time is so vicious

Jefferson Soul · 05-10-2011, 09:48 PM

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Alaine!

Even on the Shattered Coast, in all its ragged tranquility, it poured an incessant downfall upon him.

He would not go as far as to say it matched the storm in his heart, the whirlwind in his mind — no, he was not that poetic, not that sentimental. Jefferson blurred his anxieties with numbness, pushed his worries to the back of his consciousness as if they would simply fade into the darkness and never resurface, but such logic had never worked before. He was a man of terror, both external and internal. Never did his anxieties cease, for his family, for his pack, for those around him. Never would his fears for Geneva simply subside, as if they meant absolutely nothing, as if they had no worth. Where had she gone? Why had she left him behind, as if someone else could break through his walls as she? Did she not understand that no one else had, or might ever, come to embrace him?

No, that was the way it was supposed to be. He was a man of terror, after all, a scarred monster of pain and torment. The rushing waves pulled and pushed at his body, seated cross-legged at its edge, the foam caressing his muscles, his scars just as she had, but with an unfamiliar frigid touch he unconsciously grew numb against. Still the rain poured, showering from a dark, overcast sky as it had most of the day, and yet the male had ventured out and not returned nonetheless. Perhaps he needed that numbness, that freedom from the Valley. A chance to forget the memories that lurked there, or the pictures of her face in his mind, or the flashing images that relived the axe swinging down, watching bone disconnect from bone, watching red as his arm suddenly left him as well.

The wet, soggy sleeve pushed with the ocean as it brushed up against and around him, then pulled as it slipped away. It twitched some in the breeze, limp and listless, but he paid no mind. The storm in his mind threatened once more, but he thought back of earlier days, when the Valley knew peace and comfort, when Iskata had ruled and none had been his responsibility. Of a time when his now severed arm had been his 'good' one, and the 'bad' arm had been safely locked away in a sling across his chest; now all that remained was the scarred, morbid thing, hanging at his other side, as limp as its partner's empty sleeve.

And all he knew, all he forced himself to knew then, was the rain.

Alaine Winters · 05-10-2011, 11:17 PM

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<33

Water beaded on the woman's red leather cloak, dripping morosely from the hood that covered her face in shadow. She rode with ease, swaying rhythmically on the broad-backed mare that plodded in docile grace beneath her. In spite of the onslaught of rain, both creatures seemed efficiently at ease in each other's company, slipping like wraiths amongst the scattering of trees.

They were nearing the ocean, and beneath the heavy scent of fresh rain Alaine could detect the salty tang of freedom that called to her so mercilessly. She was a creature drawn constantly to the ocean - Reassured by its might and its omnipotent, everlasting power. Her people had come from the ocean, and the spiritual paganistic soul within her found the essence of her homelands and her deities within the constant breaching and ebbing of the tide.

Dry beneath her oiled dull-red cloak, the woman remained unchilled by the gently moaning ocean wind. The rain was mild in temperature, but the ocean would be a frigid mistress, stubbornly clinging to the bite of a winter now passed. The cold months had provided for the Winters woman, her blood named for its frozen tongue. Dea had given her the warmth of a man, and three children. But they were fleeting and they were wrong, chemically unbalanced in a way not even the Apothecary's skilled fingers could heal. She loved them dearly, but was wounded by the failure of her fertility, and the monstrosity it could have created.

Pines thinned, and her beloved ocean came to view. Pulling the snorting mare to a halt, the woman's sharp emerald eyes found instantly the blemish on the smooth, unbroken beach - A figure donned in drenched white, sitting listless in the shallows. Her heart clutched painfully, and with a sharp jab of her heels into round haunches, she spurred the mare forward. The horse shied at the sensation of wet sand beneath her massive hooves, and pranced sideways uneasily. Without waiting for the beast to come to a complete stop, the woman slid from her saddle and stumbled as she landed, gaining her feet to run the last few steps toward the man she was now sure she knew.

The rain was loud, but her voice sounded above it, ringing with a mixture of shock and concern. "Jefferson!" He must be delusional, wounded, perhaps even hypothermic to remain sitting out here in the cold wind and rain and water. The hood fell back from the woman's head, releasing her unruly tangle of auburn curls, which were quick to become drenched. Beads of water clung to her eyelashes, temporarily obscuring emerald eyes. "What on earth are you doing? Come with me, now... Come, get out of the water-" She reached for him, but hesitated, hand hovering gingerly. Perhaps he had gone mad.

