[P] [M] Ricochet, oh take your aim

[Pontifex Troy Lykoi]

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: .

[+270]

Ooc: backdated Jan beginning

She picked away languidly at the loose thread, pulling at it until the damage she'd wrought was more than could be simply fixed. It was okay, at least it was an old shirt, and she'd bought it herself, no words from her mother about how much it had cost, or that she needed to take more care. She'd rather pull threads from her shirt that tear pieces of the faded, aged paper in her other hand.

Really, it was too cold to be outside as she was, her breath frosting in the air. The very trees seemed to shiver with their frigid weights but she didn't mind, and if they occasionally shuddered and showered her with powdery snow, then that was okay too.

There was a deal too much to think about in truth. Much and more she should slowly consider and roll about, but Ponti was distracting herself out here in the grasp of winter's breath. Alone until the crunching of footsteps broke the heavy silence.

<"S'too cold t'be out here, Pontifex.">

She inclined her head, and shrugged one shoulder laconically.

"Iet ies nice. Zo quiet..."

He sighed, the steam billowing from his lips.

<"Budge up then.">

Pontifex slid over on the large rock without argument, and John hopped up and settled besides her, digging his hands into the depths of his fur-lined clothing. Her uncle had never enjoyed the cold, she knew he had been born in a far away place, like her... father. Looking at him, was to look at Andrew too. It was all too painful for words.

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[Johnathan Winthrop]

[+000]

Ooc: 

He hadn't meant to intrude. He hadn't 'meant to' a lot of things but that didn't take away the sting of them being done. John hopped up on her thinkin' rock with her, hating the frigid chill that bit at his fingers and toes and stole feeling from his tail.

Tucking his fingers away inside the opposing arms, he sat there with her in silence for a long few moments.

John was never one to know what to say, not really, and everything that came out of his fool mouth only seemed to make things worse in the long term. She was fiddling with something though now, hunching her shoulders and looking down.

"Whut'chu got there?"

Up and about came her head, and his heart stuttered unhappily at the sorrowful expression there upon her face.

Wordlessly she unfolded the letter and the bottom of his stomach about fell out. He recognized his own untidy scrawl there across the page, the crease lines well worn, proof that it had been taken out again and again and looked at. He could even see the splodgest of water-stains, where she'd held it to herself and cried over it.

His breath was a hiss as it fizzed between his teeth.

---

[Pontifex Troy Lykoi]

[+000]

Ooc:

It might be a tad cowardly, but she hid herself behind her hair, and could only hear the sharp intake of his breath rather than witness it for herself. Sorrow was such a bitter tea to sip at. Was she forever grasping at things beyond her reach?

Those breathless eyes swam before her, and the lilting, entrancing color of her voice popped up and around, a memory of a dream that had been easily crushed. Still, she had her handkerchief, her compass, it would have to be enough becuase that avenue was closed for good. Pontifex sniffled delicately, rubbing at her burning eyes.

<"Pontifex...">

His voice was a brand, seeping away into her skin and marking her irrevocably. She flinched away as her Uncle's hand came out, and it halted there in the air, uncertainly, apprehensively.

"Please, do not touch me." The willowy woman rasped hoarsely. Leaning forwards, she clutched the note to her stomach and curled over it, hair shifting and falling about her face. Breathing heavily, she stared down at the crusty, muddy ground and her own dirty feet.

Love hurt. So much. Her mère was right, Salsola would have eaten her alive in the end, or transformed her into a creature unrecognizable to her own self. Was this place any better with so many upsetting memories.

Pontifex swallowed painfully, forcing it past the hot lump in her throat. Lucian had kissed her, she recalled. Vividly. He had been stinking drunk though, so she didn't think that it really counted for a first kiss. It had been nice though, although she really didn't have any butterflies in her stomach for her pale friend. And he'd passed out in her lap immediately afterwards.

Despite herself, she let out a strangled laugh that was partly a sob. It turned into a drawn out groan. Pine green popped and flashed to life, bobbing behind against her eyelids.

<"T'aint so bad s'all that."> His attempt at consoling was so far off the mark it was laughable, and when her head snapped to him, sunshine eyes piercing through her hair, his own face turned away, unable to look her in the eyes.

"Liar!" She was condemning, confrontational, and he nodded, still without looking at her. The twist of his body agreed with her, and he hunched miserably too. A cold wind struck up, battering at them both, taking both of their hairs to flail about in its grasp.

Another sob bubbled up her throat and burst from her lips.

"Baise ma vie...." She swore.

Bad habits, bad habits, and she had hung around with him and Wayne far too much to still be a naive little princess.

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