#r.amelia

[polcrity]

red >>> amelia

red [ incoming call ]: Hey, so, I've got some real important business to attend to with a Miss Amelia O'Shea. Would I happen to be speaking to her?

[polcrity]

closed starter || @crimsongodss​ || red

it’s a little weird, having actual seasons instead of just that tepid humidity that follows along the equator. yeah, cuba’s nice for a little while-- but twenty years? you miss the snow, the way your breath clouds around you when you exhale, the shiver in your bones that you can’t escape no matter how many layers you pile on. red may have arrived a little too late for the snow, but he welcomes the noontime run radiating through the flimsy jacket he picked up from a goodwill the day he touched down.

the sight of the pier feels like a long lost dream-- a sight only remembered with the help of his other senses: the smell of the water ( it’s a distinct one, with the gallons of green dye mixing in ), the sound of the hustle and bustle, the cold wind brushing straight through him. the taste on his tongue is the iron taste of nervousness-- or perhaps the blood still seeping from his chewed lower lip-- and cigarette smoke. 

it’s noon on the dot, and all that ol’ red can wonder is if the sound of approaching footsteps should calm him.