InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Gus. It's a good butch name."

mississippimutt (mississippimutt) wrote in cirque_rp,
@ 2017-08-18 02:12:00

Evening 5th
Who: Esme & Marco
What: Huntsman
When: Evening 5th
Where: The Midway
Rating: TBA.

Esme hadn't slept. What was new? She rarely slept and when she did, it was only a few hours before she'd wake herself up from a nightmare. It had been worse since the hunters had attacked. Her nightmares always brought her back to the cave she'd been chained in, but now the cave had new faces to torture. And she didn't really feel like telling anybody, they'd only worry. Instead she busied herself with work to keep her mind off it.

Cambodia was beautiful. The nature lover in her was thrilled with the jungle creeping in and taking back the old temples on the land and the sweet smell of flowers on the wind. So she decided to start setting up earlier than usual. Padding out bare foot towards the Midway with her little box of face paints. White dress blowing in the wind. Making her look more like a little ghost than a shape shifter. But she was always a happy little ghost. Humming softly to herself as she set up the little stall, being careful not to move too violently because her side did still hurt a little with more exaggerated movements.

The stall already had signs up, brightly painted murals and 'Face Painting' written in her curly hand writing. A tall seat and table set up beneath it, because Esme wasn't the tallest girl. If she'd sat down to paint people she'd end up having to reach up all night to work. It seemed oddly homey for such a small area. Mainly due to the wolf's bright smiling face and large amount of nervous energy, always welcoming people into her home away from home. Which was really her coping mechanism for finding people, in general, to be rather scary. She figured being super nice would stop people from being to mean.

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callofnight
2017-08-20 02:47 am UTC (link)

Marco couldn't remember her name. She had been a wisp of a girl that smelled like dead leaves burrowing into the mud of a misty Autumn and under that there had been sharp notes of panic, pain, and dried blood. He couldn't remember her too much from the night of the attack itself - his own adrenaline had spurred him to help where he could, try to pass along necessary information, and eventually people blurred from one face to another until he had been more than happy to pass out curled up with Aletha's tinier frame and into a very necessary blank sleep. He'd been a nervous ball of anxiety, something totally unheard of in the wolf, but the move had since helped him calm down again.

Marco had picked up on the other wolf's scent multiple times, following it whenever he had the chance to do so. He'd never followed her long or trailed her - getting a sight of her to let him know she was well-enough to be out and moving seemed to ease his curiosity of her health. She was a wolf, he knew that by scent alone, and he knew she'd heal as long as she didn't stress the wounds. That still didn't clear the girl from his mind and the fact that he kept running into her, without actually having a chance to talk, only made him randomly wonder if she were truly okay. It was so easy for a shifter to fake it through the pain.

As he wandered The Midway on his way back to the BAS there was her scent again, fresh and timid as ever. Without thinking he allowed himself to follow the notes of her scent until he was across the way of her booth - Face Painting, so she was an artist. He waited until she came into view, getting herself ready for the flood of patrons and again noted she seemed fine. There was still time though, before he would be needed and the gates would open - if it wasn't now he'd probably have to hunt her down eventually just to ease his mind.

"Hola," he called out when he was a few feet away but nearing her booth, "Eh...Mimi, right?" he asked, but she'd know from the tone in his voice that even he wasn't sure he was saying the right name.

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