One.
Single.
Bump.
For one more writer friend person.
Single.
Bump.
For one more writer friend person.
ClosetMonster Member
Practicing Optimist
STATUS: "Bother. Isn't there anybody at all?" "Nobody!" 5 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Practicing Optimist
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 377 (0.10 / day)
- VMs: 3
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Username history
- ClosetMonster 10 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
5 yrs ago
Current
"Bother. Isn't there anybody at all?" "Nobody!"
5 yrs ago
Trying on shoes and going for a walkabout - will return to closet when I'm good and ready!
3
likes
6 yrs ago
Fell into the abyss of Closet... digging out from under all of the shoes.
2
likes
8 yrs ago
Time is mine for a full month! :) Yay!!!
1
like
Bio
A long time player, I have been co-writing (aka "role playing") for "ae long tahm". I have a fairly involved career which some years can be nigh all encompassing for months and months at a time. However, I always seem to return for the sheer delight of creating alongside another imaginative individual.
Most Recent Posts
In
Looking for a few good... amoeba moosen. (g'on, ignore post count, eh?)
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
And back... yay!
Hope all is well with you. :) That was a rather dorky post. I'm afraid I'm not very magic trick'ish. I can do better - make it more campy?
Hope all is well with you. :) That was a rather dorky post. I'm afraid I'm not very magic trick'ish. I can do better - make it more campy?
The small furred soul blinks black eyes, reflecting pale of the last of that ribbon as the wind shifts. Light limns the cedar tree's highest boughs, then with a sigh, pours down the tree's stolid surface, turning it crystal. Beneath it, the furry creature slips out of its hole, unable to remain in the half dark when life is pouring into the darkness of the hollowed out life left behind.
For a moment, the world within remains quiet, simply accepting the magics and the other soul, even the small ribbon of Other which had created the way seems to hold its breath.
As Chall's eyes close, his intentions purifying, the furred creature's black eyes fly upwards and light from within. In a mixture of the land, the man, the kirin, and the magic deep within the mage, the recesses of the dying man flare into brilliance. What was a small bit of life, unfurls from itself, eyes first, growing into silver marbles, then the entirety of the soul blossoms into a creature which is a mixture of myth and life. Arms as strong as a gladiator with great bands of marble around the upper muscles, meet with a reptilian torso and head, a golden leonine hips and legs, and a great tail as silver as the horn piercing its brow. It lifts its head, staring upwards at where the fissure of injury was being filled, it's gaze luminescent as an early morning mountain sky, and opens its great mouth to suck in the mixture of magics.
With a sigh, all goes quiet, the beast gone, the tree waving in a soft wind, and Chall broken apart. Yet upon a small twig in the upper reaches of the great tree, where the scent of jasmine and amber remain strongest, a small bird with a flat topped tail, waits, alert, and watches.
Marge has gone, Hibble notes. She had not even asked the kirin what his purpose was. Good woman, following her heart as she was wont to do. The goblin's black teeth gleam in the shadows as he grins down at the scene below him. The mage, the weaver, and the magic intertwining them, drawing them together. To think he has lived long enough to see such a sight. The beginning. He would not survive to the end, few would, but he had been witness to its start.
As heart regains foothold, blood pours once more, life begins anew, Wren's body shakes, his throat convulsing, forgetting, until it recalls and with a great bellow, breath pours into the man and he sits up, grasping for the table's edge, the air, his eyes wide and staring into the darkened room. Wren's mind spurs him to action and he turns, orients himself slowly. The scent, the scene before him, it is not unknown to him. But for the fact that Marge is nowhere to be found.
Only a terrified looking kirin. Wren frowns down at the slender young man in confusion. "What?" he murmurs more to himself than to Chall. Had he not given the mage his still pool?
But no, that was not it. Memory returns, what little there is. He brushes his hand against his forehead and then blinks at the boy once more. "What happened?" he slowly moves one leg off of the table, the other following. His body, his mind, around him there is a clarity which will take some time to get accustomed to. It is as if a second sight were looking at the room around him, at the kirin, at it all. His eyes hurt, seeing too much.
