OPEN | prompt three | PAIN

[wrens]

prompt three | P A I N dressing-room style. start your own thread. tag others. wash, rinse, repeat. open to all.

 

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[ex_tendresse915]

[She turns her head to him and tilts it softly, lips parted in a question that vanishes shortly afterwards. Twinkle moves over to him and reaches for his free hand, playing with his fingers before she nods and smiles.]

[marshlands]

[ Yves was never really one to smile, not even when his brother was alive. Now that René is gone, the expression is even more rare, though on occasion he manages one for Twinkle. Not today, though as he flicks the ash from his cigarette with one hand, idly wiggling the fingers of the other in her direction like he's teasing a cat. Although Yves' tone is flat, he means it when he says: ]

Good girl.

[ex_tendresse915]

[Yves is watched for a moment longer (she never takes her eyes off her focus of attention, even when it unnerves them) before she places herself in an inquisitive stance again. Her voice is barely audible, childish and frail, fingers now brushing on the back of his hand.]

Where will we go today?

[marshlands]

[ She stares almost as much as he does, though there isn't anything hard or distancing about the way that Twinkle does it. When Yves lets himself think about it, he can see all the ways that she is a part of him and all the ways that she's like René. He lifts his hands just out of her reach and then curls a finger at her, beckoning her to come closer if she likes. There's a space for her under his arm if she'd like to be there but if not, this is fine. ]

Wherever the queen asks us to go. [ Which meant nowhere at all, most likely. ]

[ex_tendresse915]

[She accepts the invitation, of course she does. She is a brother's love and desires to protect Yves as much as she likes to be protected, so Twinkle finds a place under his arm and leans against his side.]

She didn't... ask yet.

[marshlands]

[ His arm is loose over her shoulders, careful not to crush her but mindful to keep her close. Yves stares down at her face, his expression flat and unyielding (closed off, painfully so, even from her at times). He makes sure to exhale the smoke away from her (René had always hated it; it made his nose tickle). ]

Maybe she's forgotten about us.