Post by Deleted on Oct 15, 2014 22:23:13 GMT -5
❤ I don't want the future. I want the present to stand still. I just want to stay here with you ❤ |
The sorceress felt disinclined to release Squall's arm, but she knew that, sooner or later, she had to let go. She could not always be at his side, every waking moment. But why couldn't she? Why couldn't she stand by the one she loved? She felt as if he was the only one that understood her sometimes, even in his quiet world. Squall would never be the outgoing sort. A stoic stick-in-the-mud like her father. But maybe Fury Caraway once was another person? She did not know who her father was before she was born. She had heard stories from her mother that seemed, to her, more fairy tale than truth! Her father had been a loving, caring man who often dotted on her mother’s well being. Many of these stories were long faded into a past she could hardly remember. The smiles of her mother a lost memory under the thumb of her Guardian. It was his price for giving her strength in a way she was glad to give it. She wanted to become stronger, she wanted to change. But to do so she had to adapt to the world she lived in. So she would perhaps, in the end, become as her father and Squall: changed due to the circumstances of their lives. Though the basis of what made them -- them, remained, they were creations of their environment. So was she, for that matter.
She was the result of the love of her mother and father. She was the result of watching those less fortunate persecuted for failure to comply with a corrupt tyrant. Even their very capital had been renamed to hail to his greed and vanity. She was raised by a woman who taught her to always find the good in others and a father who expected her to fight for what was right. In the end growing into the circumstance of becoming a rebel princess was not all that shocking. If anything it was the calculated result of a tight-lipped war hero falling in love with a woman who saw beauty and love flowing through everything around her. It was like the tale of a beast conquering a beauty. Oh, the beast was most certainly her mother by the accounts of her father! A wild woman who, though reserve and poised in every manner Rinoa was not (her father often jabbed her with this fact to get her to sit straight during dinners), she was willful and hardly minded others if it did not involve her music. Her mother was loving, shy; she was a gentle-voice, but she was the sort to run away with her heart and follow its desires. Her father was sociable, well-mannered and acted in the way that was expected of him. Settling Julia after she had seen her heart taken once, was not an easy task. So her father had stated. This was what bore Rinoa Heartilly. Such an amalgamation of personality, both positive and negative aspects.
So long as Squall allowed it she would cling. “Than let’s go now!” She asserted, her words barely a whisper over her food, which she held close to her mouth.
Her shoulders were raised, head sunk down as her feet were weighed down by Angelo’s presence. Even the quiet dog did seem to notice Rinoa’s growing distress and her crumbling nerves. She pouted and shoved the rest of her food in her mouth with a ravenous munch-munch that caught the attention of a few students nearby as they passed the witch’s favorite spot. Chuckles bubbled up as they rushed away, weighing the young sorceress with the burden of her own awkwardness. It was a crushing feeling. No different than those lonely nights in the Manor. Having a well-to-do father only prescribed one with a near-infallible mentality of self-worth. But when one learned that the government they had held such pride and faith in turned out to be as corrupt as the underworld criminals they claimed to be protecting citizens from, the falsely built self-esteem became an invisible wire that you were forced to balance on simply to keep your own courage from shattering into pieces too small to collect. She felt her cheeks heat up as she pulled her knees up her chest, unsettling poor Angelo from her perch. The dog let out a sneeze from the sudden shift of positions and proceeded to flop on Squall’s feet, hoping the human would accept her attempt at cuddling, maybe reciprocate it across the small pack.
Rinoa pressed her face to her knees, her black, hazel highlighted hair splaying over her pale knobs. “I want to go.” Her voice was muffled by the skin of her legs and current cocoon of limbs as her arms hugged her curled legs more tightly as she fought her tears from forming.
She was not sure if it was the unrelenting urge to tackle those passing brats or the overwhelming anxiety of something coming that bothered her, but it was all starting to get to be too much for the young sorceress. She was silent after she had spoken her peace. Rinoa was not a very well-tempered sorceress. She was raised by a General, who believed in strength. Strength could win any situation. Woman, man or child, if they were strong they were not prey to anyone. Rinoa was well aware of her lack of skill in true combat, but her sheer willpower to backtalk even armed militants was her shining gold medal of nope. She would try to talk down a Behemoth if she was allowed (and about the last time she tried to talk a monster back from combat was in the Training Center where a T-Rexsaur was found injured by she and an unnamed group of friends -- namely Selphie). That was one adventure that did not end well for any party involved, especially the Training Center. An injured T-Rexsaur was as dangerous as an uninjured one. Her furious temper has led her to injure many a attending soldier in her youth, her father never feeling well to leave her to her own devices, because who knew the wild child better than the man who tried to raise her? Irvine was once at the end of that explosive temper, and all of the Forest Owls could attest to her aggravation of having sleep interrupted.
