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Post by Red on May 11, 2018 22:39:20 GMT
Days had passed in long and short, cold and heat rained above him, his eyes barely seeing the world around him. The months had healed many of his physical wounds but the spark in his brilliant blue eyes was dull, a depressing look to him bringing a longing to any who approached him. Yakov feigned understanding English, saying something random in Russian and most would leave him alone, thinking it useless to try to talk to him.
For the most part, it worked.
Yakov finally found himself in a somewhat familiar setting, which was the scent of discarded cars and random crap, oil and fumes of old gas laying around creating a potent stench. It was this sight in which he felt his depression really didn’t have a purpose anymore and he was beginning to understand that he was finally somewhere that maybe he could start over. A part of him still felt that pain, that ever familiar pain of being unable to protect her. That tang that tugged at him, begged him, pleaded to turn around and be with her.
But until she came out of the shadows. Yakov could not hold onto her anymore. Perhaps she was long gone. Perhaps it was just as well. He wasn’t sure.
All he knew was he hurt. And a hurt Yakov was a sad Yakov. |
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Post by WarPaint on May 21, 2018 20:29:21 GMT
Like ink, the black mistress gingerly plucked her way through the piles of enormous, rusted mobiles. Sticking out sorely like a fresh paint job, the kind that had been absent for years in sullen junkyard. Melisandre couldn’t keep her nose from twitching, inhaling all of the wonderful decayed aromas that littered the place. Adventure had always been something her restless soul had craved, growing unsettled if she remained still for too long.
However the sense of heat radiating from another drew her around the corner and the sight of a muscular two toned body piqued her interest. Mellie carefully approached, giving a wide berth to the stranger. Despair and apathy emanated in waves from the rottweiler mutt, soaking her in a coat of his depression. However, the gall of the black cur did not dampen, and she furrowed her brow into a frown of concern. Perhaps he needed company , or maybe he wished to be alone.
“Excuse me darling...but are you alright?” Her tone was soft and genuine. Melisandre’s heart ached slightly at his melancholy, it seemed honest in its depth. Her black eyes searched him, creased at the corners with a maternal instinct to care. But she was ready to leap away in case her judgment had been very wrong. Something told the onyx mistress that she wasn’t wrong and that this sad brute really did need some care.
-------OOC-------
TAGGED- Red
NOTES- ugh all the feels already, feel free to godmod. Poor Yakov
WORDS- 233
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Post by Red on May 21, 2018 20:45:26 GMT
A black bitch entered the scene, inquiring if he was okay. That was sweet, almost alluring, that a stranger would care. His love was just like that. It pained him and he couldn’t hide that prick that she had unknowingly administered. But she was not Moriah and Yakov only shook his head. He remained silent.
He did however, approach her, noting her physique and mannerism. His blue eyes scanned her and for a moment, she seemed okay. He wouldn’t assume anything less not really. That was not his nature. He stood about two feet away from her, relaxed and not signaling he wanted to cause harm.
I am Yakov, he said, a brusque tone to his thick Russian accent, his eyes wandering to the ground for a moment before rising again. I lost someone, she cannot be found. That was all she needed to know. Of course, she may press it, or may not, it didn’t matter.
All he knew was he was in pain and there were no herbs or remedies that would alleviate that. |
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Post by WarPaint on May 21, 2018 21:53:29 GMT
“Uppphhh” his sadness was tangible and was tainting her coat in sorrow, depression was something he wore like a bow tie. But his accent was intriguing, vastly different from her family and the few strangers she had encountered in the sullen town of Graycott. She tilted her head in curiosity while she tried to decipher his accent, dogged in her determination to guess its origin.
The oynx cur sank to her haunches, resting easily against her own frame. Her mass was light as were her bones, she had been the runt of her litter of course. ”Yakov…” she said sauvely, tasting his name in her mouth and deciding it did indeed fit the brute before her. “A distinguished name for a ...well you aren’t exactly a gentleman judging by those scars, huh. Perhaps fitting for a brute.” Melisandre said with a feminine laugh, her eyes flashing bright beneath their inky lashes.
”Lost...hmm perhaps you’re meant to find her later. Unless, you would like help now? Because in that case, I’ve been looking for an adventure.” Melisandre had always been that empathic, shoot from the hip type of soul. Leaping head first into whatever journey bit her ass. But this male was quiet and that was starkly different from those she had encountered before.
”If not… you look like you could use some company anyways.” There again went boldly the cur. It took a very plain kind of deterrent to chase her away and even then she was never permanently chastised. A small feline like grin touched the shadow. Her pearly whites displayed themselves in a congenial smile, the epitome of feminine excellence.
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Post by Red on May 22, 2018 15:39:04 GMT
She struck him as the kind that was relentless and Yakov could appreciate that. He was slightly annoyed but it was a better feeling than that of the depression he was used to feeling and he felt a little better, a small up turn on the corners of his mouth feeling alien to him after all this time. It be useless to tell you no. he answered, a lightness to his thick accent suggesting his appreciation. Should she stay with him in this adventure she so yearned for, she would retract the non-gentleman assumption.
We are far from where I lost her, I doubt she come this way if she survived. It had been such a horrible day and many of his friends had gone from this world. She was resilient but Yakov was not fool enough to believe he would be so lucky they both survived. But he wouldn’t stop, even if he could only find the answer. So with that, she was more than welcome to accompany him.
I don’t think your name is simply kind stranger, he said softly, his accent full of curiosity now. What may I call you? |
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