[ selena-vii reminds peter of those beautiful venusian resorts that he's had more than his fair share of stopping at. beautiful sim-beaches as far and wide as the eye can see, excited and theatrically oozing from every pore the city has.
it's perfect.
peter tries not to make attachments he can't keep, he tries not to get... attached. as it stands now, he's the furthest from anyone he can possibly be, behind the glass of someone else. he's so far encased in it, sometimes when he looks in the mirror, peter nureyev seldom crosses his mind (sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he grabs the edges until it hurts and says his name over and over again, a swear to never forget, to never never forget.)
the girl has potential, which is why peter decides he'll scoop her up before anyone else has the chance to. she's got something about her that he's latched onto, a driven kind of fury that's buried deep, surging up with little hungry tendrils and snapping when given only the slightest berth.
why he finds himself caring enough to approach her during the rest stop when they've only interacted a handful of times is still nipping at the back of his mind, but.
you never know if you don't try. mag certainly believed the same in him. you see untapped potential, you grab it, and you start to spin.
pulling down a pair of sunglasses he'd snatched from a rather ditzy-looking passerby's pockets, a pretentious cut, sharp at the edges like a cat's eye and an outstanding shade of indigo and blue, he smiles with all of his extraordinarily sharp teeth. ]
There'll be plenty of time for sun, my dear, [ he drawls in sigourney's clever little accent, something beautiful he'd pick up off an ionian boat. it's sweet and sibilant, exotic, but not too annoying. ] I've a proposal for you and time is of the essence.
no subject
it's perfect.
peter tries not to make attachments he can't keep, he tries not to get... attached. as it stands now, he's the furthest from anyone he can possibly be, behind the glass of someone else. he's so far encased in it, sometimes when he looks in the mirror, peter nureyev seldom crosses his mind (sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he grabs the edges until it hurts and says his name over and over again, a swear to never forget, to never never forget.)
the girl has potential, which is why peter decides he'll scoop her up before anyone else has the chance to. she's got something about her that he's latched onto, a driven kind of fury that's buried deep, surging up with little hungry tendrils and snapping when given only the slightest berth.
why he finds himself caring enough to approach her during the rest stop when they've only interacted a handful of times is still nipping at the back of his mind, but.
you never know if you don't try. mag certainly believed the same in him. you see untapped potential, you grab it, and you start to spin.
pulling down a pair of sunglasses he'd snatched from a rather ditzy-looking passerby's pockets, a pretentious cut, sharp at the edges like a cat's eye and an outstanding shade of indigo and blue, he smiles with all of his extraordinarily sharp teeth. ]
There'll be plenty of time for sun, my dear, [ he drawls in sigourney's clever little accent, something beautiful he'd pick up off an ionian boat. it's sweet and sibilant, exotic, but not too annoying. ] I've a proposal for you and time is of the essence.