🌚 to run into my character walking home from either event
@tabithateivel
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ *ೃ༄
Despite the crisp air, Cecil had removed the suffocating suit jacket & tie that had been in a noose ‘round his neck, flinging them haphazardly over an arm as he strode down the side-street back towards the way he’d came, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up & the carefully hidden scratches from rose thorns now visible in a map of twisting, faint lines across his forearms. Upon taking a look at him, one wouldn’t be able to guess he’d be leaving the cheery ceremony of a wedding between lovers, an event for all the town to celebrate & enjoy. Cecil wore an expression of perpetual concern, wrinkles etched along his eyes and streaks of moonlight in his hair that gave way to an older age than the man truly carried. Even Whit Gatlin’s contagious smile hadn’t managed to do much for the frown lines tugging at the corners of his lips, and it was only when coming across a plant almost near it’s deathbed that Cecil seemed to blink out of a trance of deep thought.
Stooping, he cupped the leaves, browning along the edges and furling sickly inwards, and studied the poor little thing; lack of water, too harsh of sunlight, shallow roots... it’s ailments seemed to be endless for the unlucky hydrangea. Cecil wondered why it chosen there, just adjacent the beaten little path, to spring from the Earth and turn it’s pretty petals skywards. He could cure her, he know - a whisper of a wish, a lick to his fingers, and viola. But where was the fun in that? Instead, he plunged his hands to the ground, scraping carefully to get the full bunch of malnourished roots, and lifted the plant & all into his cupped hands, caring not for the spewing dirt that now fell on his Sunday best dress, staining the white iron-pressed blouse & speckling across his suit blazer. It was then, and only then, did he notice another figure along the otherwise forgotten little path, and he blinked towards her as if caught red-handed in a suspicious moment. “Good evening,” He finally greeted, the words coming out halted, as if he weren’t sure it was right to say anything at all, stood there off the road now dripping the Earth with roots hanging half-lifeless between fingers and his tie slipping from his grip, threatening to brush the grass below.