Jefferson Soul · 05-10-2011, 11:35 PM

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He did not belong there, among the flawless beauty of the ocean or in the gentle fall of the washing rain; neither would cleanse him of his sins nor dash away his scars from existence. The foam wriggling between his toes, he gazed into his one-eyed, mauled mirror and recalled days long past, when he stared at an ocean with Geneva alongside him. She had interrupted him then, just as she had so many times before, just as he contemplated the grip of death through sea-filled lungs; she had stopped him, splayed such thoughts from his mind, and from there broke through his fortress. Invaded his privacy. Taught him to love.

But she was gone, with all remnants of his love in her pocket.

He should have ended it then, Jefferson decided. She would have been spared the torment of miscarriage. Pripyat would never have lived with the guilt he did, knowing his father had lost a limb for his sake, though it had been willing and with no regrets. Phoenix Valley might have broken without his leadership, but those within it would have found their way to better and safer places. None deserved to fall beneath his gaze, beneath the piercing eye of a sinner, a man scarred by more than just the gashes in his skin.

He breathed suddenly, her voice breaking through the stormcloud he had unknowingly allowed through to his thoughts. At first the cyclops spun, wide-eyed, believing the voice to be true — but it was not. Alaine hovered over him, not the olive-eyed mother of his dead children; while he did not mind her presence, the Patriarch sunk into his shoulders and turned back to the ocean, unmoving from the sea and foam in which he rested. "Leave me alone," he muttered, a pause breaking before a sigh escaped his lips. "Please, Alaine."

Alaine Winters · 05-10-2011, 11:55 PM

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The cyclops turned to her, and for a moment Alaine was horrified by the strange hollowness of his eyes. Such a wave of disappointment that Jefferson had experienced could not entirely be hidden, not even by the masters of deception, and the Apothecary was more able than most to tune in to such chords of the mind and the soul. Jefferson was sick - She had always known him to be. But his was not a wound of the flesh, but of the man within, something no bandage or poultice could ease. Again, it tore at her heart, as perhaps it always would, that he was unable to be given the relief he sought by her hand.

She knew, almost at once after seeing his expression, that something horrible had happened. There was a dead weight to the Soul man's voice that had not been there before, and it chilled her were the cold rain and icy ocean could not. "I can't do that," Her voice sounded sterner now, and again she reached for him, and this time elegant ivory fingers would find purchase on the sodden white material that covered his shoulder, if Jefferson would allow it. "You know I can't. Come with me now, Jefferson. Let me help you," It was a request she had made of him once before - Then, he had been a prideful creature, in spite of his self-loathing, and her help had been discarded.

The Celtic woman crouched to her knees, beside him in the shallows. The icy water chilled her instantly, and Jefferson was not emanating as much warmth as a wolf his size should have. "Please," This time her voice was a mere whisper above the pelting rain. "Please, let me help you."

In the mist of rain and the strange fear building within her, the Apothecary had not noticed his missing limb; But now, as her emerald eyes grazed him, she did. A sharp inhalation sucked air through her clenched teeth, pupils dilating in momentary horror. Jefferson Soul had been ravaged by fate since she had last known him. A strange determination fueled her, warming the woman deep in her stomach, as ivy eyes moved again to meet the man's solitary orb. She would stay with him in the rain until he relented, even if it chilled her to the bone.

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Jefferson Soul · 05-11-2011, 12:16 AM

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She asked him — no, begged him to give in, as if his life depended on it. What crimes had he committed, admitting himself to the sea and rain? The only offenses he had made were those of past moons, of distant days: allowing Geneva to leave him to die, allowing himself not to. He was no father, no role model for Pripyat, and under his guidance the boy would surely grow to be as great a monster as he. Jefferson would not allow it to let the blood and stink of the murderous father blossom like life in his son's heart and chest, but what fate determined for Pripyat was inevitable. He would not be his father, no, but without Geneva he would not be his mother either. Jefferson had damned him simply by siring him. The boy had survived his siblings' miscarriage, and yet he was as damned as all the rest.

No amount of her pleading and desperate arguments budged him; he remained stiff, stolid like stone buried in sea and sand. She lay her fingers at his shoulder, a touch so delicate and pure that surely his monstrous skin should have burned like acid. A slight flinch met his eye as visions of Geneva flashed before his vision once more; they were too alike, and yet thousands of years apart. Geneva had intruded; Alaine only knocked at the door. Such knocking ceased, all too suddenly, with a slight gasp in her rabbit tone. He knew what it meant, what she had seen, and with a closed eye he bowed his head. Still the empty cuff of his sleeve drifted in the sea, tainted with salt, and a healer like she would never overlook such a thing. Jefferson only wished she would, if not just this one time.

