(389) not as stinky as me and my posts 8C
Myrika is by Raze!
They do, Myrika said, murmuring her agreement although it was not Vesper's looks she most valued. It was the feeling the other woman provoked within herself -- something akin to overwhelming relief, though there was nothing at which to be relieved, aside from their minor quarrel. There was also a peculiar desire Myrika did not recognize, at least not immediately. It was a desire to protect the scarred woman and make sure, in the future, whatever scars her enemies landed were well-won -- though Myrika knew she was not half the warrior Vesper was. That was easy to see, after all.
The redhead nodded vigorously at Vesper's words -- she had come to understand this, and maybe even envy it a little. Perhaps a lack of acceptance had given Myri over to an over-eagerness to please others. She felt, at least vaguely, that she generally gave up her comfort at times for the pleasure of others. This would have to cease in her Aquilaship, for who would follow a leader unable or unwilling to stand up for herself? Perhaps she might absorb some of this quality from Vesper herself. Or, outlandish as it seemed, maybe even ask for advice as to how she might grow more assertive.
We'll ride off into the sunset yet, the tawny coyote said, her grin barely tempered into a smile. Her lips writhed with the effort of it, for she did want to grin broadly and maybe even toss Vesper around and up into the air -- dancing, or at least, as close to dancing as Myrika could come. Her mind's eye still saw herself as an awkward and gangly teenager, and therefore Myrika thought whatever passed for her "dancing" was probably more akin to a seizure. But only when and if you want to, and not a minute before. She did not intend to rush Vesper into anything -- working with Farai in particular had educated Myrika as to just how much coaxing and goading could engender more stubbornness.
Her jaw opened and hung ajar in play shock, though it closed quickly enough again at the kiss in order it might be returned. Myrika could not imagine this ever growing old -- not with the hands on her hips and back. She slid her own arms around Vesper's shoulders, draping them there casually.
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