"What - " he begins again, then takes a slow breath inwards. "What is wrong?" His deep voice gentle, bemused, he takes hold of the table and stands, then makes his way to the boy, going to his knee with very little grace and grasping the boy's arm.
It is not brown eyes which look at the kirin, but a light blue, as if the color has been drained from them completely. All is the same, though not so much within the weaver, for Wren only knows the boy is afraid and such a thing is almost unbearable for him. He runs his palm down the boy's arm and grasps his hand. "Has someone harmed you?" he demands, surprised at the sudden, fierce rush of protective nature which floods him. Everything is so new, so real, yet so raw, as if there is little to buffer between he and the rest of the world.
For a moment, the world within remains quiet, simply accepting the magics and the other soul, even the small ribbon of Other which had created the way seems to hold its breath.
As Chall's eyes close, his intentions purifying, the furred creature's black eyes fly upwards and light from within. In a mixture of the land, the man, the kirin, and the magic deep within the mage, the recesses of the dying man flare into brilliance. What was a small bit of life, unfurls from itself, eyes first, growing into silver marbles, then the entirety of the soul blossoms into a creature which is a mixture of myth and life. Arms as strong as a gladiator with great bands of marble around the upper muscles, meet with a reptilian torso and head, a golden leonine hips and legs, and a great tail as silver as the horn piercing its brow. It lifts its head, staring upwards at where the fissure of injury was being filled, it's gaze luminescent as an early morning mountain sky, and opens its great mouth to suck in the mixture of magics.
With a sigh, all goes quiet, the beast gone, the tree waving in a soft wind, and Chall broken apart. Yet upon a small twig in the upper reaches of the great tree, where the scent of jasmine and amber remain strongest, a small bird with a flat topped tail, waits, alert, and watches.
Marge has gone, Hibble notes. She had not even asked the kirin what his purpose was. Good woman, following her heart as she was wont to do. The goblin's black teeth gleam in the shadows as he grins down at the scene below him. The mage, the weaver, and the magic intertwining them, drawing them together. To think he has lived long enough to see such a sight. The beginning. He would not survive to the end, few would, but he had been witness to its start.
As heart regains foothold, blood pours once more, life begins anew, Wren's body shakes, his throat convulsing, forgetting, until it recalls and with a great bellow, breath pours into the man and he sits up, grasping for the table's edge, the air, his eyes wide and staring into the darkened room. Wren's mind spurs him to action and he turns, orients himself slowly. The scent, the scene before him, it is not unknown to him. But for the fact that Marge is nowhere to be found.
Only a terrified looking kirin. Wren frowns down at the slender young man in confusion. "What?" he murmurs more to himself than to Chall. Had he not given the mage his still pool?
But no, that was not it. Memory returns, what little there is. He brushes his hand against his forehead and then blinks at the boy once more. "What happened?" he slowly moves one leg off of the table, the other following. His body, his mind, around him there is a clarity which will take some time to get accustomed to. It is as if a second sight were looking at the room around him, at the kirin, at it all. His eyes hurt, seeing too much.
"What - " he begins again, then takes a slow breath inwards. "What is wrong?" His deep voice gentle, bemused, he takes hold of the table and stands, then makes his way to the boy, going to his knee with very little grace and grasping the boy's arm.
It is not brown eyes which look at the kirin, but a light blue, as if the color has been drained from them completely. All is the same, though not so much within the weaver, for Wren only knows the boy is afraid and such a thing is almost unbearable for him. He runs his palm down the boy's arm and grasps his hand. "Has someone harmed you?" he demands, surprised at the sudden, fierce rush of protective nature which floods him. Everything is so new, so real, yet so raw, as if there is little to buffer between he and the rest of the world.