"There's nothing you can do," he said, gravel in his otherwise unfeeling tone. "There's nothing you've ever been able to do for me, Alaine." I am a sinner.

A great sigh, and with the wind picking up at the waved ponytail on his shoulders, he closed his eye once more, succumbing to the visions of terror and trauma embedded in the flesh and bone of his mind. "Go home."

Alaine Winters · 05-11-2011, 10:46 AM

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The scarred man's head bowed away from her gaze, and no longer did he seem the pillar of mystery he had always been - Jefferson was now simply a mortal man, defeated by the hand that fate had held for him. This scared her far deeper than any gruesomely bleeding wound might, for Alaine had known the pull of desperation with the intimacy of a lover, once. It had drawn her to this very ocean, and begged her into the cold quiet depths, there to remain with auburn hair waving like the most beautiful of seaweed.

But she had been weak, when her body had been strong - instinct had over-rode her mind, and the ocean had relented its icy hold on the woman's sweetly curved body. Her willpower had been too fragile after miscarriage to overcome her lungs' desperate cries for air. But this was where Jefferson frightened her most, for his mind was surely far stronger than hers.

The icy water swelled around her knees, which had now sunk slightly into the wet sand. It felt, for a horrible moment, that the sea was slowly trying to reclaim what had been lost to it, so long ago. His words stirred the poison within her, and the woman turned her gaze to the choppy grey water beyond. Her elegant ivory hands, small and skillful, curled into fists. "Liar," This time, there was a bite to the woman's tone. Her emerald eyes returned to the cyclops, but they were hardened by her own emotion. "Don't pretend that I am nothing. Don't believe that I can be ordered home by you," Perhaps, she could rouse him to anger, and find a way out of the despaired hollowness that had stolen away the man she had once considered a valuable friend.

They had met infrequently, but enough - Enough for her to know some of the working of his mind. In spite of his negativity, Jefferson was a generally noble man. He had mocked her once for her innocence and her apparent youth - Just a girl she'd been. No longer. Without touching him, she settled into the sand beside the man, and began to shiver. Her silky pelt was not as thick as his, and the icy water would numb and freeze her much quicker. "My freedom is mine, and I will help whomever I choose. I will sit with you here until you agree to move, and perhaps by the time we have frozen together you will see sense." Her tone, usually so fluid and melodic, had taken on the hard edge of a woman pushed to mulish stubbornness. Her legs had already become numb, and the chill would be quick to pervade her damp cloak.

The fat mare waiting anxiously finally decided that loyalty was not enough to brave such unfavorable elements, and with a snort of derision, she retreated to the relative shelter of the treeline, leaving the two silhouettes alone on the empty stretch of beach.

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Jefferson Soul · 05-11-2011, 01:48 PM

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A little PP, meant to be a little humorous so I did it. You can PP him putting her down if you want, else he'll just keep carrying her. XD

"Liar"? No, he was far more than that. He was the wall that protected Phoenix Valley, the unmoving titan so many stupid idolized and adored: They knew nothing about him, about the demon that inevitably still lurked within. Maluki was not dispelled, was not a separate being as much as Jefferson had always thought him to be, but it was not Maluki that had allowed Geneva to leave and die alone. It was not Maluki that brought her to fall from the quarry and miscarry three pups. It was not Maluki that had killed Aurélie Vie D'Esprit in front of the three children he himself had unknowingly sired as that crooked man. Jefferson was as much the criminal, and "liar" was the least of his crimes.

She scolded him. He did not flinch, did not seem like it meant something, but his stomach wrenched and his shoulders sunk. In his listlessness he failed another, just as he failed Geneva, or Pripyat, or the Valley back home, and yet he found himself incapable of fixing it. "No," he sighed. "You can't be. I have no power over you."

Finally, Alaine plopped down into the sea and sand like he, and in a matter of moments developed a frigid tremor. It was then that he turned a sympathetic gaze to her; it was a pain he could spare her, if only he gathered the usual forced strength. He allowed her a moment of hard-headedness, then with a sigh twisted his body, moving to wrap his sole arm around her waist, and in raising to his feet lifted her from the water and effortlessly over his shoulder. A drag in his step, he proceeded as such — the wilted flower draped unceremoniously over his shoulder — and with the beginnings of a sad smile at his lips stepped from the waves and up the sand, leaving a trail of sea and salt in his wake.

