get down on your knees and tell me - " />
The Lost Islands
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Common

Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.

get down on your knees and tell me

OKSANA

Solomon is silent for a moment, and Oksana’s dark eyes watch intently for a moment as she wonders if he will deign to answer her. She cannot quite tell from his expression whether he is thoughtful or exasperated, or perhaps a mixture of the two. Whichever it is, he chooses to humour her.

For that Oksana is grateful, although she will not admit it. The antidote to the feelings of uncertainty she feels in this new place, she is sure, is knowledge. The brief orientation Solomon can supply goes some way to easing the tension that clings to both her mind and muscles, and she drinks it up without interruption.

She notes the names and directions of the places he points out, following his gestures with her gaze. It is hard to believe that so much land exists beyond the horizon, particularly of such varying climates and terrains, but the thought is undeniably intriguing.

It does not escape her attention, as they run through the list of lands, that Solomon begins to inch his body nearer and nearer to her own as he turns. At first she offers only a sliding gaze towards him at her side as she notices the movement, then she bares his increasing proximity without reaction. To move away, she decides, would suggest weakness, so she stands her ground as she feels her skin prickle at the warmth of his body close next to hers.

His words then, however, offer a prudent enough distraction. He speaks of his home, the Cove, and it piques her interest. It sounds a little like home, based on the few words she has to go on. She turns her head to look him in the face again as he turns the question back to her.

She holds his gaze, determined to ignore the uncomfortable closeness.

“I come from the cold, too. The mountains – among the thick fir trees and covered with snow most of the year,” she replies, turning her eyes back towards the horizon. As she speaks, her expression softens a little, almost fond. “I prefer the frost and the snow. The heat is slow and tiring – the cold, it makes you feel alive.”

She glances back at him.

“Does the Cove make you feel like that?”

“I want this world. I want to walk into
The ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
Like I’m nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass
And I want to resist it.”



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