Nothing, nothing could ever stop us from being good. You and me, we’re the best, Abra. We always have been and we always will be. Incomparable. No matter what happens with us, I want you to remember that. You always helped me like that.
( Abra peers towards her partner, hitching in a small breath at those words.
They’re good. They’re always good and probably better than anyone else
who lives out there in this vast world—she watches him with wide eyes,
swallowing the lump in her throat before she gives his shirt a small tug. )
…Everything—about us is. Good and right.
I remember being happy when I was with you. And you were happy, too. Sometimes we’d be in bed, or… we weren’t really particular with where we were, but we’d be at it for hours at a time. And then afterwards I’d hold you, and sometimes you’d say those beautiful things you say—… It was good. We were good.
( A reflective silence—she’s tugging him down, pressing a small kiss
to the corner of his mouth as bright eyes raise, peering towards her
partner carefully. )
…Are we still—good.
I remember everything about you.
( Zero touches her face, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. )
It’s what kept me going for so long when I was so weak.
( She hitches in a small breath, lowering her lashes briefly before leaning up to press a small kiss to his mouth. Their eyes meet. )
…Tell me—what you.
Judas looks toward the deer, blinking a few times, and tries to find the correct words. When he looks back toward the girl, trying to keep his mind on track, he notes how she seems to be slightly suspicious—but not entirely, as though she can tell that he’s not someone to be afraid of. He supposes that’s nothing new—he’s never found himself all that intimidating, either. Only when he tries.
“Ah… my name’s Jude.”
He introduces himself in the way he wants to be known as when he’s away from home. It makes for a feeling of control over himself—something he hasn’t really had much of, especially since Prometheus came into power.
Abra is curious, naturally—he seems like a soft boy, a boy with tender hands and a delicate expression. Bright eyes flicker for the briefest of moments before Abra finally steps out, bare feet causing leaves gone damp to crunch against the ground. She watches Jude carefully, thin arms slipping around her growing buck’s neck so she might hold him close—she hesitates for a long moment, nuzzling at Hannibal’s ear and looking as though she’s whispering something secret into it.
Abra finally gives her attention back to Jude.
”I’m—Abra. Why are you—here?”
( How strangely mature of her. )
I just want it to be something that you want to do, not something that—that you feel like you have to deal with. If you’re sure, if you’re positive, that you want to do that—then we can, but… I just worry about you.
—…But I can’t even.
Remember how you—feel.
( Bright eyes raise hesitantly as she steps towards the boy, tiny hands curling at his chest. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. )
Judas takes a step back, not having expected to see anyone else in such a dense place. At first, he’s worried it’s someone else from Holy Valley—but he knows everyone there, and this face is entirely unfamiliar. She’s a small thing, this stranger, and she has eyes of a color he’s never seen on anyone before. Golden, almost. Glossing over the discomfort he feels at coming into contact with someone, he wonders if he would be able paint her face appropriately—if he could even get the proper shade of gold for her eyes.
He looks down after a moment, never being one to keep eye contact for too long, and scratches at his tattoo.
She doesn’t seem to understand that title, taking it quite literally as she clings to a nearby tree and watches the male with clear suspicion and curiosity. Hannibal lightly bows his slender head, wide brown eyes carefully watching the stranger before hooves dig at the dirt beneath him, as though attempting to make himself appear intimidating.
Clearly, he only wants to protect his person—Abra dares to press forward, gathering no frightening energy that came along with this boy. He looks shy—almost like Chris, who was fumbling and awkward—but not at all. This boy is quite in nature, and Abra watches him carefully, tucking back a lock of golden hair.
“…Who are you.”
The tattoo on his neck is itching, and he is lost. Not the type of lost that brings a sense of excitement or adventure; rather, the type of lost that causes one to grow sick at the thought of not being able to get home in time for dinner, which would result in a beating. And possibly death.
Maybe he should just get even more lost. Perhaps find a nice hollow in a tree and live out the rest of his days there. It wouldn’t be so bad.
Not lost. Just exploring about three yards outside her home in which she hears a rustle and draws back instinctively, because she knows she isn’t to be seen by much of anyone unless that someone is very tall and very old or very tall and a little chubby in the face with eyes black as night..and this person doesn’t feel like either, so she recoils for the briefest of moments, soon feeling out the very energy that swathed her the moment Judas stepped too close.
He’s within the forest—Abra tentatively presses forward, a sort of curious spawned from too many days indoors in her eyes as Hannibal trails after her, still skittish with his new size and afraid of frightening his person. Abra is light on her feet, submerging herself into the green of the forest until she comes across a man—what a strange mark on his neck. Abra blinks honey eyes, head cocking a fraction.