hippolyta flynn has a pistol for a mouth (vexatiously) wrote in emillion, |
People brushed past without much of a care for her, nodding if she'd already spoken to them or outright ignoring the bite-sized mage, but one remained by the fire that she had yet to address. He was sitting alone, his back a dark smear against the brilliance of the flame, just— sitting. Who just sat?
Flynn adjusted the strap of her back and ambled over, popping up next to him with the crack of a twig, and noticed: his eyes were closed. Not sleeping, meditating? Taking in the warmth? Thinking? About to cry? Surprised by this, though she knew mages and fighters alike needed concentration, she stepped back to leave him to that, and promptly tripped backward over a rock to land on her backside. The girl fell like a sack of potatoes, roughly.
"Ow, balls," she hissed, having half landed on her bag.