scettcio:

starter call. not as brave as you were at the start.

                                      _{^{CHAOS TAINTED LIPS curve slightly at the fervor incised in ethereal presence. brume spill from HOLLOW CARCASS ;  ethanol, still, sizzling in blood:  ❛  who are you, love? ❜   the question is genuine. interest stirred in cynical bones.    ❛ don’t come here often, do you? ❜}}

_{^@euphrrasie.}

         _{THE MUSAIN CAFÉ ; the name rings a bell. she thinks it was MUSICHETTA who mentioned it once. it’s on the way to her morning lecture. it’s cozy and small, and THE’RE ARE  NO SEATS AVAILABLE ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶  EXCEPT FOR THAT ONE STOOL AT THE END OF THE BAR BY THE WINDOW. next to an exhausted looking young man who doesn’t appear to be much older than her. she SMILES at him, out of politeness  ̶ ̶ ̶  illuminated by the morning light. she’s half done with her coffee when he speaks   ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶   and she realizes that he’s not exhausted. he’s drunk. at 7:30  in the morning  ❛  i’m cosette   ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶  are you okay ? can i buy you a coffee ? ❜}

pxntmercy:

@euphrrasie | starter call

                   ❝ — I often worry for you, ❞ he admits, sheepishly. such is a boy in love, a man brought to his knees. this is the fifth time he was come to her garden with her knowledge, but the first time bearing gifts ( or second? ). it is not much; he has no fortune with which to spoil her with, so he makes do. it is a small bouquet; a matter of a few dozen wildflowers. numerous, but small nonetheless. he presses it beside her lap, on their bench. ❝ i worry that one day i - might lose you. ❞ 

                           _{her gift for him is a sweet thing. a sight to behold, she smiles. is it possible to feel like this ? oh youth, oh love. have wildflowers ever been more exquisitely beautiful ? has a bouquet of them ever had more value than diamonds themselves ? she adores them, for it is her marius that has given them to her. gentle hand finds it’s rightful place upon the lover’s own, ❛ you mustn’t think of that, monsieur — ❜  deep blues gaze at him like one might look at the stars.  ❛ ours is a chain we’ll never break. ❜}