[ He moves when he is called to, a fluid tangle of lean muscle and sap-heavy hair that rolls to his knees and braces the splay of his fingers against the dirt. A crouched position, perched on his toes like someone ready to take off — but, it is also a position that allows him to rock onto his toes and balance his elbows across his knees. More casual, than instinctively ready to slip into a battle dance.
The woman who alerted him with her strong thrashing, her jubilant cussing, has bright eyes and one horn and his heart constricts around a name — Effron — before slipping it aside to regard her. Violet eyes and a fleeting, quiet smile that flitted away like fae fire but never truly left his gaze. ]
None the worst for wear and surrounded by a beautiful sight. I'm awfully sticky, though.
[ What can he say? Joy was an infection not to be medicated against. ]
no subject
The woman who alerted him with her strong thrashing, her jubilant cussing, has bright eyes and one horn and his heart constricts around a name — Effron — before slipping it aside to regard her. Violet eyes and a fleeting, quiet smile that flitted away like fae fire but never truly left his gaze. ]
None the worst for wear and surrounded by a beautiful sight. I'm awfully sticky, though.
[ What can he say? Joy was an infection not to be medicated against. ]