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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. |
I was reading a ton of old posts and so my writing style got weird. >>;
But here ya go! +470
Vesper had never really needed anyone before.
She was a loner born of a loner, a creature who offered love to those who needed love, who grieved when they were gone but didn’t lose her soul because of it. She’d always spat at those who gave their full devotion to another canine and left themselves vulnerable and open when that canine inevitably betrayed their trust. She was solitary, and she was strong.
And now, she was a little bit scared.
The scarred woman scratched at the back of her head, tousling her short, messy mane. It was a nervous tic, one that she noticed as soon as it occurred, dropping her hand again. The other collapsed something to her dappled, pale chest, dark cord looping out of the gaps between her fingers. She shifted her weight to one side then the other, but she didn’t know how she was supposed to stand; she always over thought these things when she didn’t have two additional legs to bear the weight.
After a moment, she sighed, knowing she could never ready herself. All this was was an apology, and it was rare enough that she gave those. Her sister came to mind, but she’d still never truly forgiven her sister and didn’t expect Sparrow to forgive her—but they were family, whatever that meant, and she had learned from the Lykois that family would always come together again.
But Vesper was not a Lykoi, like the woman she thought of now, and so there were no guarantees. She could apologize for being an asshole, and Myrika didn’t have to forgive her. Well, she might feel obligated to, but words meant nothing, and maybe the damage she’d done to their newfound relationship was too much to fix. Something would change tonight, but she knew it could easily be for the worst.
She pulled her hand away from her chest and opened her fingers. The mutt had done a good job; the little wooden carving looked like it would toss its mane and gallop off with the herd if it wasn’t on its cord. She’d have to thank Asher again later, just to see his dog tail wag.
The coyote closed her hand again, looking off at the rich but fading colors of the sky. Perhaps dusk wasn’t the best time to knock on someone’s door, but she’d seen some of the falling lights, and the cheesy romantic in her hoped they might help the situation. It was impossible to stay mad at the beautiful sight. Hoping that wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass, she took ten steps and rapped her knuckles on the framework of the schoolhouse, hopefully quiet enough not to wake all of its guests.
“Myrika,” Vesper stage-whispered, clutching the carving so hard it hurt, “can we talk?”
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