( there's a selective bit of melancholy to paul — perhaps someone might see him as anti-social, which is fair enough. he doesn't really take part in the festivities, there but not really present, no swimsuit to speak of, no body paint beyond what got stained on his shirt through bumping and brushing against people in the compact mass of bodies. it's not really for him, togetherness. too difficult a thing to learn, unlearn, and learn again — plus he's not exactly wanting for company. when he separates from the group early in the night, there's really only two people he'd prefer to see in the comparative peace of nearby grounds, on the backdrop of verdant greenery and decorative fairy lights. lucky for him, one of the two does eventually find him, while he's hypnotized by the fireworks, imagining —
fire across sand, destructive colors, the harkonenn fuel burns purple, extra hot, but their bodies go crispy like ours, like mine, my hand in the sand, my hand blacked to ash, the skeleton black of burnt bones on my wrist, my hand, that hand that commands the fremen, the guides this holy war, that
he perks as alina approaches, coming back to terra firma, eyes sweeping her from her ankles up to her face, smiling softly, a shy shake to his head. some people are just born with an excess amount of beauty, and you're not supposed to kiss them every minute of every day? it seems an overlook, a failure of genetics. if paul wasn't supposed to be distracted, why make alina look like that. )
Hi.
( he swivels a leg over the bench, seated in a straddle, reaching forward with ease and snagging her by the outside of her thigh, dragging her in closer. there's no real expression beyond fondness on his face as he lifts up his opposite hand, his own purple bracelet glowing. )
no subject
fire across sand, destructive colors, the harkonenn fuel burns purple, extra hot, but their bodies go crispy like ours, like mine, my hand in the sand, my hand blacked to ash, the skeleton black of burnt bones on my wrist, my hand, that hand that commands the fremen, the guides this holy war, that
he perks as alina approaches, coming back to terra firma, eyes sweeping her from her ankles up to her face, smiling softly, a shy shake to his head. some people are just born with an excess amount of beauty, and you're not supposed to kiss them every minute of every day? it seems an overlook, a failure of genetics. if paul wasn't supposed to be distracted, why make alina look like that. )
Hi.
( he swivels a leg over the bench, seated in a straddle, reaching forward with ease and snagging her by the outside of her thigh, dragging her in closer. there's no real expression beyond fondness on his face as he lifts up his opposite hand, his own purple bracelet glowing. )
Us? ( he nods. ) Let's talk, then. You first?