Bartrum sniffed and twisted, bending at the waist and to the side, he lay a finger along one nostril and blew mightily. He did this three times in a row, switching to the other nostril just after. Wiping a thumb under his nose, he leaned back into the fire that his commander had set them to build. With a grumble at the cold, he hitched the cloak about his shoulders and stared at the flames. It was damned cold and they were in for a longer hunt than he had initially signed up for.
"Shoulda found this gate long afore now," he grumbled for the tenth time in that last day. "With guards, nothin' woulda gotten through."
Not one of the others responded. They'd long since tired of his complaints. There had been conversations about the truth of what he was saying, if the gate had been there before, or if it had come to be since the last census. Surely the Church hadn't known or there would have been a warming hut on the other side and guards. But then again, how could anything have survived being in these frozen wastes? What charter would they have to sign and with what country this time in order to ensure their prey could be declared and returned to their home?
What prey was it in the end? Another faun? Those goat legged bastards were tough but not tough enough for these lands. It would be a relief to find one frozen in a bank instead of having to fight one down to the ground. The bites of those creatures tended toward festering, another of Bertram's complaints when he was on a real tear about his choice of employment. Fauns were plentiful and curious enough in the Green Wold. Their nastiness was merely a consequence of the world they lived in where all of the trophies were of an ill disposition. Green Wold was by far, the least favorite of Bertram's where the greatest challenge were the fearsome trolls which traveled the lands, were dumb as oxen, and ten times more dangerous than even the great lizards of Hinteryare.
To be fair, only Ol' Bill had come across one while with the Church. The rest were subjected to his stories.
Bartrum glowered at the wind, cursing it in silence, and turned his face away into it when one of the younger recruits began to sing, a hound or two choosing to join in when the boy's off-key voice sounded more like their squawking than the love song it was meant to be. The cold would cut that sort of silly behavior out of the boy soon enough. That, or their commander. He smirked and waited for the usual outburst to such drivel.
"Shoulda found this gate long afore now," he grumbled for the tenth time in that last day. "With guards, nothin' woulda gotten through."
Not one of the others responded. They'd long since tired of his complaints. There had been conversations about the truth of what he was saying, if the gate had been there before, or if it had come to be since the last census. Surely the Church hadn't known or there would have been a warming hut on the other side and guards. But then again, how could anything have survived being in these frozen wastes? What charter would they have to sign and with what country this time in order to ensure their prey could be declared and returned to their home?
What prey was it in the end? Another faun? Those goat legged bastards were tough but not tough enough for these lands. It would be a relief to find one frozen in a bank instead of having to fight one down to the ground. The bites of those creatures tended toward festering, another of Bertram's complaints when he was on a real tear about his choice of employment. Fauns were plentiful and curious enough in the Green Wold. Their nastiness was merely a consequence of the world they lived in where all of the trophies were of an ill disposition. Green Wold was by far, the least favorite of Bertram's where the greatest challenge were the fearsome trolls which traveled the lands, were dumb as oxen, and ten times more dangerous than even the great lizards of Hinteryare.
To be fair, only Ol' Bill had come across one while with the Church. The rest were subjected to his stories.
Bartrum glowered at the wind, cursing it in silence, and turned his face away into it when one of the younger recruits began to sing, a hound or two choosing to join in when the boy's off-key voice sounded more like their squawking than the love song it was meant to be. The cold would cut that sort of silly behavior out of the boy soon enough. That, or their commander. He smirked and waited for the usual outburst to such drivel.
ack!! It isn't quite what I'd had in mind and it defiitely got waylaid on its way to you. But here it is! :)
I am on my way to Michigan for a couple of weeks though I am bringing my laptop. I'm not wholly sure if my aunt has internet at her place, so it may be a few more days after Tuesday. Still sketchy as to free time here, but soon it'll be back to quiet again. Yay!
I am on my way to Michigan for a couple of weeks though I am bringing my laptop. I'm not wholly sure if my aunt has internet at her place, so it may be a few more days after Tuesday. Still sketchy as to free time here, but soon it'll be back to quiet again. Yay!
