05-14-2008, 02:26 AM
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Words cannot describe how much I suck. :|
________He had a friendly air to him, with a smile upon approach and no more than a batted eyelid as she plopped down next to him. An easy smile and the sharpened eye-corners of a worn in impish interest were her simplified reply, even as he brought up what could have been a touchy subject. Her smile only broadened, a little tired and relieved, but not so phased as it maybe should have been, and she nodded. The wolves of her homeland were hearty bunch, and her slow discovery of the menagerie of familiar strangers' scents confirmed it. The packs were scattered, broken entirely perhaps, but the individuals held true. It was an easy train of thought, light and certain, and very abruptly thrown for a loop (more like a damn tornado) upon the next easy comment.
________Her friendly, contented face fell away with a thud and left a wide-eyed, shell shocked stare in its place. It had been some time since she had heard her father's name, and never in such a context. She found herself choking on her own dried throat as Sedition drew the genetic line between the two, and ever-so daintily, Poe slapped a hand over her mouth to block her hacking from splattering on the grayed male's face.
________"Uh," she strained, cleared her throat and laughed without purpose or aim. "Yeah. No. Not technically," she found herself saying before her thoughts caught up with her tongue, dodging around her graceless reaction. "He was my father. Genetically speaking," she explained with a thick swallow, shuffling her weight with a discomfort that she was not used to. Poe could slip and slide herself through most conversations, or even situations to her own degree of self-assured dignity, but to suddenly find a crack in a door that she had stared at, closed, for the entirety of her life had her off guard and feeling suddenly and deeply childish. She lifted a hand and brushed it absently up the back of her neck and along her hair, down the underside of her bushy ponytail that she tugged and twirled momentarily, immaturely. "Why do you ask?" It was a courtesy question, and it came out sounding just so. The indulgent questions were battling it out on the butterfly-steeds in her stomach, for the chance to launch themselves off of her tongue in its place.
________He had a friendly air to him, with a smile upon approach and no more than a batted eyelid as she plopped down next to him. An easy smile and the sharpened eye-corners of a worn in impish interest were her simplified reply, even as he brought up what could have been a touchy subject. Her smile only broadened, a little tired and relieved, but not so phased as it maybe should have been, and she nodded. The wolves of her homeland were hearty bunch, and her slow discovery of the menagerie of familiar strangers' scents confirmed it. The packs were scattered, broken entirely perhaps, but the individuals held true. It was an easy train of thought, light and certain, and very abruptly thrown for a loop (more like a damn tornado) upon the next easy comment.
________Her friendly, contented face fell away with a thud and left a wide-eyed, shell shocked stare in its place. It had been some time since she had heard her father's name, and never in such a context. She found herself choking on her own dried throat as Sedition drew the genetic line between the two, and ever-so daintily, Poe slapped a hand over her mouth to block her hacking from splattering on the grayed male's face.
________"Uh," she strained, cleared her throat and laughed without purpose or aim. "Yeah. No. Not technically," she found herself saying before her thoughts caught up with her tongue, dodging around her graceless reaction. "He was my father. Genetically speaking," she explained with a thick swallow, shuffling her weight with a discomfort that she was not used to. Poe could slip and slide herself through most conversations, or even situations to her own degree of self-assured dignity, but to suddenly find a crack in a door that she had stared at, closed, for the entirety of her life had her off guard and feeling suddenly and deeply childish. She lifted a hand and brushed it absently up the back of her neck and along her hair, down the underside of her bushy ponytail that she tugged and twirled momentarily, immaturely. "Why do you ask?" It was a courtesy question, and it came out sounding just so. The indulgent questions were battling it out on the butterfly-steeds in her stomach, for the chance to launch themselves off of her tongue in its place.