saturated.
juno is a territorial little creature. a fervent thing that grasps after the few things she holds dear. she builds herself a sanctuary in the forest, in the quiet of it, in the serenity. she thus, ever so slightly and fully irrationally, cannot help but find a certain annoyance in the trespassing the crowds do now. meandering from the designated paths and trampling flat footed over saplings and clover, bushes and undergrowth. they stumble over roots and scratch at bark. she catches a couple carving their names into the trunk of a tree and brings down on them an unholy, half-drunk wrath, pockets the knife when it drops to the ground as they scramble away frantic, shouting claims of “crazy bitch” back over their shoulders.
she hardly bothers to correct them. perhaps she is. the weight of the pocket knife is almost a comfort in her pocket, a quiet assurance. she reads too much into things, she knows that. into the meaning of objects, of plants, of talismans and treasures. she reads too much into people, too. people like seolbi. she sees her from a distance, raven hair spilling in long tousled waves, diminutive height. from a distance they could look similar, almost, but where juno remains sickly and waiflike, seolbi is refined and elegant, a graceful loveliness that speaks to poise. juno still stumbles through the world like a colt on uneven footing, but seolbi glides grandly through life as if unbothered, inured to every whisper or rumor.
she had met her in the forest.
watched the dark haired girl bent over a patch of earth, upending it with the swift work of a trowel, and being the faithful park employee that she was, she had stomped over to the girl and begun to tell her off, resoundingly, intently, all focused indignation given to her by occupation and advocacy for the earth. and seolbi had just smiled at her, that mysterious little smile, that quiet little expression.
and the next thing she’d known she’d had her against a tree. and fingers had wandered and hands had grasped and god she’d -
well, anyway.
she approaches, a warmth quiet in her eyes as she reaches for the other’s hand, twists their fingers together and squeezes lightly, before she releases. “fancy seeing you here,” she laughs, cocks one hip and takes another drink, nose scrunching up a little. “tastes kinda funny, doesn’t it?” she notes, seemingly unbothered as she takes another sip. “are you having fun?” she notes, leans a little closer. wants to kiss her. “don’t suppose you need anything from me? you know, you could at least make up some demands as an excuse to see me.” she’s made a side business of it, providing potions, or ingredients, supplies and this and that, to those who know to ask for it.
@paseolbi midsummer festival