[color=#B2ACA9][hr][hr][center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019a7fda-4b3c-73fa-bd76-0256177c1ffe.webp[/img][/center][hr][hr]
[table][row][cell][center][img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/fd96c79f4226fbd62f75c4d1931b357f/d6264281b1c4f0dd-0e/s400x600/7e94922c31468cbd82f7fe9a154f7e7d7aed12cf.gifv[/img][/center][/cell][cell][color=2e2c2c]▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/cell][cell][color=2e2c2c]▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/cell][cell][right][sub][color=#9770C1]"you have all of me"[/color] she says
wrapping petalled fingers
around my wrist

[color=#9770C1]"i am yours; you are mine"[/color] she whispers
intertwined pair of vines
beneath my skin

[color=#9770C1]"in dreams. in life,"[/color]
in the slip between night
and dawn

to my birth
to her death
[color=#9770C1]flower petals[/color] in her hair

vines around [color=#9770C1]my wrist[/color][/sub][/right][/cell][/row][/table][hr][hr]
[sub][color=#9770C1]Location[/color] - Colosseum
[color=2e2c2c]▅▅▅▅▅▅[/color][/sub]

[indent]It washed over him. A tide that pushed Thomas against the back of the wall, oblivious now to the heat of bodies surrounding him.

Sometimes, he'd remember sitting at the foot of his mother's bed as she wrapped flower bracelets around his wrist. On a good day, she'd grow enough that it'd cover his entire arm, until he descended into a fit of giggles. Some days she'd tell him to breathe in, fingers hardened by garden tending and farm work rough against his soft, unblemished skin. To breathe deep, she'd whisper. And let it go. He'd look at her as she tapped a finger to each petal of a tiny flower and count while he breathed in. Pause. Then count again as he released a breath that puffed his chest up and extended his belly.

She stopped doing that when she met him. She still whispers her grief into her work, into the food she makes for him. The warmth of a blanket when he falls asleep on her couch again. He doesn't know in what ways she'll understand that it's not needed. That it never has been.

Tommy breathed in, letting heat wash over him. A warm breeze. The radiating heat of people murmuring around him. Then he opened his eyes and soaked the sight and smell of New Rome again. He counted the number of heads in front of him until he felt his attention trail away, let the sounds focus in—a couple arguing over why it wasn't fair to take money in a bet when one of the fighters forfeited and another, a row beneath him, of a mother fussing over the mess of crumbs on her daughter's face.

His hands stilled buzzed, gripping onto the seat beneath him in a tight vice when he wasn't actively forcing his fingers to relax. He slouched forward, nearly contemplating letting his head fall between his knees. Gods, he'd probably looked crazy.

This all felt so reminiscent of the times he'd wake from a nightmare, eyes already flung to the doorway where his mother would already be standing. The unmistakable shape of monsters in his dreams, ones he could name now if he looked back. Of course, his mother knew. Like it was some right of passage. Or maybe Tommy was just a special case knowing who his father was. It made him want to laugh now, but all he could do was breathe.

He ached for someone to talk to, to take his mind off the waking nightmare that'd surely continue to follow him today. At least, until he could sink into his mother's couch and yap her ear off. And she'd have some kind of creamy potato soup at the ready, almost burning in his hands. Thomas leaned against the wall, craning his head back as far as he could with a too loud, too put upon groan. A tongue click to his left cut him off and Tommy let out a cough, avoiding complete eye contact, [color=#9770C1]"Sorry. Bit of a rough day."[/color][/indent]

[right][sub][color=#9770C1]Interactions[/color]: N/A
[color=#9770C1]Mentions[/color]: N/A[/sub][/right][/color]