storm song |KISSING IN THE RAIN|

[nala tess winston]

Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the Devil's foot;
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

Song – John Donne

The late summer air had always held a strange fascination for the young girl. She loved the way if felt on her skin, loved the way she could go out in a pair of faded jeans, a floral top, and a light crocheted over shirt in light ochre. The air was shifted by a wind, a summer wind, which was so different from a autumn wind, a spring wind, or a winter wind, and it blew strands of her platinum blonde hair around her small face as she laughed at the beauty of the world. The world was bronzed with color, and the gentle fire of the skies and sand were the best colors she had ever seen. The sky, which for some reason seemed so much larger, and more profound, deeper even in the summer, had been darkening as she had been exploring. The path to the beach, on the outskirts of the bustling resort-town, was magical to a fourteen year old who had refused to allow the world to break her spirit or take away her joy, no matter how hard it tried.

The dark sky, which would have looked ominous to an average person, was like a promise to the girl. It was going to storm; she could feel it, smell it, taste it, hear it. Through the symphony of the rushing wind, the crashing waves, the sounds of tourists scrambling back to hotels and card, she could hear the storm coming. It added an element of base to the winds high oboe, the low muted brass of the waves, and the traps from the tourists. The music swelled around her, the thunder like Steele drums, played far in the distance. It electrified the hairs on the back of her neck, this composition of nature swelling and ebbing around her. It was amazing, the music she heard in the everyday world. Who could say this was all an accident? As she reveled in her music and in the world her god had created for her she finally felt happy in Miami. She had been missing her mother terribly, and the old pains from her brother’s death had remerged when she had left the base. All of the memories she and her family had made had been erased as quickly as the people who she held dear, but now that she was here, in this awesome world, this awesome song, she could make new memories. The thunder grew louder, and the wind intensified. In her personal symphony the oboes rose in pitch, followed by the brass as their peaks developed white caps and crashed over the sand in the intensifying gusts. She could almost feel the electricity tingling in the air. The thin hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up as she breathed it all in. The rain was coming; she could feel it.

Instead of heading back home the little girl rushed further onto the now deserted coastline until she reached a high dune. She stood at the center, arms out, head to the sky. She would have made a strange picture if anyone had stumbled upon her. The first fleck of rain began to fall. Each was the solitary note of a xylophone, a single middle c, and then another, and another. The tones intensified, adding to the low thrum of the Steele drums, the screech of the oboes, the fervid thrum of the brass, and the light fugue of the traps. More and more complex got the xylophone part, interplaying with the brass as the waters met, until the girl was drenched and radiant. The rain ran in her eyes, over her hair, and in her open mouth. It tasted, imagined the girl who’d never taken anything stronger than a soda, like the finest wine. As she stood, chilled to the bone and happier than she could remember being in weeks, the first bolt of lightning struck the sand not far from her. The hairs on her neck had a field day, and a cymbal crash punctuated the intensifying melody, quickly followed by the sound of boards breaking with the base turned up she always got from lightning punctuated thunder. She spun wildly on the spot, laughing in a near maniacal way. With each successive lightning bolt and crash of thunder her laughter became more hysterical, until she finally opened her eyes. Her face was split by a smile, and she was spinning so fast she could barely make out her surroundings through the rain.

Only then did she realize the time. It was getting late, and she was soaked. Not that she minded either, but Draco would eventually want her home. She allowed her music to swell to a great crescendo, and turned on her heal, not in the least bit dizzy. As she retraced her steps down the slippery dune another bolt of lightning hit, this time catching the ground only a few meters from her sliding form. She watched in awe as sparks cascaded with sand, dancing around the dark spot on the side of the massive dune, and laughed with childish joy. Her laugh had a bell like tone, much like the music she imagined the rain made. She let the joy wash over her in waves; much like the water that ran off her small body. She allowed herself to rush to the site, slipping and sliding in the moving sand hat fell with her. Her cheeks were flushed with the excitement of the storm, and her hair was plastered darkly to her pale skin. She realized she was shivering, but it only served to heighten the intensity and experience of her natural high. Why, she wondered, did people need drugs when it thundered nearly every two weeks in the summer here? She shook her head, smiling, extinguishing her bright laughter as she watched a last bolt strike the ground. She had heard somewhere that lightning on sand made glass, and, reaching the dark warm place in the sand –the site of the largest bolt–, stooped to investigate. Her hands thrust in the sand, she looked much the small child she seemed to the outside world, not the young adult she truly was.

