Joining

Character Name: Ysée
Gender: F
Breed: Corsican
Color: Black (EE/aa)
Height: 13.2hh
Age: 10 years old

Member Name: Manon
Member Contact: manon.munch @ Discord
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Sample: Analyzing has always been one of his strong suits. For a boy as critical as himself, who prefers to pick apart the logic with steely fingers, it’s almost become relaxing. It helps settle his chaotic mind, it forces him to focus on one particular face or shape in a room full of people.

So yes, maybe he is analyzing the fiery girl, learning the pattern in her eyes and how the skin around her mouth creases when she frowns; the subtle way, when she twists her shoulder just right, her dress slides a little further up her milky thighs.

He can hear the blood rushing from his heart to his ears and it feels like his veins are constricting, like his lungs are filling with something besides air. He’s moving in slow motion toward the exit, possibly waiting to stop him—don’t they always?

When they curse and swear at him and lash at him with polished nails, don’t they always have a change of heart with each footstep he takes toward the door?

For a few minutes he hovers, half turned toward her, his eyes narrowed. He’s staring intently at a bronze statue situated in the corner, a raven with wings spread wide and talons stretched out as if to snare some harmless thing—he can’t help but wonder if the creature is charmed, other than to float a few inches above the wood floor. He could almost sense a longing in the bird’s eyes, narrow and sharp slits, and it pains him terribly.

He examines how the feathers move as if they have air beneath them, but he knows it’s only a replica of something grander. With a chill running down his spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand, he turns toward the girl with eyes wide as dinner plates. For once the stony boy is all too real with his mouth drawn down and his cheeks flushed, he’s positively human.

She’s plucking chords with those pale fingers that nobody else dares to touch, holding him hostage in the foreign common room. He’s holding his breath and wishing he could just disappear when she falls silent, when the room closes in around him. He chews at the inside of his jaw thoughtfully for a minute or two, he’s afraid to move or to speak so he stands limply before her; paralyzed from the face down and floundering. Usually so guarded and withheld he wonders how she knows him so intimately, it isn’t a habit of his to go about admitting his own flaws.

He feels his shoulders stiff and he throws them back, straightening his spine and lifting his face toward her. He’s gaunt and stretched much too thin, just a wisp of crumpled paper on the wildest of winds.

He wants to say something clever to her, but he’s finding it hard to form coherent sentences. He rubs his palms down the fabric of his jeans because they’ve grown clammy, and then he rights himself. He’s back to his former severity, eyes sharp and dangerous as he stares into her own stormy eyes.

“You think you know me, huh? Bravo.” He flicks at her with a chuckle under his breath, twisting the words into a hiss. He doesn’t take a step closer or away from her, they are merely reaching a rather dreadful stalemate. He licks his lips then, he tugs at the hem of his shirt absentmindedly because it’s trademark that it’s much too short for his long frame.

“Do me a favor,” he says, turning back toward the door. He opens the entrance with an ease that suggests he belongs there and he’s about to step through the mouth when he looks at her from over one bony shoulder.

“When you decide you need to grasp someone, come find me.” His mouth parts a little to reveal his imperfect teeth and he gives a little laugh, half hearted and fluttering from his chest, before he slips out the door, closing it softly behind him.