Alaine Winters · 05-17-2011, 09:34 AM

[html]I hope this pp is okay x: <3
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For a moment, they sat in a dismal silence broken only by the constant drumming of the rain. Jefferson's voice, deep and lonesome, swelled above the orchestra of water and reached her shivering form. Emerald eyes lifted momentary to him, as her trembling knees sank into the dense sand, and some of her anger ebbed away in the face of his painful solitude.

But then a strong arm encircled her slender waist, and it was warm against her cold flesh, pulling her toward him. With a gasp of surprise, the Apothecary found herself hefted over one broad shoulder, the air knocked from her lungs by the movement. Breathlessly, she let out a sharp sound of disapproval, slender ivory hands slipping over his muscles back in an effort to right herself. It was no use - The cyclops seemed determined to carry her from the frigid water. "Jefferson!" She yelped, utterly mortified by the situation. Her yelling seemed to gain no reaction over the cacophony of the rain and the ocean, and so she shouted again, but the man continued to carry her.

With a furious expression lighting flames within eyes of pure shamrock green, she finally gave up, allowing her trembling body to lay limp over his surprisingly strong frame. The woman's beautiful auburn ringlets now clung to her face, damp and loose and in disarray from being tossed in such a way. It felt strange, to be hoisted so effortlessly, and it made her cross that he was so easily able to make her decisions void. However, her plan had, in some roundabout way, worked - No longer did the amputee sit stewing in his own darkness. Not while she was around.

When they reached the relative shelter of the treeline, she beat an angry fist lightly against his shoulderblades, and the man finally let her down. Her feet touched the ground lightly, but her legs were still numb, and losing her balance she tumbled back against the dark Alpha, using him as a momentary pillar of balance.

Then, a surprising sound welled forth - The noise of her own laughter, clear and light as bells. Anger melted away in hindsight of how ridiculous they had both been, her stubbornness and his bluntness. "You are a fool," The laughter spilled from her merrily, and as she laughed at them both, slight tears welled like crystal beads within her dancing eyes.

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Jefferson Soul · 05-25-2011, 12:08 AM

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Even as he walked with a drag in his step, an upturn lingered at the edge of his lips — however subtle and hidden as it was beneath the shadows of his face. She made quite a bit of noise, much more than he thought her capable of, and yet all the while Jefferson remained completely silent, save an approving snort of the nose as he went; she resorted to pounding on his back and flailing about for a while to no particular avail, a victim to his brute muscle and stubbornness alike, like the most harmless of hares arguing against a bullheaded bear twice its size. It seemed at first she did quite disapprove — he shrugged it off, as she knew she was in no actual danger, made more obvious by the time he finally set her down.

At her gentle, youthful laughter he himself shook his head and chuckled, an unusual sight for such a scarred and sinful creature. A fool he was, and a fool he had always been; a killer was no more than a fool misguided, but such thoughts did not linger. The scarred man observed the tears in her eyes — joyful ones, the kind he did not commonly spur. Was it only the rain? I don't deserve that laugh, the monster in his mind hissed and spat. He laughed still, over it, its sound progressively growing hollowed as it continued on, and at its emptiest he finally allowed it to cease.

Reaching his remaining hand to wipe at her tears with scarred fingers, he forged a sad, slight smile. "Alaine," the cyclops sighed, "you can't fix me. I'm not an open wound or a broken arm. Your herbs and medicine can't just heal what I've done... what I've become." A pause, his arm dropping back to his side. "You're not nothing. I'm just not 'fixable,' I'm not 'broken' — you can't help me ... and it's all right."

Alaine Winters · 05-25-2011, 09:27 AM

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The sweet swell of her laughter was met with his own, such a rare and precious sound. Bewildered for a moment, the woman gazed up into Jefferson's good eye, her own laughter-filled emeralds still brimming with unshed tears. The sound of merriness melted from her as the scarred man rose his fingers to brush these unfallen crystals gently away - The touch seemed almost tender, and she felt strange in his arms, as though there were unsaid words between them.

He spoke again, and she listened this time, really listened. The woman's shamrock green remained fixated on the male's face, although her jovial smile had since faded. For a moment, the lovely Apothecary looked tired, so very tired. Her slender shoulders seemed weighted by his words. The distance opened up between them again as he withdrew his arm, and she felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the bitter weather.

