AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
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Came the approach of a fox, the scent upon her pelt turning his thoughts to the mortuary he worked within once, long ago. Eyes narrowing slightly as he looked over - she should be dead or at the very least in pain. Gray eyes fixed on the blue one, a puff of smoke leaving her for a moment before he plucked the blooms of tarragon from his foreleg with his other paw and set it on the ground before tapping his notebook, an un-sheathed claw pointing to the written word of tarragon with the wording of curiosity beside it, his eyes narrowing slightly before touching the scars on his throat and lips.
Turning his gaze at the sound of wings, gray eyes taking in the draconic tom with a degree of interest before tapping the book again and repeating his gesture. It was no proper way to communicate but the tabby tom had no other way, his paws were not fit to make sign language with. Pausing in his movements as he took a draw from his cigarette to feel the acrid air flowing through his lungs, nicotine staining his tongue, he would lift his paw to ppint to all of the terrain around the trio of them, tilting his head with a prick of his ears. Looking down at his book with a slight frown, he tapped his chin, brows furrowed before flipping through the pages to another word, daffodil. As he tapped the wording beside the flower's title, he felt a stirring upon his leg, the bloom in question growing upon his fur which he plucked before once again motioning over the terrain, tapping the wording curiously. Written where he tapped were the words of What is this? Where is this? I have questions.
Turning his gaze at the sound of wings, gray eyes taking in the draconic tom with a degree of interest before tapping the book again and repeating his gesture. It was no proper way to communicate but the tabby tom had no other way, his paws were not fit to make sign language with. Pausing in his movements as he took a draw from his cigarette to feel the acrid air flowing through his lungs, nicotine staining his tongue, he would lift his paw to ppint to all of the terrain around the trio of them, tilting his head with a prick of his ears. Looking down at his book with a slight frown, he tapped his chin, brows furrowed before flipping through the pages to another word, daffodil. As he tapped the wording beside the flower's title, he felt a stirring upon his leg, the bloom in question growing upon his fur which he plucked before once again motioning over the terrain, tapping the wording curiously. Written where he tapped were the words of What is this? Where is this? I have questions.
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THE FLOWER BURNS