01-24-2008, 12:26 AM
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Poe had a skewed instinct when it came to self-preservation. A piece of her, or what once as close as could be, pushed her onto the brink of physical destruction, and left it unclear if it also reeled back, or if that was simple luck. There were too many questions in that consideration, leaving this D’Angelo to ignore the reason, even in times of desperation. Even when she ran along coast lines, twirling with the disturbed dusts of what ifs and maybes. Perhaps like some adrenaline junkie, she had come to love destruction on some plane. Placing her hopes on the impossible and diving in. “I like stories like that,” she responded quietly, a distantly manipulated breath. She was still aware of the temperature, the tension in her muscles and the drain of water down furred legs, but her sights hung from the moon and her forethoughts on the words and ensuing imagery from her side. “Did you believe in them?” Louder now, but in the same nature. Thavardo had never been more than a rumor, mentioned once between the two a long time ago. If he looked like her, she remembered. Poe had hoped for an insight then, a point of similarity to keep the mysterious city boy from leaving. She wanted him to stay now, too, but for very different reasons. He was no longer a mirage against a setting sun; he was just the broken puzzle of Ahren, a strangely-placed friend that would walk her through the ocean.  | ||