Re: Courtyard: Amelia/Shane
[Shane scoots away from the artist's fingers, crab-walking backwards an inch or two out of her reach, bringing a very dirty heel of a hand up to feel at the mud on his cheek, only serving to smear at it a bit, but not wipe it away. He gasp has him laughing anyway, always a strange sort of sound, half-wheeze, half-chuckle. He tosses another handful of mud her way, glad for the softness of the rain as it drowns the land around them.
Already the mud on them is dripping off in muddy rivulets that race down white skin.] The fuck you are, Picasso.
[He's on his hands and knees in a blink. Without thinking for once, he takes her hands in his, pressing them palm to palm on themselves, his own touch cold, and he looks at her, through the rain and mud and strings of soaking hair.] I'll burn your fucking book to cinders.