heart is guarded by a cage adorn in thorns - nothing can get so close without getting pricked, without a sudden wound. even as things so simple as to share, or garner, a curiosity in meal. that's too much, a starved dog hoarding any scraps from ANY HAND that could offer [ ⋯ ] touch is both feared ﹠ yearned. there's a twitch 'neath leather, skin sticking to it with sweat ﹠ the hovering sensation that her palm was ready to make contact. fingers 'round cheeks ﹠ eyes ﹠ forehead ﹠ maw tighten, pressing firmly. making it uncomfortable. a small discomfort to regain a sense of control over these hideous emotions - yet, she spoke so sweetly. ears perks, pulling as the demacian's voice filled its way into ear canals. it's been too long since fighter's had any sort of kindness come their way. the burned is always under the impression that others had ulterior motives, assumptions even in this slightness of goodwill [ ⋯ ] her light is false. breath shakes, silver peaks between spread digits ﹠ eyes remain half-lidded. clear from exhaust, hidden under caked black eye shadow lays heavy bags, lack of sleep. too much alcohol consumption [ ⋯ ] too many bruises.
violet doesn't respond, merely observed. uncharacteristic for an individual who ALWAYS HAD SOMETHING SNARKY to say. quick witted. sarcastic ﹠ petty. in any situation. instead, there are no words, nothing left to speak. nothing worth the effort, yet, blonde continues to pry in relating to the undergrounder. there is nothing to find common ground on - stray dog will always remain as such. what use does someone from a richer land have for another so useless? to humiliate? [ ⋯ ] TO MOCK?
teeth grit, they grind. further self inflicted torture in broken pieces ﹠ cracked cavities. tongue pressed along bleeding gums, mixed with previous meat that were quickly consumed. paws begun to slip, fall from drooping flesh ﹠ form soon becomes hunchback. shifty eyed, but, never to meet with blues as clear as any dreamed up body of water.
" hm [ ⋯ ] why d'you care so fucking much anyways? what could POSSIBLY have brought you here? i'm just a washed up nobody, got no one. got nothin' GOING FOR ME. just myself, these busted up knuckles 'n burying myself at the bottom of a mug. as my sister called it. " the aggressor continues on, digging nails into dirtied wraps ﹠ bitten nails find themselves for the skin sought for. picking. tearing. brows crease, their lids closed again. heart aches, it pumps too much, or not enough. as if death is always lingered over the same shoulder almost found in comfort. undeserving. nothing more than a mean, dying dog.
soon enough, the food is brought to their section. its smell filled nostrils, albeit broken from a previous punch to the face. it's strong enough to become recognized. throat swallowed, mouth drooled. gaze opens up again, flickering to meet the woman's in a quick inspection of her reaction - to reaffirm the stereotype violet held in their head. exceptions are to be met in disgust, making a comment on HOW FOUL this slop is. made up scenarios rapidly flicker in a half-aware mind. it brought on agitation, an edge that couldn't be cured, 'lest it be the temporary relief of further booze ﹠ sex.
" SAVE IT. already know what'cher gonna say. so i don't need to have it spat in my face, once again. "