Time Of Day: Early evening.
Month: Late August, a Tuesday
Others in the RP: Ash Cooper
Attire: clicky!
Words: 1037
Notes: Like I said, it’s a little short. And, clearly, Nala is a crazy person. But Ash should love her anyway.

[/size][/font]
[/justify]

[ash xavier cooper]

Pain surged through his arm as yet another hit was taken. Ash had realized that trying to fight his father was useless because he woudl just loose every time. His whole body throbbed as it took blow after blow each one harder then the last. Maxwell was a maniac. A drunken maniac, as he could smell the alcohol off the others frantic breathes. His father been this way as long as Ash could remember. When things got bad the bottles would pile up and the torture would begin. The blame would automatically fall into his hands and then he’d get beaten because he just wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t his fault that his mother had died, or that his father had gotten fired because of a silly scandal that resulted in his birth. Ash was not to blame from his fathers intentions on having sex with a drugged up prostitute. For all who cares, those are solicitation charges that could be laid down at any given time. Abuse would follow along those lines but Ash refused to tell anyone about it. Without taking the time to duck, a solid fist melted into his face bursting his lip open without much effort. Blood oozed out of the open wound and into his mouth where he struggled to swallow it down. This wasn’t another lacrosse accident.

After what seemed like forever his father settled down. The fight had faded, and Ash had time to react. He would leave the house, leave his father to consol himself alone. Sweat dripped off the old man and onto the floor, hands now resting on his knees. The stance of an exhausted human, one who could use some or any form of cooled liquid. This liquid would not be provided by the aching son, because the son had fled. His feet pounded against the solid pavement, running as far as possible, this was the first step to his plan. From there he would go somewhere and vent to a street sign or a rock like all the other crazies did. Someone might find him and he’d be put into a mental institution, away from harm, away from his father.

Roaming was something that took his mind off the pain. Took his mind off his bloated lip, his bruised abdomen and off his swelling eye. By walking aimlessly during the night he could cleanse his mind, get rid of the memories that haunted his very fragile tormented soul. Ash would be able to walk in peace, without worrying about his on-coming punishment or about his attitude problem. Apparently being negative towards life was not a smart outlook. Optimism was far fetched, how could someone possibly look at everything positively? That’s like seeing the starving children in Africa and saying ‘at least their food goes to a good home like mine’. Was it positive because it benefited your well being? What about their well-being, they were the ones loosing out. A wave of sudden sadness rushed over Ash, but as quickly as it came it left leaving only the crack of lightening. A storm was brewing as the humidity in the air intensified. As his fifth grade science teacherhd taught him, a cold front and a warm front create a storm. With the new season bouncing in, Miami was in for a disaster.

The rain started to sputter just as Ash stopped walking. At that point he wasn’t sure how far he had gone or where the hell he was. All he knew is that the temperature had just taken a major drop and he was getting soaked. The white t-shirt on him had gone transparent and was uncomfortably sticking to his skin. God did he hate the rain, especially when he had nowhere to go. If Ash was thinking straight he was have headed for shelter, but his mind was in the gutter so he continued walking. Once his shoes hit the sand he lifted his head of to see a girl standing there. Her arms were spread to the heavens and she seemed to be dancing. Interested he took a step forward and suddenly became afraid. A dancing girl. Correction: a young dancing girl. What could he ever do to her? The female moved back and forth and his blue eyes followed somewhat mesmerized by her movements. The lightening hit and he jumped coming out from dream land. It was exactly the same as coming out of a coma. You were dazed, confused and lost in the world. Sometimes Ash felt like never waking up. Just lying there in that itchy hospital gown while his brain fluids dissolved into gray matter.

It continued to pour turning his ruffled brown hair into a knotted mat. Around him the storm raged on. Thunder here, lightening there, he was quite amused. It was like a light show, each individual cloud lit up with the crash of a hit. But as he looked past the sky his eyes always found the tiny blonde in the sand. Damnit, he was going insane. Watching the child like a pedofile, like he was going to abuse her. Abuse. Rage filled Ash’s head and he automatically wanted to take it out on the female. He wanted to tell her off for dancing in the rain like a deranged Indian. He wanted to tell her that her clothes didn’t represent the normal looking teen and that she looked like a baby. But the boy couldn’t bring himself to do it. Running his tongue over his puffy lip made him remember what blaming another individual could do. He could cause pain, cause tears, and he could cause someone to end there life. Then with the snap of a finger she stopped her dance to sit down and cup the sand. Cocking his head to one side Ash wondered what in the world she was doing . So in a mysterious manner he approached the blonde tapping her abruptly on the shoulder. ”It’s thundering and lightening what the hell are you doing?” He asked furrowing his brows until there were slanted inwards. With a huff and a puff Ash fell backwards onto his buttocks landing in the soft sand. ”Don’t you have a home or something. Nobody comes to the beach in the rain, it’s retarded.” Manners Ash. Letting the steam blow off was easier then he had expected. He regretted what he had said, but the worst was coming. Hpefully she didn't cry.

