#wariver

[92328]

from the grave, i rise — ' You’ve got that look — like you’re either about to confess something or start a fight. '

" and do you have a preference between the two? i can make either work, but l'll need to know which direction to start leaning in. " all jokes aside, in an unlikely display of quick honesty and a non-verbal explanation for the look on his face, socorro's hands would be held out between them: it wasn't quite a request, but to anyone who knew him it wasn't not a request, either -- it was an unspoken agreement. ( poor little coco & his poor little hands. ) a little too hot ? a little too cold ? a little too anything, and in the blink of an eye those damaged nerves were on high alert, the sharp burn of nerve pain enough to make any man look as though he wanted to 'confess something or start a fight.'

( and so, of course, he would seek help. warmth. a body not his own to provide comfort and a quick almost-fix. )

" gonna let me put these somewhere without throwing a fit? "

@wariver : SOCORRO.

[amidstwillows]

@wariver asked: “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” || X.

Darkness everlasting ellipses between pending crescent lids on the brink of parting of eyes nearly rolling back into his skull, fragmented images blur in tandem of waves of pain coursing through a body nearly crushed for what felt like hours since wading in a mind unconscious. He had had worse falls, yet the sheer force in combination with the bullet hole now occupying his upper left shoulder only deepening the hurt that felt so resolute in keeping him pinned to mud and gravel that cradled him.

Involuntarily he gasps for air, rasping for coolness of breeze seemingly evaded his lungs until hes forcing in breaths that had been knocked out of him so thoroughly he had simply felt as if he hadn't breathed at all. Fighting between consciousness and a spinning world, John pushes through ache with hands pressing behind his back to a sitting position propped up on their efforts of staying upright.

Realization becoming awareness in light of eyes blinking away fatigue as anxiety recalls the nature of his current state. the train speeding away as hes left for dead by men who had called him brother not more than a week ago. If family meant being abandoned over and over again, he'd be sure to return the favor after getting his family out of beaver hollow and away from Dutch for good.

She stood a torrent, eyes matching his dark gaze that had leveled to rival hers in their furrowing judgement of his place on the ground below, somewhere amidst sitting stop a horse several paces at his flank looking down her nose and expression half shaded against willows that overcast them both. However long she had been there, he hadn't the time nor energy to scrap against another person considering she had more than enough of an upper hand, and he reduced to carrion on the side of an embankment.

"Yeah... 'an you planning on finishing me off then? I ain't got any money, but I know where you can get some.", somewhere between the brain fog and lucidity sat an idea.

[92328]

sorroco. -soka probably.

if one needed to find socorro, the high road wouldn't be their best bet. with the kind of smile you would give to a gnat before swatting it out of the air he would acknowledge that to her sorroco was ( and would probably remain ) his name ; the acknowledgment just so happened to come by way of the very friendly, perhaps even affectionate, displaying of his middle finger.

[ihmissutta]

werewolf!paukka meeting vampire!sokanon. after a timeskip? :')

Something about it seemed familiar but he could not put his finger on it.

Presque vu. It was right there. So close. But… not quite. Delayed recall. Cognitive Latency. Asynchronous Recollection. Perhaps it would come to him later, like it often did, when stuck on a problem and the solution presents itself to him in the most benign of settings (like while taking a shower, or when climbing the stairs).

It was on the tip of his tongue. A sense, like so many. Hard to describe. Something halfway between tasting and hearing. There was a distance between him and the one that was seeding the air with its particles.

Usually, it was easy to feel the natural reaction of either this is nice, I want more or this should not be near me, get it away. Usually, scent was absurdly easy for him to discern. When the woods smelled like whatever was in the woods and not like where he grew up, when these were not the smells that he knew best. Like the trunk of a fallen redwood, covered in moss and slowly decaying as mushrooms dug their tendrils into its wood. There was a difference to the mushrooms whose network laced underneath his childhood home, fruiting in anything that had fallen. Pine needles, clean air, and rich dirt buried under layers of rotting leaves (redundant—the smell was all that which it was). A difference to the rotting leaves he played in as a kid.

This scent was symbolic. It was meant to mean something to him.

But what? But what? Pine and snow. Pine and snow...

—and blood and snow and salt he knew was only ever found in water. Tears. Which had not fallen between either of them but he remembers them being there, still. He remembers their scent. As he remembers the image. As he remembers her name even before he gets to see her.

Paukka began moving and followed the scent, maddeningly sure where to go.

[wasperilspast]

❝  i was sort’ve hoping you needed me.  is that selfish?  ❞

❛  𝚠𝚑𝚘'𝚜  𝚝𝚘  𝚜𝚊𝚢  𝚒  𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝?  ❜  teddy  questioned  with  a  slight  smile.  he  took  her  by  the  hand.  hoping  she'd  ignore  the  dirt  and  blood  that  stained  his  own,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  backside  of  her  palm  as  that  smile  grew  more  fondly,  not  yet  moving  to  meet  her  gaze.  ❛  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑?  𝚗𝚘...  ❜  he  spoke,  his  thumb  caressing  slowly.  back  and  forth,  over  her  hand.  ❛  𝚝𝚘  𝚋𝚎  𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝...  𝚒  𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔  𝚊  𝚍𝚊𝚢'𝚜  𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎  𝚋𝚢  𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎  𝚒  𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗'𝚝  𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍  𝚢𝚘𝚞.  𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚒'𝚟𝚎  𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚒𝚝...  𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍  𝚒𝚝  𝚘𝚛  𝚗𝚘𝚝.  ❜  he  raised  his  gaze  now,  in  hopes  of  catching  the  glimpse  he  wanted  into  her  eyes.  

❛  𝚒'𝚖  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚊𝚗  𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝  𝚖𝚊𝚗,  𝚜𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗.  𝚋𝚞𝚝  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎'𝚜  𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗  𝚖𝚢  𝚜𝚒𝚗,  𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.  𝚒  𝚍𝚘  𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍  𝚢𝚘𝚞.  𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎,  𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎,  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎  𝚘𝚞𝚛  𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚜  𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍  𝚞𝚜.  ❜  he  smiles  again,  chuckling  softly.  ❛  𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝  𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑  𝚘𝚏  𝚖𝚎.  ❜

[tophatandbrassknuckles]

"Alright, I can't hold it in any longer, c'mere!" Sokanon tugs Jacob by his leather sleeve to follow across the platform behind the general store in Strawberry. With winter coming, her eyes kept lingering on the leather duster coat he keeps on. It doesn't look warm; stiff, greying where it bends like the elbows, shoulders. No other form of cloth was going to fix the wear and tear. It's why she commissioned a trade to make a new one, with hood, fur lined in colours similar to the leather duster. And clothes, to boot. Sokanon opens the door to the changing area where the manage directed her earlier, and gestures for Jacob inside, "Happy Birthday! I also sent a similar piece to your sister in case she decided to venture on this side of the pond. But, for now, try it on."

@wariver

Jacob would be lying if the hint of excitement in Sokanon's tone didn't spark a need to know what so brightened her often reserved countenance, letting her lead him through the dust and the crowds into the cool shade of a shop. A warm smile soon tugs at his lips, "I'm touched you remembered... Thank you."

He marvels at the workmanship of the stitching and lining before he steps in and changes behind a screen. Once dressed, he swaggers out to show her and turns a little, feeling more confident already.

"I'd wager you just made me the best dressed bounty-hunter this side of Tall Trees." Jacob brushes a loose lock of dark hair away from her face, so happy he wanted to kiss her but a glance over at the shop keeper proved this changing area isn't private enough for that.