Indie had never thought of herself as one who possessed a traveler’s soul. The woman was always on the hunt for her next new spectacle, and often times this pursuit brought her far and wide, but she never thirsted for the adventure that came from simply… traversing new landscapes. Some wolves feet itched from inactivity, but not Indie! No, these wolves had a much different motivation than the veiled mummer herself. Her goals took time and dedication to achieve; chasing after fleeting desires would never get her closer to her ultimate desires… whatever those may be at the moment. It was the reason she adhered to a very strict regimen of practice and held herself accountable even when she was without an audience — as she was now.
"We’re at our best when it's from our hips
From our hips we don't give a damn
It just feels good and that's no sin
It's the only way to feel alive
The closest thing to being born again
And when baby comes it's job well done
Roll in the hay, oh roll around the sun"
More than once, her thoughts had turned to the dappled raconteur and where he had slipped away to — if Donovan was hale and heathy and safe. Though she could not conceive of the reasons why he fled after their meeting upon the holy, fragmented remains of the coastal forest, she did not fault him for it. After all, did she not do the same crime unto him, all those many months ago? She had decamped from the Merry-Andrews, her own guilt nipping at her heels and driving her far, far, far away. But the man had trailed her and warmed her up with promises of golden crown, only to give the vaudevillian a taste of her own bitter medicine; or, perhaps, their reunion had been so hot that they burned and fizzled almost immediately…
— but Indie knew that would never happen. Not to her and her sharp preceptor.
The woman arrived to an expanse of grass; a honeyed pasture. There was a scent of another, but it was light on the wind and barely registered with her faculties. So, Indie danced on and sung her song.
"We’re at our best when it's from our hips
From our hips we don't give a damn
It just feels good and that's no sin
It's the only way to feel alive
The closest thing to being born again
And when baby comes it's job well done
Roll in the hay, oh roll around the sun"
More than once, her thoughts had turned to the dappled raconteur and where he had slipped away to — if Donovan was hale and heathy and safe. Though she could not conceive of the reasons why he fled after their meeting upon the holy, fragmented remains of the coastal forest, she did not fault him for it. After all, did she not do the same crime unto him, all those many months ago? She had decamped from the Merry-Andrews, her own guilt nipping at her heels and driving her far, far, far away. But the man had trailed her and warmed her up with promises of golden crown, only to give the vaudevillian a taste of her own bitter medicine; or, perhaps, their reunion had been so hot that they burned and fizzled almost immediately…
— but Indie knew that would never happen. Not to her and her sharp preceptor.
The woman arrived to an expanse of grass; a honeyed pasture. There was a scent of another, but it was light on the wind and barely registered with her faculties. So, Indie danced on and sung her song.
“what a lovely day" says the butcher as she raises her arm
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Messages In This Thread
and like icarus i will fly - by Donovan - June 26, 2017, 08:27 PM
RE: and like icarus i will fly - by Indie - June 29, 2017, 07:59 PM