Freddie adjusted her tie and pursed her lips in annoyance. Her rouge was meticulously done, her orange (it was assuredly orange, despite all opinions to the contrary) hair pulled back severely so that her large eyes would give the sense of her being younger than her seventeen years, and her dress slacks and white formal lawn were pressed to perfection. She was, in essence, the visual representation of calm and composed.
If she could but say the same of her partner. Gregory paced the small backroom in the Light Bug Bar and Grill and mussed his already mussed red hair. His black suit jacket had rumpled as he'd lounged earlier, affecting a pose of relaxation before their latest employer. Mr. Chadwick was sufficiently certain of his latest “find” and thus, they had a billing on real paper as well as highlighted in lights in the reader board over the bar.
No, that relaxation had lasted as long as it had taken Chadwick to exit the room, then her brother leapt to his feet and began to pace. The unruffled demeanor completely broken, Gregory had come to a point of undoing the ties in his hair and pulling it out to set it back into place, then resetting it, only to pull at it once more. He muttered as he went, his eyes on the floors, on the walls, now and again, swinging wildly about him as if he were about to be menaced by the pictures on the walls.
Freddie huffed and folded their paper billing Real Magic, Out of this World! Gregory Charmaigne, the Magnificent! One Night Only, LIGHT BUG PUB, Entrex Park St. Point of Entry, #205. A real paper billing. Paper wasn't used quite so often so to have prompted anyone to print something meant they might even be on their way up to the Big Time. Gregory had always wanted to be there. He'd promised her the world hadn't he? He had; a real pool, indoors, and a horse. It was a child's dream and she'd settle these days for knowing that their next meal would be in the same room at the end of the month as well as an ability to stop long enough for her to take real classes.
Gregory glanced at her, his blue eyes startlingly light and set off by the fake tan he wore to make himself more glamorous as well as to cover his freckles.
“Well, here goes,” he announced with a sudden, glittering smile. Like that, her brother was gone and the magician was visible. He smoothed his hand over his jacket, checked small pockets, then winked at her as he swept from the room.
Freddie sighed, pulled a toffee out of the satchel on the table, and closed her eyes. She wasn't needed for another ten minutes. She had time to relax.
Ten minutes later, Gregory Charmaigne the Magnificent, whisked aside a curtain and escorted a pixie like creature with ruby hair and wide, violet eyes, down from the platform. She, he, it was difficult to tell, quavered before the audience.
“Hush, my good people,” Gregory's voice intoned out over the awed crowd. “You are as strange to this one as it is to you. A delicate flower from the djinn lands in distant Araby, this summons is but an invitation to our world.” He smiled beatifically at the creature who glanced up at him, both bemused and trusting. “What is your name child?”
The creature had a large ruby affixed to its brow and its hand fluttered as it turned from the lights on the stage. “Please,” the wizard beckoned, “bring down the lights some?” He smiled. “It seems almost human, does it not?” He lifted a hand and as the lights dimmed slightly, the creature turned back toward the crowd. As the lights dropped, the creature was more visible, its body floating in golden lights, limned from behind as if by a million lightning bugs, twinkling all about it's form. It smiled in relief and then began to sing a short refrain. The wizard chuckled as the crowd gasped at the perfect notes.
“And thus, is their language, my good people. He, says his name is Sun Flare, and he is aptly named I should think.” He bowed slightly toward the djinn. “Please, my new friend, will you bless us? It is difficult I know to remain in our world,” indeed the lights about the creature were already dimming, “but before you quit us?”
The tiny thing gave a small curtsey and with a flare of lights all about it, it trilled an aria, so beautiful as to leave some of the less strong ladies in a swoon. As the trilling blessing rose, the lights about it flared and then a flash of light, brighter than a sun itself, giving off heat all about the room, and the djinn was gone, not behind the curtain, but simply gone. A scent of jasmine and smoke all that remained.
