we're heading for another barge. Alan and me went and checked it out: might be abandoned or might just be hiding its people from strangers.
it's sending out a distress call though. either way this has got potential to be mirror barge levels of bad and it seemed like a thing the dogs needn't be around for.
steve's been trying to rehome Libby since he got demoted. he insists it's for her own safety but it's at least 50% because he wants to punish himself and me and scott are refusing to let him. but it does mean i'm responsible for her so she's getting a nice beach holiday.
be with you around midday your time have the singapore slings ready <3 <3
It's a private beach he's found, dense tropical forest behind him and glittering water ahead. He's enjoying the sun, shirtless, because skin cancer has stopped being a major concern. (It was never a major concern; bullets were major.)
He gets to his feet in one quick, easy motion the second he knows she's arrived.
The bus doors open, and a tangle of dogs and Iris tumble out. The dogs rush Cain with typical canine joy, but Iris gets there first, springing up and clinging to Cain's neck.
"'Ey you. The little blonde one's Libby. Don't let Abaddon give 'er any trouble or Solace'll chew 'is ears off. You smell good."
She has her face pressed into the hollow of his throat, and Iris has always loved the scent of his skin. Changing to a werewolf hasn't changed that, nor has it improved her sense of smell that much: she has always been able to sort individual neurotransmitters, to follow their track along her own perceptions. What's changed is the context, the visceral immediacy of scents.
She bites him, slowly, almost solemn and very lightly, and pays no attention to her enormous sunhat falling to the sand.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: [transdimensional text][backdated to pre-event]
Date: 2017-06-18 06:33 am (UTC)[transdimensional text][backdated to pre-event]
Date: 2017-06-18 09:57 am (UTC)it's sending out a distress call though. either way this has got potential to be mirror barge levels of bad and it seemed like a thing the dogs needn't be around for.
steve's been trying to rehome Libby since he got demoted. he insists it's for her own safety but it's at least 50% because he wants to punish himself and me and scott are refusing to let him. but it does mean i'm responsible for her so she's getting a nice beach holiday.
be with you around midday your time have the singapore slings ready <3 <3
no subject
Date: 2017-06-28 10:24 am (UTC)He gets to his feet in one quick, easy motion the second he knows she's arrived.
no subject
Date: 2017-06-28 06:04 pm (UTC)"'Ey you. The little blonde one's Libby. Don't let Abaddon give 'er any trouble or Solace'll chew 'is ears off. You smell good."
She has her face pressed into the hollow of his throat, and Iris has always loved the scent of his skin. Changing to a werewolf hasn't changed that, nor has it improved her sense of smell that much: she has always been able to sort individual neurotransmitters, to follow their track along her own perceptions. What's changed is the context, the visceral immediacy of scents.
She bites him, slowly, almost solemn and very lightly, and pays no attention to her enormous sunhat falling to the sand.