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Sep. 24th, 2011 05:04 pm( MADNESS )
( ...it kept its gaze steady on the hippogryph as she drew closer, cocked her head, and began to tentatively beak at the rising stream of smoke. )
It didn't move, didn't speak, not until the hippogryph had drawn back to peer at the knight with critical amber eyes. It leaned back, then, to take pipe in hand once more and look sidelong at the Sentinel, Scourge-blue eyes narrowed. "She has a name," came that dead voice, soft and low. "It's Bonnie."
( It took a moment for Atalania to recover her wits... )
"Catch anything good?"
I look over my shoulder only briefly at the man who's dropped to a crouch beside me; he's smiling hesitantly, shoulders hunched. It's a smile full of inarticulate masculinity, a fear-grimace he wears when he realizes he can't dance around whatever embarrassingly emotional topic is about to come up. The smile is worse, in a lot of ways, than any of his snarls or grimaces. I look back at the sea.
( The pause is awkward and long and noisy, the sighs of the waves competing with the pounding of the blood in my ears. )
Seated near the door (at a table Alevh often chooses, in fact,) is a human woman, garbed in a simple priest's robe and a cheap-looking pirate hat, perhaps something purchased in Booty Bay. She's a toasted bagel on a plate on the table, but she hasn't touched it yet; currently in front of her is a small clockwork with which she is tinkering. It resembles a small rodent, and... is rather creepy, considering it hasn't had the external plating applied, a skeleton of rods and wires with huge googly eyes.( Cross-faction AIM RP between Ellysse and Chryseth! )
It's the rodent-like construct that catches his interest -- its tender gets a curious glance but once the young elf sees what she's looking at, his gaze is fixed on it and he approaches, hands stuffed into trouserpockets. He leans close, closer than is probably polite, but doesn't obstruct her view or try to touch it.
The young elf leaned his head back against the cushions, watching the violet-skinned girl dry her hair. With those fragile wrists and tiny fingers, her small body curving forward, the delicate shapes of her spine and shoulderblades showing through the thin cloth of her undershirt, she was roughly scrubbing her head and horns without a hint of elegance or grace. She lowered the cloth and tossed her wet hair, sneezed, and smeared her nose against her arm; then she blinked as the boy began to laugh at her.
He restrained his chuckling and shook his head, a characteristic awkward smile twisting his lips, and waved apologetically at the glaring girl. "You are cute," he said, truthfully.
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