Who: Violeta & Dante What: Waking up post-hunt. When: November 6th, sunrise. Where: Their trailer. Rating: Low - nudity and mentions of blood. Status: Complete.
A sleepy moan fluttered against her lips. Then a pained one. A sharp ache shot up into her ribcage as she stirred, twisted her stiff body onto its side while she hissed into the frozen dew and raked her numb fingers across ripples of delicate bone, tender flesh twitching bare beneath her fingertips. Birds chirped away at her eardrums; a sound that alternated between comfortably distant and mind-splittingly close caused her to curl up again and cover her head. She groaned again, trapped in the limbo of sleep and consciousness. Her mind was clouded, she was disoriented, and vaguely she could smell the earthy blend of dirt and copper, taste it on her tongue.
Then the cold snuck up on her, a chill rolling over her body like a wave of needles penetrating her bones.
Violeta jolted out of her midway slumber, heart jumping out of her chest as her eyes darted around the Village. She fell back against one hand, her muscles gnawed down by the bitter chill of dawn and three days of animalistic use. “Dante,” she rasped. The taste became more pungent, like rust coating the back of her throat. She raised her fingers to her lips, dragged them across cracked blood that was not her own and pushed herself up onto her feet, thankful for the trailer--their trailer--that was there for her to lean on while the painful flow in her veins rushed down her legs. She called her partner’s name again, pieces of memory flitting across her vision.
An argument. About what? The cirque, something about murder and a hunt. You got us into this! Violeta pressed her hand against the wall, clutched her bruised ribs with the other, and moved around to the other side, frost clinging to her hair and her body.
“Dante?” A note of panic quivered in her voice as she pushed through the door.