THEY CALL US ROGUES
Ex’s tail wags. It’s a lowly wag of the bushy appendage, something that makes another, brighter smile come to his lips. It’s toothy. It’s quite brilliant. He’s quite brilliant, if you didn’t notice. Ex likes to be out and in the world. He’s brilliant and shining, and that’s what the creature can embrace. He likes to be brilliant, so it sticks. What he likes, sticks. A toothy grin sticks to his face because he quite likes it. That’s what works in his life. That’s what works with his bright eyes, his lazy but charming posture. He’s wonderfully postured and… brilliant. Brilliant is where he chooses to stop.
He was good with luck. He relied a lot on luck. It was wonderful, the way he did, or so he felt. That’s what he was always feeling, that was true. It was a true way to rely on himself as well… luck. Luck and faith and brilliance—there was that word again, oops. Maybe that would lose its clout as a word if he kept using it. That was what he needed… a word. A key word? Sure. Ex could do that if he really wanted to. A wag of the tail, eyes upon the girl… yes. He was quite brilliant.
“What’re you doing out here, little bird?” The words are lazy on his tongue, rolling off slowly… lazily. It’s rather cute if you would. It’s charming, with a glint in his eyes. Everything is glimmering lowly about the creature and that’s what he needs. He’s sparkly, dark, with a splash of white on his chest. It’s pretty… he’s pretty. Even in the low light, supplied only by the thick blanket of star and brilliance of the moon, he’s pretty. A swish of the tail, a swing of the hips… he could do it that way. It was lovely. He was lovely.
EX
we travel fast and alone |