Idylls of the King

Jefferson Soul · 09-10-2010, 11:34 AM

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Close this up soon? PPed a little, hope it's okay.

He had never made such sentimental activities a common practice in his life. No, it was not that he had the pride against being seen as such—Jefferson maintained a tough exterior only because it was truth, not to intimidate or entertain the masses and keeps them like puppets at his fingertips. Even the cyclops had his spans of absolute denseness, particularly when it came into the area of romance; Geneva had always been forgiving with him when it came to showing his affection as he was, put bluntly, straight-out terrible at it. He considered, as he plucked wildflower after wildflower, that she might even be a bit put off by this uncharacteristic display of affection, but the Patriarch supposed that was a risk he just had to take.

Leaned over the flowers sprouted at the lighthouse's edge, Jefferson sent a stray glance at his son and immediately dropped what plants he had grabbed. "Prip— ... Pripyat, don't do..." he hesitated, scarred fingers hanging in the air. Collecting himself, the brute cleared his throat. "Here, you choose the flowers that'll look good together and I'll pick them, all right?" He had utterly forgotten the boy's lack of fingers, the genius father that he was.

The two gathered a small bunch that looked, to Jefferson's non-artistic nor sentimental eyes, "pretty nice, I think." He straightened a few of the colorful sprouts, smiling his scars awkwardly at them, and presented it to his son. "What do you think, Prip? Think she'll like it?"

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