The wizard's face looked crestfallen. “It was but a young one, I am sad it could not remain, but it is how the worlds are made, with veils which might close as swiftly as they are drawn back.” He smiled and as the stunned crowd blinked lights from their eyes, they began to clap, then to cheer.
He lifted his arms to either side of himself, wide as if to embrace their accolades and bowed before them. He could not have been heard over the din to tell them of his next spell if he had shouted. His white teeth flashed and for a moment, with the scent of smoldering hell and jasmine, he almost looked like he wasn't fully human either.
Behind the curtain, a young girl stripped from her costuming, pulled the wig from her orange hair, and stuffed all into a bag as she ran to get the next trick set up as her brother calmed the crowd.
If she could but say the same of her partner. Gregory paced the small backroom in the Light Bug Bar and Grill and mussed his already mussed red hair. His black suit jacket had rumpled as he'd lounged earlier, affecting a pose of relaxation before their latest employer. Mr. Chadwick was sufficiently certain of his latest “find” and thus, they had a billing on real paper as well as highlighted in lights in the reader board over the bar.
No, that relaxation had lasted as long as it had taken Chadwick to exit the room, then her brother leapt to his feet and began to pace. The unruffled demeanor completely broken, Gregory had come to a point of undoing the ties in his hair and pulling it out to set it back into place, then resetting it, only to pull at it once more. He muttered as he went, his eyes on the floors, on the walls, now and again, swinging wildly about him as if he were about to be menaced by the pictures on the walls.
Freddie huffed and folded their paper billing Real Magic, Out of this World! Gregory Charmaigne, the Magnificent! One Night Only, LIGHT BUG PUB, Entrex Park St. Point of Entry, #205. A real paper billing. Paper wasn't used quite so often so to have prompted anyone to print something meant they might even be on their way up to the Big Time. Gregory had always wanted to be there. He'd promised her the world hadn't he? He had; a real pool, indoors, and a horse. It was a child's dream and she'd settle these days for knowing that their next meal would be in the same room at the end of the month as well as an ability to stop long enough for her to take real classes.
Gregory glanced at her, his blue eyes startlingly light and set off by the fake tan he wore to make himself more glamorous as well as to cover his freckles.
“Well, here goes,” he announced with a sudden, glittering smile. Like that, her brother was gone and the magician was visible. He smoothed his hand over his jacket, checked small pockets, then winked at her as he swept from the room.
Freddie sighed, pulled a toffee out of the satchel on the table, and closed her eyes. She wasn't needed for another ten minutes. She had time to relax.
Ten minutes later, Gregory Charmaigne the Magnificent, whisked aside a curtain and escorted a pixie like creature with ruby hair and wide, violet eyes, down from the platform. She, he, it was difficult to tell, quavered before the audience.
“Hush, my good people,” Gregory's voice intoned out over the awed crowd. “You are as strange to this one as it is to you. A delicate flower from the djinn lands in distant Araby, this summons is but an invitation to our world.” He smiled beatifically at the creature who glanced up at him, both bemused and trusting. “What is your name child?”
The creature had a large ruby affixed to its brow and its hand fluttered as it turned from the lights on the stage. “Please,” the wizard beckoned, “bring down the lights some?” He smiled. “It seems almost human, does it not?” He lifted a hand and as the lights dimmed slightly, the creature turned back toward the crowd. As the lights dropped, the creature was more visible, its body floating in golden lights, limned from behind as if by a million lightning bugs, twinkling all about it's form. It smiled in relief and then began to sing a short refrain. The wizard chuckled as the crowd gasped at the perfect notes.
“And thus, is their language, my good people. He, says his name is Sun Flare, and he is aptly named I should think.” He bowed slightly toward the djinn. “Please, my new friend, will you bless us? It is difficult I know to remain in our world,” indeed the lights about the creature were already dimming, “but before you quit us?”
The tiny thing gave a small curtsey and with a flare of lights all about it, it trilled an aria, so beautiful as to leave some of the less strong ladies in a swoon. As the trilling blessing rose, the lights about it flared and then a flash of light, brighter than a sun itself, giving off heat all about the room, and the djinn was gone, not behind the curtain, but simply gone. A scent of jasmine and smoke all that remained.