words 1056
notes imsorry it's so late that this turned into a puddle of uckk. i need some sleep x.x
attire sexi boii
music never say never - the fray
credit banner & babyteacakes

[nala tess winston]

- - - - - - - - -

The rain had battered the face of the child overflowing with joy and spirit. She had rushed at the wind, daring it to knock her down, daring the world to fight what she was, what she knew, what she believed. It was an amazing creation, a symphony of life and love, a high more powerful of that achieved by any drug. Crackles of excess electricity played over her body, making the tiny hairs covering her arms come alive in a tumble of magic. The sounds of music, heard only by the deity in faded jeans, crashed and ebbed, filling her world with light and joy. Like the first words transported by telegram, she was reveling in the joy that god had wrought. She felt thunder, heard lightning, and knew rain. The wetness against her hot face was comforting, and the strange tug of unshed tears she had been ignoring since August 15th evaporated as she was baptized again by the storm. There was no question as to the symbolism, and it wasn’t wasted on the religious girl. Baptism, like it said in her raged bible, was like birth. And, what she had just done was much the same. Death. Birth. They were all the same. Part of her, though she hated to admit it, would never show it, had already overcome it, had died that hot August day, in that stuffy, sterile room, with the woman she loved more than life itself. Truth be told, another part of her had died the day she and her mother had lowered the empty coffin into the Virginia soil, and received the folded flag. But rebirth, beautiful as it was, filled her up again, mending any holes she refused to acknowledge.

As the rain ran in little rivers over the small curves of her body, shuddered over the light crochet of her cover-up with each rise and fall of her thin chest, splashed in stars off her eyelashes and the split ends of her darkened ash hair, and ran like wine into her slightly parted lips, Nala felt baptized. Born anew into the world, ready to face life in a new town, with a new family, and no point of reference. She was, now in the heart of the storm, one with the energy pouring from the sky, crackling like liquid fire from the clouds, rumbling from heaven itself. She was a part of the music and the power, a creature ephemeral and wild, but human at the same time. She felt more acutely than she had in months. Nala had needed a thunderstorm. The days when it rained so hard she couldn’t see the horizon, and the thunder sounded like splintering with the base turned up, and the world was split by sheer power uniting earth and sky were the days when she felt the most alive. To a girl who felt that life here was an adventure, saw beauty and joy and magic in the smallest things, a thunderstorm was like a high. It transported her out of her life, turning her into something more; though the transformation was transient and incomplete, it was perfect. Thunder days were the closest Nala came to being heavenly; in the same ways that swimming was the closest she came to flying. Something, perhaps an inaudible footstep, brought the deity back to earth, back to a shivering, rain-drenched body and gritty sandy soil.

Nala knelt, hands thrust into the soft sand, feeling around for anything hard. A snatch of storm churned wind caressed her flushed face, twirling a strand of soaking hair into her eye. She laughed, an addition to her symphony, and blinked hurriedly, to remove the tendril without getting the grains on her face or stopping her search. The stars which had settled on her pale eye lashes left small trails down her chapped cheeks. The pale mouth blew a small gust of warm breath up towards the eyes, laughing droplets away, thanking them silently for their service. The hairs which had clung so desperately to her lash were finally expelled, and the light coating of water left on the delicate lashes dusted her vision with a corona of rainbows. Nala, free of the pesky hair, and unaware that she was being watched, returned to her gentle digging. Her thin fingers scrabbled in the coarse grains, searching out the tree of glass she hoped to find in the lightning’s wake. The symphony, never forgotten, began to ebb, the oboe, bass, traps, Steele drums, and mallets fading. Nala let the music go, wising it well, and knowing she would miss it until she chose to open herself to the score again. Her left middle finger bushed against something firm, and she excavated it with her other hand. She was slightly disappointed, but not overly so, to find, not a forked glass, but a small gilded-red orb. She pocketed what she thought to be a bit of sea-glass, and returned to digging.

