08-14-2020, 03:34 AM
[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]
[table][tr][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][/tr][/table]I just wanna taste it; Watermelon sugar high!
"Lavandula," comes Paola's offered murmur as she wanders closer to the group, drawn by the scent of boiling lavender and seeing flashes of unfamiliar faces in the darkness behind her eyelids with every blink. She doesn't know why, but the wistful smell tastes familiar between her teeth, bringing forth a trickle of semi-memories from the back of her consciousness. Unlike the other times she's sought to remember her past, this process is less painful, more natural—lavender in a wooden bowl of water, the flash of a smile on a cream-colored muzzle, a shower of seafoam accenting a light, chiming laughter that she recognizes isn't her own but someone else's.
A name lingers on her tongue but refuses to be unstuck. All she can unravel from it is Sol. The rest of the identifier remains tangled, knotted, jagged on her tongue before receding into the darkness, imparting only its first syllable and nothing more.
The she-cat shivers; the memory is more than she's ever had in a long time, and she holds it close to her chest, light but firm within her mental grasp, fearing that she might crush it if she holds on too tight but equally as afraid that it might leave her if she doesn't.
Finally, Paola settles beside Devland, oddly somber as she brushes the prickle of relieved tears from her eyes. She flashes Roan a grateful smile, although she doubts he knows exactly why—she doubts he realizes what the scent of his potion has brought out of her, but she's thankful all the same. Thankful that he's brewing, and thankful that her mind has been receptive to letting her remember a small facet of her fragmented past.
"Ament's only offering, I think, no harm in it," Paola comments with a wry smile, brushing away the last of her bittersweet expression before finally offering the trio a grin in greeting. To Ament, she offers a pleasant blink in greeting, and then she turns her attention back to Roan and his bubbling brew. "That smells very nice, Roan. What potion are you brewing?"
[table][tr][td]A name lingers on her tongue but refuses to be unstuck. All she can unravel from it is Sol. The rest of the identifier remains tangled, knotted, jagged on her tongue before receding into the darkness, imparting only its first syllable and nothing more.
The she-cat shivers; the memory is more than she's ever had in a long time, and she holds it close to her chest, light but firm within her mental grasp, fearing that she might crush it if she holds on too tight but equally as afraid that it might leave her if she doesn't.
Finally, Paola settles beside Devland, oddly somber as she brushes the prickle of relieved tears from her eyes. She flashes Roan a grateful smile, although she doubts he knows exactly why—she doubts he realizes what the scent of his potion has brought out of her, but she's thankful all the same. Thankful that he's brewing, and thankful that her mind has been receptive to letting her remember a small facet of her fragmented past.
"Ament's only offering, I think, no harm in it," Paola comments with a wry smile, brushing away the last of her bittersweet expression before finally offering the trio a grin in greeting. To Ament, she offers a pleasant blink in greeting, and then she turns her attention back to Roan and his bubbling brew. "That smells very nice, Roan. What potion are you brewing?"
10 MOONS
[/td][td]BETA
[/td][td]TYPHOON
[/td][td]SHE/HER
[/td][td]© AUDACITY
[/td][/tr][/table] BABY'S GOT A FACE LIKE THUNDER: