Barrow Fields we look sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard. we are, but it’s almost effortless

He halted his approach when he heard the man speaking again; typically that would not have stopped him, but he was in a different headspace than when the brawl had been initiated. He was feeling invigorated, virile, powerful — even though one of his wolves had been so badly wounded. His wolves — when had he started thinking of the rusalkans as his?

Perhaps I should ask to commision your lovely mistress for a rendition, lanced the man's voice; was it an attack? Probably. It was well crafted, reminded him of the brown-coated smartass that had shared in the bloodletting. The stranger seemed to be in good spirits despite the chaos that had unfolded earlier, and Firefly had to think about that for a second. She's fine, he decided to remark. He took a bold step across the bloodied earth and cast his shrewd gaze upon the patch of blood as he drifted across it, as if the blood was still sticky and he didn't want to ruin his coat. Firefly was still looking at the patch as he continued, Most of this is from your side; it would've been different if — you hadn't been pinning me, he wanted to say, but found his tongue temporarily disobeying, forcing a silence.

He huffs and stops where he is — standing squarely in the center of the blooded mess, like there hadn't just been a skirmish on that exact spot — and commented, You could've helped me separate them, saved both sides from the war that's bound to come from all of this shit. He was talking about that moment of powerlessness but for some reason, his eyes traced across the stranger's scarred face with a vague sense of appreciation of it; Firefly saw a warrior standing before him, but seemed more invested than he ought to be.