The wizard's face looked crestfallen. “It was but a young one, I am sad it could not remain, but it is how the worlds are made, with veils which might close as swiftly as they are drawn back.” He smiled and as the stunned crowd blinked lights from their eyes, they began to clap, then to cheer.
He lifted his arms to either side of himself, wide as if to embrace their accolades and bowed before them. He could not have been heard over the din to tell them of his next spell if he had shouted. His white teeth flashed and for a moment, with the scent of smoldering hell and jasmine, he almost looked like he wasn't fully human either.
Behind the curtain, a young girl stripped from her costuming, pulled the wig from her orange hair, and stuffed all into a bag as she ran to get the next trick set up as her brother calmed the crowd.
In
What is one prevailing trait or element in your RP characters?
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Roleplaying Discussion
What a fun question!! So most of my characters have a specific lack of awareness. This might be interpersonal, situational, or of their own motivations. Not always just one, but definitely lack of awareness. I don't want my characters to know what I am doing while their backs are turned.
That and (I would suppose that it is a logical consequence) they all seem slightly confused/bemused/curious about the world around them. I think I rely on this trait for a lot of character motivation in the choices they make.
Another common theme is to pick some metaphorical symbol for them. Rat faced, blade thin, shiny, etc. I think I must use this to keep characters straight in my head. Rodents aren't beetles and gold isn't a birch tree.
I stay away from apathetic characters. They bore me to tears.
Huh. Makes me want to create one just to push my own boundaries! Heh.
That and (I would suppose that it is a logical consequence) they all seem slightly confused/bemused/curious about the world around them. I think I rely on this trait for a lot of character motivation in the choices they make.
Another common theme is to pick some metaphorical symbol for them. Rat faced, blade thin, shiny, etc. I think I must use this to keep characters straight in my head. Rodents aren't beetles and gold isn't a birch tree.
I stay away from apathetic characters. They bore me to tears.
Huh. Makes me want to create one just to push my own boundaries! Heh.
One of those things about writing with others; you end up with more names to miss than names you currently interact with. I would love to play again with my lost ones. I'm sure I'm not alone in that. I would love to see some names active again. Would love to play with Glaw, with Justric, with Monnie, with Isa, with Pali. Miss them! Miss those who never made it back after Guild-fall.
BUT, I have some amazing partners who are worth a second look if you want someone amazing to write with.
@Nemaisare, who is the most patient, insightful writer I've managed to discover on site in the last few years. So glad someone was willing to make a lighthouse into a Light House! :) And here is someone who can break tropes into bitty pieces, sweep them back up, and repaste them into something new and refreshing. I wish I never needed sleep so that I could write more and get my Nem fix more often. I neeeeeed it! (Besides, positivism is just seriously addicting - nothing is beyond Nem's reach when it comes to writing.)
@Blue Demon never gives up! Never surrenders! :) Seriously, OMG. I get pushed, each time. A murder mystery or a film noir with a twist. BD opens these doors and I keep walking through them. How could I not? Should come with a warning label regarding the settings. A map to Blue Demon land - Here be Dragons/Mines/Crazy Bar Ladies/who knows what else! Love her creativity.
@El Taco Taco drove me to actually BUY a movie for reference material. I've never been inspired enough to have done that before. I'm so glad that I have one more amazing writer who doesn't completely bail while my life spins. She has a sense of setting that just makes it so real you can taste the metal in the air and feel the desperation.
So many others...
BUT, I have some amazing partners who are worth a second look if you want someone amazing to write with.
@Nemaisare, who is the most patient, insightful writer I've managed to discover on site in the last few years. So glad someone was willing to make a lighthouse into a Light House! :) And here is someone who can break tropes into bitty pieces, sweep them back up, and repaste them into something new and refreshing. I wish I never needed sleep so that I could write more and get my Nem fix more often. I neeeeeed it! (Besides, positivism is just seriously addicting - nothing is beyond Nem's reach when it comes to writing.)