No she would never set a student on fire, but she would make them feel fire behind their eyelids with a well placed scratch! “I hate it here.” She mumbled before raising her head and planting her chin on her knees.
Her dark eyes drifted toward Squall, the pout remaining a strong feature on her face. “Let’s ride the train back to my place.” Deling City was about half a day’s ride on the train, but if Squall did not go willingly there was always the chance that he would go willingly anyway because -- Rinoa was awfully persuasive-- and by persuasive she had no qualms about kidnapping folk or guilting them into doing what she wanted.
She was a Caraway at heart.
She was the result of the love of her mother and father. She was the result of watching those less fortunate persecuted for failure to comply with a corrupt tyrant. Even their very capital had been renamed to hail to his greed and vanity. She was raised by a woman who taught her to always find the good in others and a father who expected her to fight for what was right. In the end growing into the circumstance of becoming a rebel princess was not all that shocking. If anything it was the calculated result of a tight-lipped war hero falling in love with a woman who saw beauty and love flowing through everything around her. It was like the tale of a beast conquering a beauty. Oh, the beast was most certainly her mother by the accounts of her father! A wild woman who, though reserve and poised in every manner Rinoa was not (her father often jabbed her with this fact to get her to sit straight during dinners), she was willful and hardly minded others if it did not involve her music. Her mother was loving, shy; she was a gentle-voice, but she was the sort to run away with her heart and follow its desires. Her father was sociable, well-mannered and acted in the way that was expected of him. Settling Julia after she had seen her heart taken once, was not an easy task. So her father had stated. This was what bore Rinoa Heartilly. Such an amalgamation of personality, both positive and negative aspects.
So long as Squall allowed it she would cling. “Than let’s go now!” She asserted, her words barely a whisper over her food, which she held close to her mouth.
Her shoulders were raised, head sunk down as her feet were weighed down by Angelo’s presence. Even the quiet dog did seem to notice Rinoa’s growing distress and her crumbling nerves. She pouted and shoved the rest of her food in her mouth with a ravenous munch-munch that caught the attention of a few students nearby as they passed the witch’s favorite spot. Chuckles bubbled up as they rushed away, weighing the young sorceress with the burden of her own awkwardness. It was a crushing feeling. No different than those lonely nights in the Manor. Having a well-to-do father only prescribed one with a near-infallible mentality of self-worth. But when one learned that the government they had held such pride and faith in turned out to be as corrupt as the underworld criminals they claimed to be protecting citizens from, the falsely built self-esteem became an invisible wire that you were forced to balance on simply to keep your own courage from shattering into pieces too small to collect. She felt her cheeks heat up as she pulled her knees up her chest, unsettling poor Angelo from her perch. The dog let out a sneeze from the sudden shift of positions and proceeded to flop on Squall’s feet, hoping the human would accept her attempt at cuddling, maybe reciprocate it across the small pack.
Rinoa pressed her face to her knees, her black, hazel highlighted hair splaying over her pale knobs. “I want to go.” Her voice was muffled by the skin of her legs and current cocoon of limbs as her arms hugged her curled legs more tightly as she fought her tears from forming.
She was not sure if it was the unrelenting urge to tackle those passing brats or the overwhelming anxiety of something coming that bothered her, but it was all starting to get to be too much for the young sorceress. She was silent after she had spoken her peace. Rinoa was not a very well-tempered sorceress. She was raised by a General, who believed in strength. Strength could win any situation. Woman, man or child, if they were strong they were not prey to anyone. Rinoa was well aware of her lack of skill in true combat, but her sheer willpower to backtalk even armed militants was her shining gold medal of nope. She would try to talk down a Behemoth if she was allowed (and about the last time she tried to talk a monster back from combat was in the Training Center where a T-Rexsaur was found injured by she and an unnamed group of friends -- namely Selphie). That was one adventure that did not end well for any party involved, especially the Training Center. An injured T-Rexsaur was as dangerous as an uninjured one. Her furious temper has led her to injure many a attending soldier in her youth, her father never feeling well to leave her to her own devices, because who knew the wild child better than the man who tried to raise her? Irvine was once at the end of that explosive temper, and all of the Forest Owls could attest to her aggravation of having sleep interrupted.
No she would never set a student on fire, but she would make them feel fire behind their eyelids with a well placed scratch! “I hate it here.” She mumbled before raising her head and planting her chin on her knees.
Her dark eyes drifted toward Squall, the pout remaining a strong feature on her face. “Let’s ride the train back to my place.” Deling City was about half a day’s ride on the train, but if Squall did not go willingly there was always the chance that he would go willingly anyway because -- Rinoa was awfully persuasive-- and by persuasive she had no qualms about kidnapping folk or guilting them into doing what she wanted.
She was a Caraway at heart.
❤ tags: Squall~!
❤ powers used: n/a ... yet
❤ notes: I just want to feel the comfort of your breathe at my nape.
ELECTRIC OF GS AND BTN