08-08-2019, 08:24 AM
❝ MAKING MY OWN ROAD OUT OF GRAVEL AND SOME WINE; IF I HAVE TO FALL THEN IT WON'T BE IN YOUR LINE—I'M A BLACK SHEEP ❞
"I thought I'd lost you," the fiend manages to choke out, face still pressed into the side of the Borzoi's neck. Each tremble of Fischer's body is matched only by her own, shivering as she attempts to swallow down the reality of their situation—Fischer is alive, here, home, and Vandal can feel something press sharply into her chest, something foreign but entirely welcome. She thinks, somewhere in the back of each hopeful breath, that maybe it's fate that has brought them back at the same time. "I came back," she adds in a whisper; would her words be taken away by the winds of the sea? "I'll always come back."
When Goldie approaches, she listens, half-forgetting that she's still somewhat tangled around the returning Crewmate; she's hyperaware when Fischer tightens her grasp around her, and then she yields when the Borzoi lets go altogether. Vandal stays close, however, sitting by the pale queen's side and smiling gently at the conversation bubbling around her. She can't seem to help the expression, the way the edges of her mouth pull back and up as if there was a separate force controlling them, but she accepts it, lets it happen. She keeps smiling, glancing every so often back at Fischer with a tender look in her eyes that she doesn't even realize is there.
The maned wolf's gaze flickers to the starry-pelted feline, humming thoughtfully at the offer of food for her friend. Vandal's more surprised, however, when Fischer adds a request for rum, and it causes the fiend to let out a short, mirthful burst of laughter. "Absolutely," she comments, "Rum could never hurt anybody... unless you hit someone in the head with the bottle."
With her unhelpful but humorous comment already spoken, the creature quiets herself again, listening thoughtfully as Fischer explains Goldie's impact on her continued survival. Something bitter surges up in the back of her throat at the sight of the other's tears, thick and hot and angry, but she keeps her teeth pressed together despite the flashing crimson seeping into the edges of her vision. "The little pests," she manages to grumble, sounding petulant but hiding something darker between each syllable, sticking between sharp teeth and leaving an unsavory taste in her mouth. Vandal shakes her head and wills the rage away; it won't help, she tells herself, and she doesn't want to dwell on the negativity.
Instead, the fiend perks her ears up and speaks with a lighter tone, letting herself shift back into something easy, less wound-up. "Is this a mini-reunion? This sounds like a mini-reunion," she says with a playful tone, casting the three gathered Typhooners a mischievous smirk before tapping her talons on the sand and conjuring a rather colorful party hat underneath. Without hesitation, she takes the accessory and places it on top of her head, pulling at the elastic and snapping it back under her jaw to keep the hat steady. "What do you guys say? We can have a little luau on the beach, drink all the alcohol, eat until we're stuffed, old crewmates meet new crewmates, that sort of thing."
When Goldie approaches, she listens, half-forgetting that she's still somewhat tangled around the returning Crewmate; she's hyperaware when Fischer tightens her grasp around her, and then she yields when the Borzoi lets go altogether. Vandal stays close, however, sitting by the pale queen's side and smiling gently at the conversation bubbling around her. She can't seem to help the expression, the way the edges of her mouth pull back and up as if there was a separate force controlling them, but she accepts it, lets it happen. She keeps smiling, glancing every so often back at Fischer with a tender look in her eyes that she doesn't even realize is there.
The maned wolf's gaze flickers to the starry-pelted feline, humming thoughtfully at the offer of food for her friend. Vandal's more surprised, however, when Fischer adds a request for rum, and it causes the fiend to let out a short, mirthful burst of laughter. "Absolutely," she comments, "Rum could never hurt anybody... unless you hit someone in the head with the bottle."
With her unhelpful but humorous comment already spoken, the creature quiets herself again, listening thoughtfully as Fischer explains Goldie's impact on her continued survival. Something bitter surges up in the back of her throat at the sight of the other's tears, thick and hot and angry, but she keeps her teeth pressed together despite the flashing crimson seeping into the edges of her vision. "The little pests," she manages to grumble, sounding petulant but hiding something darker between each syllable, sticking between sharp teeth and leaving an unsavory taste in her mouth. Vandal shakes her head and wills the rage away; it won't help, she tells herself, and she doesn't want to dwell on the negativity.
Instead, the fiend perks her ears up and speaks with a lighter tone, letting herself shift back into something easy, less wound-up. "Is this a mini-reunion? This sounds like a mini-reunion," she says with a playful tone, casting the three gathered Typhooners a mischievous smirk before tapping her talons on the sand and conjuring a rather colorful party hat underneath. Without hesitation, she takes the accessory and places it on top of her head, pulling at the elastic and snapping it back under her jaw to keep the hat steady. "What do you guys say? We can have a little luau on the beach, drink all the alcohol, eat until we're stuffed, old crewmates meet new crewmates, that sort of thing."
I TOLD THAT DEVIL TO TAKE YOU BACK
MAXINE VIENNA "VANDAL" ROUX — TAGS — THE TYPHOON