A silence fell, and it seemed for a minute that the faded beauty would turn from him. She did not. "I forget sometimes, that you are not like the others." Accented voice was quiet, solemn, and her gaze dipped down now, down to her feet as though looking at him might provoke something more. Ivory hands folded like doves into one another, twisting restlessly to show her upset nature. "Its just that every time I find you, you've fallen a little more apart at the seams," She smiled, but it was wry, and faint upon sweet maw as she joked humorlessly about his missing limb. The smile grew slightly, fake, as her eyes dared to flash back up to him. "And I think, well! I'll just stitch him right back together again!" Because she knew she wasn't fooling him with her false bravado, the slender colliewoman's gaze dropped once more and she shrugged one shoulder listlessly. "Maybe I am selfish. Maybe I worry that one day, when I come looking for you, there... There will be nothing left to find, that you will have fallen all apart, and I will have nothing to stitch." It felt like a weak and foolish admittal, but she had the strong and irrational urge to leap at him, hug him tightly like a scared child might.

She may not have seen him frequently, but Jefferson was a building block of her world, and she couldn't seem to imagine an existence in this land without him.

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Jefferson Soul · 05-27-2011, 06:49 PM

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Was it that he was unlike the others, or was it only that he was unlike her?

She, like Geneva, had drawn herself in his gaze as a perfect picture of innocence, the quintessence of purity and all that was good — or, in other words, the scarred man's opposite: She, a blossoming youth in her curves and curls, versus he, worn with battle scars and years upon years of physical neglect. Jefferson had built himself up as a wall, immovable and unbreakable, but with predictable cracks within that persistent individuals like Geneva had managed to poke herself through. Jefferson recognized Alaine as a similar threat — and treated her as such, though doing so brought a rare weight of regret and deceit to his already-burdened shoulders.

Despite their differences and despite their still-faint knowledge of one another, she worried for him — and for some reason, he worried for her. She had been the first he'd thought of when his arm had become disconnected and burnt with infection, and yet the man had never mustered the courage to approach her pack, instead choosing to endure the pain and recover slowly through brute effort. A sigh — doing so had only given her more reason to worry.

"Alaine," he said, shrugging feebly as he turned his gaze to the distance, "you would lose nothing if I were to die." He breathed a moment, then turned his single eye to her once more, lightening his stiff expression with a smile as desolate as the pouring rain. "My days are numbered. There's nothing you can do about that except remember me when I'm gone."

Alaine Winters · 06-07-2011, 11:00 PM

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Her words seemed only to sadden him - She could sit the emotion hidden there, in the deep shadows of his face. Jefferson would have been handsome once, in his youth, but time had ravaged him as it had her. She knew what the cyclops believed her to be - Purity and youth, fragile innocence - But how could she be any of these things? The world had been cruel to Alaine Winters. Her youth and beauty and innocence had been stolen from her a long, long time ago. All that remained now was the truth of the woman beneath, a creature that survived, that healed others in a desperate attempt to heal herself.

She was drawn to him. Perhaps she'd always been drawn to him, since that first time they met, when the rain fell in miserable lament much like it did now. She had been a simpler creature then, heartache and scars freshly buried in the hope that had come with this new life. But so, too, had she been afraid - Always afraid. The choking fear came back sometimes, overwhelming, starving her of air and reason. A panic attack without warning, without heed. Alaine felt, in the deep dark recesses of her own being, that panic begin to rise again as Jefferson spoke of his own mortality.

"You shouldn't speak such things," Beautiful accented tone was merely a whisper, but the terror filled her eyes, pupils engorged in the sharp green as though to soak him in and preserve him forever. Perhaps she wanted reassurance - But it was too late for that now. They both new the truth in his voice. Her lip trembled, as the rain continued to plaster auburn curls to her exotic, creamy face. She trembled, a mixture of the cold and the terrible worry that gnawed relentlessly at her insides. "There is hope for us all. There is always hope." Lugh, the deathgod of her pagan past, cackled deeply within Alaine. Death was his domain, as was all absence of hope. Wanting to be calmed, warmed, the shivering woman moved to rest a cool ivory palm against the scars of his severed limb.

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Jefferson Soul · 06-11-2011, 01:36 PM

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Had he ever been worth the tears of an innocent? No, and yet he had caused so many to shed; green eye glanced at her only briefly as she filled with a suppressed terror, made evident in her tone and trembling of her lip. In her eyes he recognized a thousand victims, inflicted with pain he — Maluki — had once wrought upon them without reason or need. He had already ruined so many lives and lived his life in repentance, though Jefferson knew he could never even begin to compensate for the crimes he had committed in his past life. They were not his fault, most might tell him, but he was the same creature who had caused them. That was enough reason for him.

