from its surface, the dull sheen of silver visible in patches.
“If you are the best there is to offer then I am glad I brought something of my own, no offence -” his gaze moved towards Imali as the comment passed his lips, almost sheepish the grin fixed upon his lips “- but I find any sort of party boring without something strong.” Rasping wheeze escaped after his words, hollow the ring of mirth buried within the sound, drawn forth until his voice failed him. Twist of displeasure, moment of hesitant as he worried at the line securing his tin about his chest, though to its origin one may only guess. Apparent the issue with his voice, be it from disuse or something deeper then such time had seen fit to make worse, rasping croak rolling from his tongue with practised ease yet there was a difficultly in hiding the broken mess of his speech.
Extracted from the tin, large pressed to his skin though its size was proven near tiny when he placed it before him, a bottle near full with liquid shining with a sheen of golden brown. Held out once more Crow fixed a smile to his lips but smaller was this, honey sweet the twist of dark skin broken beneath the press of his, worried at in times when nought else may calm the beat of his heart. Accustomed to the taste was he but he knew the type of man he stood beside, rough about edges that had grown worn from a life that cared little for him, callous in a way he may never have wished for but rather was forced to become, ease within this situation learned from long days of having to insert himself into conversation without breaking the flow.
Use was there, so too within the other lupine grown more comfortable, the leather of his stetson settling comfortably which offered little of the sharp lines of his features, a disappointing fact but one Crow would allow to slip his mind for the moment, and so he would take it.