As her hands brushed away thin grassy roots, like the mane of some strange subterranean creature, she felt a presence next to her. Stopping her search she shifted to look at the not-unwelcome invader. A boy, perhaps a few years older than she, was stood on the gritty ground looking at her. His face was graced by a stubborn frown, which seemed to come easily, sad as that was to the girl. It could have been a mask for all the feeling that was behind it. He looked, to her untrained eyes, more lost, and, perhaps, confused by the sight of a teenage girl worshiping a storm. As any watcher should be. For a moment, she felt uncomfortable, almost afraid, in his presence, the blue eyes, the color of the stormy sky, looking cold and somehow false. This feeling, however, passed as quickly as it had come, his easy frown brushed off in her joy. He spoke ‘It’s thundering and lightening what the hell are you doing?’ He grumbled, and lost his footing, landing next to her in the sand. ‘Don’t you have a home or something. Nobody comes to the beach in the rain, it’s retarded.’ She laughed, leaving his angry words in the sandy soil. The water bathed her upturned face, plastering the few strands of hair that were about her face to the pale skin and reddened cheeks. Sitting back on her heals, and rubbing her gritty palms gently on her jeans, she replied “I’m hoping to find something.” Again Nala laughed, her face crinkling in joy and at her own reply. She was elated from her storm. Thinking how strange she must seem to the boy, a lone in the sand in the center of a huge storm, she explained the tail end of her strange actions. “Well, not exactly. The soil here’s sandy, and when lightning hits beaches and things it makes glass under in the sand. I was hoping that it had done it here, but I’m not even sure how it works. Actually, it might not even make glass.” She laughed at herself, the bell tone musical to her ears. “It’s an amazing storm, isn’t it?” She hadn’t meant to speak the thought, but her euphoria was so great that she wanted, more than anything, to let this boy who she had just met share in her joy. His obvious cynicism and displeasure didn’t even dent her mood.

Time Of Day: Early evening.
Month: Late August, a Tuesday
Others in the RP: Ash Cooper
Attire: clicky!
Words: 1232
Notes: It’s up to you. Is she a nut-job, or a breath of fresh air? Oh. And I wish I could see his outfit!

[/size][/font]
[/justify]

[ash xavier cooper]

The rain continued to pour down. Each individual drop running down his tinted cheeks. Yes, he was flushed. From the running mainly, but also from the anger. All the hot steam bottled up inside of him. Ash wanted to scream to fight and to let go all at the same time. These actions were had an impossible outcome. Considering his over-reactive yet consistently non-existent conscience Ash couldn’t handle very much. All those emotions seemed to kill him every day at a time. So to drown those out he’d have to use something to over-power his nervous-system. This would either be a drug (like them’ magic mushrooms) or alcohol. The drugs were something that he could find around. He’d eat them inside a soup and then a little while later everything would seem so much better. Ash could sit there and laugh his ass off at anything. That certain hallucinate made him crazy as hell. He knew it was bad when the flowers would pop up, or the mystery dragon that told him to be a good boy in Chinese. So utterly delusional those drugs made him, he needed some proper guidance perhaps a mentor. The alcohol was much easier to find. His house for one fact was filled to the roof with bottles amongst bottles of rum and whiskey. All those old fashioned brands and there old fashioned tasted wore off after a while as his body subsided and didn’t react too easily. This was why he had to make a switch. Ash had a way of scamming his alcohol. Either he paid with sexual pleasure, or hard earned cash. He had nothing better to do with the money, so why not get drunk off of it?

The storm was subsiding, he could feel it. The rain sheets were fading and the tremendous noise was now a faint beat in the distance. If it were day then the storm would have created a sensational rainbow. Now it could only shine on the moon. Patting matted hair once more, he made sure that it hadn’t blown away in the heavy winds. Sure if he had been wearing a toupee it would have been long gone, but those hairs attached to his scalp were still in contact. As he jerked his fully carpeted head around he noticed the she was still there. The girl he raged at was still there. That his cruel and unfortunate language and insults hadn’t caused her to flee, and this somehow surprised him. If Ash was female, which he is not despite the name, he would have run off already. He would have already climbed that mountain and gotten away from his intimidating image. But she was different. She barely flinched when those words exited his mouth. Just by that, that vulgar forsaken mouth hung slightly ajar. Bewildered by the child, Ash stayed planted on the sandy beach. Listening to her hands search the ground for the mysterious unrevealing glass.

Ash thought it was completely stupid. She was looking for an object caused by nature, one that was not around. If there was glass on that beach it wouldn’t be natural, mainly because no lightning had hit the earth in that direct spot. This did not make him feel like a genius though. This science fact was known by that female, and he was just reflecting on her statement. If lightning did indeed hit right there, then he wouldn’t have been sitting on that sandy beach. His somber eyes followed her movements until she seemed to find something interesting. It looked like ordinary sea glass to him. A party was probably thrown and then years, months or however long it took the formerly sharp edged bottle piece was a smooth rounded sphere. Nodding he followed along still curious of what the strange girl had in store.

