drawn to blood [ d/w ]

i used to dream in the dark of palisades park

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lyre

sinclair
he / him
twenty-eight
january 4
saffron, kanto
heterosexual
underboss
executive
become as fire, eat the woods. eat the dark and show where i stood
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dominic sinclair
drawn to blood [ d/w ]
POSTED ON Sept 8, 2019 14:29:49 GMT
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my pyre's silhouette rises from the water like a tombstone. a heavy shroud of fog blankets the sea and - more crucially - obscures the dock where the pair of men stand.

the shipment they're waiting for is due in approximately thirty minutes, leaving them with ample time to survey the broken coastline and scraggly tufts of grass.

dominic isn't superstitious, but something about being faced with a very literal graveyard, in the mist, in the dead of night, with essentially only kingsley for company makes his skin crawl. he squares his jaw and acts like its just the nipping cold that bothers him.

@kingsley

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i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.
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drawn to blood [ d/w ]
POSTED ON Sept 8, 2019 14:38:06 GMT
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[attr="class","kings"] Kingsley is as he always is: unphased, unbothered, unconcerned. The chill leaves the tips of his fingers numb but this is not an unfamiliar sensation. His Froslass lingers at his side, further cold drafting from her delicate form.

From his jacket, he plucks a pack of cigarettes and lighter. "Remember when we were kids?" Kingsley asks, passing a cigarette to Dominic. "And I use to tell you and the runts ghost stories? We made one of 'em cry."

He lights both cigarettes before pocketing the lighter and carton. His cheeks hollow as he breathes the smoke in, lungs filling with cold and gray.



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