Send ‘!!’ and I’ll write a para description of your muse from mine’s perspective. In the words of Ojene: Elijah-swivin'-Braddock
Under her breath, Ojene growls. Against her desk, her fingers beat a quick tattoo. It’s a heavy sigh she breathes, a deep reluctance, as her thoughts spread to the sort of man she’d rather not think about.
“Elijah Braddock,” she hums. “Yes, he’s a fairly distinctive sort of man. Always wears these damn shades. They’re probably nice to hide behind- doesn’t let anyone see his eyes. If it were up to me, he’d be rotting six feet under, and the sodding glasses would be rotting in the trash.”
“But,” she tips a hand outward, a curt sort of motion, “these things are not up to me. Which is probably for the best. I am not a forgiving sort of soul. It’s possible I was wrong. I’ll admit that. A man is capable of turning a leaf, I suppose…. And my impressions of the man are colored by our manner of meeting, and the circumstances of that I’ve come to realize… might not have been as truthful as I once believed.”
But after a tic, Ojene shrugs. “The man’s still a murderer. And any act he took to protect his own, well- he’d justify it to the end. No matter the repercussions. No matter how many got hurt. No matter if all he had to do was turn to someone else instead of leaving a trail of carnage in his wake.”
Through twisted lips, she grimaces, the faint marks age left on her brows bunching deep. But there’s a deliberate moment, a drawn pause, and as she straightens her spine, the crevasses are smoothed back, like an iron taken to a skein of permanently crimped cloth.
“He’s not my responsibility anymore. That’s my choice. With any luck he’ll be as useful as he says- or he’ll find himself an early grave. Or both.”
The smile that overtook her was far from pleasant.
“I’d be content with both.”
@elibraddock
