living dangerously

*Poser* · 10-07-2016, 05:14 PM

Killing is dirty work. Not that Poser refuses it, he'd just... rather not. Something about the creature turns up his nose about it, he'd rather not be dripping with someone else's blood. Not again. Fuck, not again. It washed off easy enough but the smell. There was always a smell, a damned spot that he couldn't get out. Sinking in, permeating, making him fucking sick with it. Always fucking sick-- such is Poser. Such is the way that he processes things. Poser is slow about it, thinking things through clearly. He was clear and he was... well. He was trying. He was usually trying, but today is different. There's something in his head that ticks like the mechanism on a clock, as he's looking. Only the slightest scent of blood hangs around his foot, the pain no longer searing. What he does need is white willow bark, he'd squish it up and make a poultice. Wrapping with cattails, he'd be able to let it set for a reasonable amount of time.

There's someone else here, but Poser chances ignoring him. He's still searching for his tree, searching for that which would make him feel better. His white whale or something like that. Poser is relaxed, the shadow in the incomplete light around him. He's gorgeous. There's a careful game of chess as the gorgeous creature moves across the ground, seeing which one can wait longer. The Russian man has herbs to collect, and is still readily in search of his willow bark. There's something flashy about the way he moves, the certain agile tick to the way he exists. That was all that mattered. Biding his time, Poser was going to let the game continue.

It takes two to play.
your charged touch
poser
breathy way of saying my name

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