And yet here he was, a new man unhindered by insanity as Maluki had been. He had no excuse for making the gentle woman tremble with pain, and yet she did so anyway. Guilt twisted in his stomach, and a heavy, weary sigh escaped his lips — not for exhaustion, but for worry and sadness. He shifted some, collecting the girl within his reach, wrapping his solitary arm around her and drawing her close into a rarely affectionate side embrace. His head bowed and eye closed, but he relished her close; Geneva had left he and Pripyat long before. Jefferson inevitably knew a loneliness he had not experienced even during his duration as a loner years prior; he ached for some sort of recognition, acknowledgement that he was still worth the positive emotions of another, and yet he knew he would never again. She was gone, most likely for good. He was alone.

"Maybe," he mumbled, though in his heart he believed it a lie. He was not able to be saved; he was not worth saving. What hope there was for him would be lived out in compensation for his sins, and it would never be enough. Perhaps she was a fool for risking her innocence playing around with a sinner like he — at this realization, the man winced bitterly and heaved a great, unexplained sigh. "You waste your emotions on me," he said a moment later, with a light but empty chuckle. "Don't tear up for my sake. If I don't have to, neither do you." His hand raised, tucking behind her head to hold her close; he knew she would probably argue and push away, and yet he did not resist doing it. To keep someone — anyone — close reminded him he was still alive. For it to be Alaine, he felt perhaps he was worth something as well.

Alaine Winters · 06-26-2011, 09:55 PM

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For a while, he spoke no words - The man's remaining arm slipped about her slender form, and Alaine allowed herself to be drawn close, seeking the warmth and reassurance that Jefferson could provide. Her hands rose to rest cool palms against his chest, and without thinking about it, she leant her head against him. His heart beat soundly there, and the Apothecary found its continuous pulse reassurance. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump...

He spoke again, voice rumbling up through his body, and the exotic woman scowled into the fur of his chest. She would voice her denial until the day they both died - Jefferson Soul meant more to her than she would like to know. Once, they had spoken of the devil known to him as Maluki, of the sins that creature had committed. And she had forgiven him for them; A victim of the atrocities thus committed, she had finally been able to spare him her misery, and in doing so, release some of it. It had been easier after that, to forget the past, to forget what was carved in four neat scars into the flesh of her upper arm. That discussion with him, it had felt a little bit like healing, from the inside out.

This one, however, hinted at darker things. He sighed heavily, and she lifted her head, unwilling to meet the Cyclops' gaze as he spoke and made light of her worry. "I waste nothing." Came the stubborn reply, almost petulant in voice, a blatant denial of his sentiments. However, his hand rose behind her head to cradle her close. Although surprise jittered through her veins, Alaine did not resist. A strange warmth bloomed in her for such closeness, and an inexplicable sense of loss stole through her. It was though she was being allowed a sample of something she might have had - In another life, for this one mocked such childish sentiments.

Feeling confused, a potent mixture of warring emotions bubbling within her, the woman tipped her head back to give the one-eyes man a gentle lick on the nose. She wished to show her affection, and this seemed a simple enough manner.

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Jefferson Soul · 07-01-2011, 07:01 PM

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She was as stubborn as he, this Jefferson knew to be true. Though not disgraced by a scowl and a thousand scars as he, she was not the delicate flower she so gently acted to be time again. As always, she proved herself predictable and unpredictable all at once, and yet the hybrid did not find surprise in such a thing any longer. He had gotten used to her, perhaps, learned the ways in the daylily that was Alaine Winters, whose very name claimed a frostiness that fitted he more than it would ever she.

His efforts were perhaps more wasted in trying to discourage her, and at her next quiet argument he simply sighed and held her close. A sigh escaping his all-too-weary features, the man leaned his head on hers and gazed listlessly into the rain. His ears only collected the shower around them and the gentle breaths that escaped her, united with his own: a strangely raw, gentle moment rare for the scarred man, yet... natural, in feeling. The man lost himself to his thoughts, silently perplexed by their odd relationship, and as if sensing his confusion she reached and licked at his nose. He was no less puzzled, but with a surprised glance he lowered his green-eyed cyclops gaze to her once more, and with a few moments' time a small smile cracked his scarred, grizzly features.

It was short-lived, however. No, Maluki's voice hissed amusedly in the back of his mind, don't get involved. Never again, remember?

"Come," he said dismissively, disappointment lingering in the undertones, "I'll walk you home." He started to rise, pulling back from her all too quickly, and extended his one remaining hand to her to aid in her doing the same.

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