zephyr
His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly
Only one loss to mourn this year, and damn if that isn't some sort of record. And probably a bad omen for the days ahead, but shit, you'll take what you can get. James was a royal pain in the ass, but he was a pain in the ass who belonged in your crew, who you'd known since he toddled around the docks stealing shit. And though you're used to the harsh ease with which lives in Torchline are prone to end, it still fucking sucks to see it happen, especially to someone so...... vivacious, as it were.
You're looking for some shells to add to the lantern when you spot a familiar shock of red hair and orange flesh (?). You didn't get much of a chance to speak with the girl on the ship (didn't speak to much of anyone, due to your proclivity to spill your guts every time you opened your mouth), but now you trudge in her direction, feeling some odd paternal obligation to check in.
The lantern swings in your right hand as you draw to the base of the dune, peering up at the girl on her perch. "Watcha up to, little spitfire?" you call, flashing her a crooked almost-smile.
You're looking for some shells to add to the lantern when you spot a familiar shock of red hair and orange flesh (?). You didn't get much of a chance to speak with the girl on the ship (didn't speak to much of anyone, due to your proclivity to spill your guts every time you opened your mouth), but now you trudge in her direction, feeling some odd paternal obligation to check in.
The lantern swings in your right hand as you draw to the base of the dune, peering up at the girl on her perch. "Watcha up to, little spitfire?" you call, flashing her a crooked almost-smile.
Past the wondering eyes
of the ones that were left behind
of the ones that were left behind