@Blue Demon never gives up! Never surrenders! :) Seriously, OMG. I get pushed, each time. A murder mystery or a film noir with a twist. BD opens these doors and I keep walking through them. How could I not? Should come with a warning label regarding the settings. A map to Blue Demon land - Here be Dragons/Mines/Crazy Bar Ladies/who knows what else! Love her creativity.
@El Taco Taco drove me to actually BUY a movie for reference material. I've never been inspired enough to have done that before. I'm so glad that I have one more amazing writer who doesn't completely bail while my life spins. She has a sense of setting that just makes it so real you can taste the metal in the air and feel the desperation.
So many others...
@eskimolander I could, I guess, fill in their travel to the medic ward? Poor thing indeed. :) Let me know if you'd like me to set that in. Or I'll follow your lead. I'm good with whatever makes you most comfortable.
Jaq felt her hand taken and the sensation was so alarming that her entire being focused on it. His (he looked like a he, sounded like a he, was more than likely a he – though her dizzy alarm that the rules suddenly no longer seemed to apply around her burbled into a half-hysterical thought of it genders were consistent across …. No. No reason to put any paltry word to what she found herself in) hand was soft and firm in a way that a human hand would not be. It was as if his skin had a different function, similar but for a different environment. She'd felt that strangeness once when she'd met a rancher friend of her father's and his hand had felt like an old suitcase, widened at the tips like his hands had spent years flattened against hard, rough surfaces. But then, it had been a hand. The rest of him, tanned and wrinkled and sweet voiced, was human.
She froze. It was the last action available for her. She'd already tried to run, she did not know what to fight, was not sure she should be crying – there was nothing short of falling over in a dead faint left but she had never been the fainting type.
He was strong and he drew her upwards and in her fading certainty, she followed the almost real presence of certainty in his voice and his hold on her hand. Robotically, she pulled out from under the (were they blankets?) covering that had been on her, rising beside him.
Standing, the change of position, shook her out of her lethargy and she tilted her head to look up at him. He was very tall, slightly more slender than she was accustomed to, but it settled well upon a bone structure that might have been human except there was a loose limbed nature to the simple twist of his arm as he tried to move her as if his joints weren't quite the same.
She went. Her mind struggled to assimilate the world around her. It was bright. Metal, and white and he was a smear of brilliant plumage at her side, like a very tall bird of paradise. She dimly was aware that there was more to take in, but she wasn't able to do more than the feel of his hand.
To do, he had said. “What,” she was surprised by how soft her voice was and took a breath to steady herself. “What to do? I mean, what is there – What do you want from me?” There. That seemed like a better question, considering he was obviously intending the much to do in regards to her being up and going.
She froze. It was the last action available for her. She'd already tried to run, she did not know what to fight, was not sure she should be crying – there was nothing short of falling over in a dead faint left but she had never been the fainting type.
He was strong and he drew her upwards and in her fading certainty, she followed the almost real presence of certainty in his voice and his hold on her hand. Robotically, she pulled out from under the (were they blankets?) covering that had been on her, rising beside him.
Standing, the change of position, shook her out of her lethargy and she tilted her head to look up at him. He was very tall, slightly more slender than she was accustomed to, but it settled well upon a bone structure that might have been human except there was a loose limbed nature to the simple twist of his arm as he tried to move her as if his joints weren't quite the same.
She went. Her mind struggled to assimilate the world around her. It was bright. Metal, and white and he was a smear of brilliant plumage at her side, like a very tall bird of paradise. She dimly was aware that there was more to take in, but she wasn't able to do more than the feel of his hand.
To do, he had said. “What,” she was surprised by how soft her voice was and took a breath to steady herself. “What to do? I mean, what is there – What do you want from me?” There. That seemed like a better question, considering he was obviously intending the much to do in regards to her being up and going.
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