.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
08-07-2015, 07:46 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
"Hey Mauja!" ... "Hey… Mauja." ...
Can't stop, won't stop—
"STOP YOU TIT!"
And d'Artagnan assumed a defense position that reminded Mauja a bit too much of a comical caricature of the bay trying to pass something recalcitrant out of his ass—"Shit," was the Doctor's comment and somewhere in the mess of impact, friction and sand, Mauja found it incredibly humorous. The darkness in him let go, exploded into laughter even as the world did a sickening spin around its own axis, and when it stopped everything had rotated 90 degrees.
Or maybe that was just because he was lying flat on his side in the sand. It made for a new perspective.
The laughter faded into a most uncharacteristic giggle, threatening to die out but renewed every second because while the impact (and probably some half-assed, subconscious attempt to save them from dying) had flung Mauja down, it had put the Doctor on his sorry red ass.
He was sitting.
On his ass.
In the sand.
Fucking sitting.
And glaring in a way that would've made Mauja's skin crawl if he hadn't been so madly in love with the cherry bay, as if he could melt Mauja's intestines and brain and watch it dribble out through his ears—
And the way he got up, he didn't need words, and Mauja's mirth finally tapered off into a content sigh. For a moment, he was unaware of the light blazing out of his eyes as he laid there in the sand. "I thought I was the mad one." But it felt like, like, not a peace offering because it wasn't d'Artagna's fault, but more like, confirmation that it was okay—that it was cool. That it was fine. That it was fine that Mauja had shown up out of nowhere and rammed him and planted his sorry butt in the scratchy sand.
Mauja's gaze grew softer, dark lips curling into a small, fond smile. "All hail d'Artagnan, Lord of the Madlands," he said, voice oddly quiet, somehow at odds with the charge from before—but he couldn't explain it, it was just.. just.. when the exhilaration died down it left this odd, content warmth simmering through his veins, and somehow it defied all things loud and boisterous.
The smile grew into a crooked, wicked grin. "You should've seen the look on your face."
Can't stop, won't stop—
"STOP YOU TIT!"
And d'Artagnan assumed a defense position that reminded Mauja a bit too much of a comical caricature of the bay trying to pass something recalcitrant out of his ass—"Shit," was the Doctor's comment and somewhere in the mess of impact, friction and sand, Mauja found it incredibly humorous. The darkness in him let go, exploded into laughter even as the world did a sickening spin around its own axis, and when it stopped everything had rotated 90 degrees.
Or maybe that was just because he was lying flat on his side in the sand. It made for a new perspective.
The laughter faded into a most uncharacteristic giggle, threatening to die out but renewed every second because while the impact (and probably some half-assed, subconscious attempt to save them from dying) had flung Mauja down, it had put the Doctor on his sorry red ass.
He was sitting.
On his ass.
In the sand.
Fucking sitting.
And glaring in a way that would've made Mauja's skin crawl if he hadn't been so madly in love with the cherry bay, as if he could melt Mauja's intestines and brain and watch it dribble out through his ears—
And the way he got up, he didn't need words, and Mauja's mirth finally tapered off into a content sigh. For a moment, he was unaware of the light blazing out of his eyes as he laid there in the sand. "I thought I was the mad one." But it felt like, like, not a peace offering because it wasn't d'Artagna's fault, but more like, confirmation that it was okay—that it was cool. That it was fine. That it was fine that Mauja had shown up out of nowhere and rammed him and planted his sorry butt in the scratchy sand.
Mauja's gaze grew softer, dark lips curling into a small, fond smile. "All hail d'Artagnan, Lord of the Madlands," he said, voice oddly quiet, somehow at odds with the charge from before—but he couldn't explain it, it was just.. just.. when the exhilaration died down it left this odd, content warmth simmering through his veins, and somehow it defied all things loud and boisterous.
The smile grew into a crooked, wicked grin. "You should've seen the look on your face."
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
