(Thi s)Exodus :: [Lust △]

[L△LIA]

GUNNER LA TORRE do you wanna come on thi sexodus if you got swag fuck with us She's not yawning because she's bored. If that were the case she'd still have pants on. The girl from Four stumbles out of Elya Johnwayne's bedroom wearing a shirt that probably doesn't belong to her, an addled grin that most definitely does, and little else. Even though she's still half asleep after fading her time away with a one eyed girl between the sheets, that only seems to make her want to bare her teeth more. This is a predator crowned victorious. Don't come close unless you want to be next. It's quiet enough in the common room of the District Two suite that Gunner thinks it's abandoned at first, lazily padding through the ever-decked out dining area and slashing her finger through the frosting of a particularly fancy looking cake sitting atop the table. Licking it clean, she pops a strawberry into her mouth and looks up just in time to catch Circe's eye, stealthily watching her from across the room. "Hey there, kitten," she whispers with a throat rent ragged, running a thumb across her bottom lip to wipe away a wayward hint of sugar. "Told you I wouldn't be able to stay away." The best kind of exhaustion thrums within her bones, shivering through her until she throws her head back in another yawn. When she returns her attention to the girl across from her, the look in her eyes makes it clear that the yawning? Still not from boredom. And oh yeah. Pants? She still hasn't got anything to do with those either.

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

[googlefont="Arya:400"]

	CIRCE LYON
	For the first time in many years, Circe was simply exhausted. She hadn't eaten as much as she should have, and she had stalked The Not-So-Silent Hulk all the way to the rooftop. He was probably still there, brooding quietly. She hadn't really meant to leave him, but every second away from Elya was marked. She could feel the jealousy, resting like a snake in the pit of her belly. Beyond it, she felt even worse. She didn't trust La Torre, but she also didn't trust herself. If she could be so easily thrown by one girl, what good would she be as Elya's Second in Command in the arena? She'd come into the apartment with her chin up, ready to make amends. It hadn't exactly surprised her to find Elya's door shut, the sound of sheets and heavy breathing filtering through the cracks. It hadn't been surprising, but neither had it been welcome. She'd plucked one of her favorite strategy books from her bag and settled into the couch, reading by the lights of the garish city. It had taken an inordinate, almost surely bragging rights worthy, amount of time for the door to open. Of course it wasn't Elya who prowled into the common room, but Gunner La Torre herself. Circe shifted the book beneath her legs. Hey there, kitten. She sunk her claws sharpened nails into her opposite palm, relieving a bit of the pressure from within. "Yes, one does wonder about your self control," she said, her smirk slow to form as she rose. With careful, quiet steps, she circumnavigated the couch, coming into the light of the kitchen. Had it been under different circumstances, she could have applauded Elya. She had clearly done the job well, and what a job it would have been, with La Torre's mile long legs. Circe propped one hip against the kitchen island, her gaze flickering between La Torre's and the cake. "I could lie and say I don't care, but I wouldn't be a very good liar if we both knew. So." She reached forward slowly, index finger just skimming the edge of the cake. She put the frosting on the tip of her tongue, flinched. It was definitely too sweet. "So instead let's say I do care. Not about you. About her. Let's say I care about her very much. Enough to stand aside, if something's better for her." The sickly sweetness still on her tongue, Circe grabbed the cake pan and dragged it down the island to her side. This time, when she swiped the frosting, she gathered a glob, and held it up as an offering. "So, are you?"
	district 2 female of the 70th Hunger Games

[L△LIA]

GUNNER LA TORRE triangles are my favorite shape three points where two lines meet Circe looks as tired as Gunner, but not necessarily for as fun of a reason. That alone is nearly enough to make her feel something like pity for the blonde... and that's before the confession has even tumbled out of her mouth. So much caring. It's unfamiliar territory for the La Torre girl, who's only used to being loved in ways that have nothing to do with hearts. Family, friends, lovers — no one has ever made a habit of smoothing her hair out of her face or kissing the sleep from her eyes. So when Circe asks if Gunner is better, all she can do is reply with the truth. "Kitten," her ostentatious grin shrinks into a small smile of sincerity as she walks around to Circe's side of the kitchen island, pushing a few platters of untouched food out of the way and pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the tabletop, "I've never been good for anyone." For a moment she just sits there, studying the other girl: fragile features settled into an unbreakable face. It's the strangest kind of curiosity that overcomes her, hand reaching up to smooth back a few wisps of pale blonde hair. The whole time Circe's frosted finger is just hanging in the air between them and Gunner knows the obvious thing to do, but she waits, trying to finish the puzzle in her mind. That idea of caring, of being better for a person — It's not something she knows how to solve. She's still looking right into the other girl's eyes when she finally leans forward to suck the frosting off her finger, taking her oh-so-sweet time. "But that doesn't mean I'm so bad to have around. So you go ahead and keep caring about Elya," her voice drops into itself, warm, but too well practiced to be mistaken for anything except the best of worst intentions, "and maybe I make it my business to find a way to take care of you."