- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- Weekends
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Fantasy (medieval or modern), sci-fi, steampunk, genres involving dragons
Aerin's hands had gravitated toward his face to cover them, but a few fingers lifted as she began to speak. He only saw the back of her head, but that was what he studied while he could only imagine what she had gone through. He hadn't seen a child since the Illstar had infected the populace, and he didn't think he'd want to run into an infected one. In fact, he hadn't wanted to run into an infected anything. He shifted to the side as her legs curled in, and once her breathing sort of steadied, he stood up, careful not to disturb what little peace she had. Resting the blanket near her, he said softly, "Thanks for telling me."
With that, he moved into the kitchen, searching every room for anything they might have been able to use. For a rare stroke of luck, he found one unopened bottle of water, the first sign of clean liquid they'd had all week. However, the rest of the house provided nothing else, but it seemed a small price for what he'd found. Padding back down the stairs, he set the bottle with the rest of their things, sitting down in the singular chair in the kitchen. He spied what little alcohol was left in the bottle Nova had used on her leg, and part of him wanted to down the rest in a gulp, but it could be useful down the road, so he restrained himself.
Instead, he pulled out the pen Nova had given him along with a piece of paper. He quietly shifted the chair so he was looking out at her as much as he could from the corner. Taking in her appearance, he sketched out her image on his paper, doing his best to get her face correct. The lines weren't so scattered, like he was trying much harder than he had before. Though the blanket was near her, he chose to copy her form as if she were wearing nothing more than the clothes on her back, just as she was before him. The way her hair curled in a face that was much more innocent than when she was awake, and how her body was relaxed for just a little bit of time. For the first time in a while, he put effort into work that was no longer appreciated.
With that, he moved into the kitchen, searching every room for anything they might have been able to use. For a rare stroke of luck, he found one unopened bottle of water, the first sign of clean liquid they'd had all week. However, the rest of the house provided nothing else, but it seemed a small price for what he'd found. Padding back down the stairs, he set the bottle with the rest of their things, sitting down in the singular chair in the kitchen. He spied what little alcohol was left in the bottle Nova had used on her leg, and part of him wanted to down the rest in a gulp, but it could be useful down the road, so he restrained himself.
Instead, he pulled out the pen Nova had given him along with a piece of paper. He quietly shifted the chair so he was looking out at her as much as he could from the corner. Taking in her appearance, he sketched out her image on his paper, doing his best to get her face correct. The lines weren't so scattered, like he was trying much harder than he had before. Though the blanket was near her, he chose to copy her form as if she were wearing nothing more than the clothes on her back, just as she was before him. The way her hair curled in a face that was much more innocent than when she was awake, and how her body was relaxed for just a little bit of time. For the first time in a while, he put effort into work that was no longer appreciated.