Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
| NUKAand now it's a knife |
| Where he had expected to feel sourness mingling with relief, Nuka instead found himself surprised at the logic behind Tabaxi’s choice, and without even knowing it, he nods in unnecessary approval. “Huh. Di’n’t think ‘bout tha’,” he murmurs, and with the spotted girl at his shoulder (always close, never quite touching) he angles his scarred muzzle toward the general direction of the Meadow and ambles onwards.
It’s the first time in awhile that they’ve wandered together, and for some time, Nuka bites his tongue, still a little sore, a little regretful for his foul temper, wishing he could turn back time and start the day over, so that, for once, Tabaxi could be greeted with something…Maybe never as beautiful as the sky at dawn, but perhaps something almost as soft. So used to his ugliness being the only thing to break the silence, he struggles to find what to say. It’s just his luck that sets a snow-covered root in his path, just when he’s on the cusp of tenderness. “Ugh, m’so sick a’ the cold!” he snarls in irritation as he stumbles and struggles to regain his footing, wincing and shaking off discomfort. “Don’t think ah could take 'nother season of it,” he admits honestly, slanting his sheepish gaze toward his loyal companion. “Wha’ was the island you came from like in winter?” Nuka asks, not long after. A fresh twinge of regret besieges his heart, as he tries to recall the early days they’d spent together, and how little interest he’d shown in regards to her past, and where she’d come from. Back then, those things hadn’t seemed important. After all, it was only one night. One day. One week… Knowing had seemed pointless. It was dangerous, to care. And of course, of course, he’d chosen wrong, just like always. Because time was against them now. What family Tabaxi had could very well have moved on by now. If only, if only. But Nuka knew better than anyone that nothing could change what had passed, no matter how much one wanted to, no matter how much one would give. (Once upon a time, Nuka had tried to give everything he was.) “Maybe when weather warms up, we c’n go together, Tabaxi, y'think -” The sable stallion’s attempt to move on to lighter things was abruptly cut short. There was a sound in his throat, a strangled noise, the words all tangling up on his tongue. “Gah, wha’ th’ hell?” Nuka wheezed, feeling his chest tighten with inexplicable anxiety. Or, maybe, not so inexplicable. For there, curling invisible down a path leading deeper into the Falls was the faintest trace of a feminine scent. It had hit him with all the force of a physical blow, bringing him to a sudden, clumsy stop. Even now, as he casts about to catch hold of it again, Nuka feels a tremble threaten to start up in his bones. “Tabaxi,” the word is little more than a whisper, squeezed from his constricted throat. He turns to her, the lines of his face taut with apprehension and there, in the depths of his eyes, pupils dilated and somehow darker for the morning light illuminating them, fear unfurls its inky tendrils, reaching for the light that had always glowed within the leopard girl. The light that had drawn him at the very beginning, like a raggedy winged moth to a moonbeam. “D’you, d-did you smell tha’? Or…” Maybe it had been some cruel trick of his mind, his past rearing up to disturb the peace he’d found for himself. Afraid of her answer, Nuka stumbles back and lurches away, not knowing what he dreads more - if she had caught the faint trace of the scent, or if it was all… If it all was in his head. (You’re weak Nuka. You’re a disgrace. But you’re mine, and even if you could run… You’ll never be able to run from that.) Choking on a snarl, he shakes the menacing voice from his flattened ears. But the sneer echoes in his ears and saps him of strength, leaving him standing there with the tremble starting up in earnest in his weak leg, helpless and lost as the innocent colt he’d once been. The sable male hunches his shoulders and drops his head, gritting his teeth against a groan of anguish. “Jus’ ferget I said anything, ‘kay?” he pleads hoarsely, turning back but not daring to meet the spotted girl’s gaze, lest his eyes gave him away. “Meadow’s waitin’,” he continues, a poor attempt to shrug off whatever had shaken him. Because he was shaken, to the very core, and he was afraid. There was nothing solid beneath his chipped hooves. Nothing in his life he was certain of, except Tabaxi. They would drown him someday; all his ghosts. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t drag the snow-white girl down with him. |