It took Ash a few brief moments to realize that he hadn’t responded to her. He had just played along; plain out pretended he knew what was going on and why she was acting the way she was. In the end there had been no result, and with great dissatisfaction he returned his gaze to the water. But as Ash opened his mouth, the words that flowed were dripping with repulse and dread. ” If you lost something in the sand, you’re probably not going to find it. So just don’t get your hopes up or anything like that.” This conversation had taken an awkward turn. All because of her reply in the pleasant tone and his in one with great dissimulation. The truth and hurt was hidden in his deep sentences. With the ruffle of his head he spat out another single word. ”Oh”

’It’s an amazing storm, isn’t it?’ She had asked him. ”Crazy” He nodded along to her comment facing upwards to the sky. ”So what was with the whole freak-rain dance?”. ”Not that I watched you or anything.”. Good cover. Ash didn’t know of anyone who enjoyed a good storm. Anybody out at sea feared for their lives and other contracted phobias from the clashes. His father was known to be that way. He had a storm censored phobia, one that went haywire when the clouds darkened and the rain pounded. The man would be raw at that time and finally was Ash could consider vulnerable. Curling up under a bed or even blasting the radio with his head up to the vibrating speaker was a way to deal with the great fear. While his father controlled yet another weakness, Ash was left outside in the storm, vulnerable just existing.

words 953
notes his speech is kinda messed up. since i didn't know where to put any of it :3
attire sexi boii
music weightless - all time low
credit banner & babyteacakes

[nala tess winston]

- - - - - - - - -

Nala worked at a particularly difficult patch of fibrous roots, continuing to dig as the boy replied. The rain ran down her back, forming little rivers under her shirt, following the lines of her spine, skipping delightedly over her thin ribs. While the bedraggled teen was thin as a waif, she was nowhere near emaciated, or sickly. She had lived on-base all her life, and had enjoyed training with the soldiers. Though she was wiry instead of large, and toned rather than buff, the child-like girl could bench press nearly one and a quarter times her weight could swim the 200 meters of her favored butterfly stroke in record time, and the muscles under her pale skin were nothing if not tight. However, regardless of ability, the teen was small. She knew it, short and light; she was a missile in the water, and, at the advice of an individual at school, ready to try her hand at flying, in the air instead of the water, although the only time she truly wanted to fly in the air, the only time she’d let herself was when she knew she’d come down (safe and sound), or when she was jumping into a body of water. The droplets of water that ran down her back were nothing compared to the base’s indoor pool, or the ocean she was worshiping near, but they felt as much a part of her body as her arms. She loved water of any kind. Falling from the sky, stagnant in a pond, chlorinated and blue of a pool…put her somewhere wet and she was in her element. Trickling down her back, the raindrops sent a shiver down her spine, electrifying once again the gentle hairs on her arms. The tender follicles had barely calmed after the last strike, and now the shiver woke them again.

Fumbling in the sand with her right hand, Nala watched her new companion, her fingers running on autopilot. How strange she must seem to him, out alone, in the middle of the beach at the heart of the thunderstorm. If he had been watching her long, say, when she had been spinning in the wind, she would seem even stranger to him. But, he was out alone, in the middle of the beach at the heart of the thunderstorm as well. So, perhaps she didn’t seem as strange as she thought. None of this was strange to her. She had been baptized again by the magnificent storm, and was born anew in a new town, for a new life. So this boy could think what he would, because this was Nala, always and forever. She wouldn’t pretend. Not when the storm was electrifying her very molecules, causing her being to sing out in joy. She beamed, lost in her own world, and focused once more on the boy. Perhaps she really was as strange as he must perceive her to be. Strangely, as the thought hit the girl she came to another realization; she was glad. She was strange. She laughed out loud, tinkling like water on china. The hand which had been digging flew to her hair, bunching it and holding it behind and a little over her head. He was speaking, and she tried her best to focus her attention. She wondered, for just a moment, what he was thinking, what a picture she made in his head. For while she looked ecstatic and alive, despite, and perhaps as a factor of, his cutting words and the frown plastered on his flushes soaking face, he looked angry and miserable. Her eyes were drawn for a moment to his swollen and cut lip, the blood nearly washed away by her storm. She ached to reach out and touch his face, to stroke the swollen flesh of his lip and the darkening tenderness under his eye, to take the pain away. But she wouldn’t. Not yet. She was an ephemeral being, dancing in the rain, and he was simply a bedraggled young man; it made her strangely sad.

‘If you lost something in the sand, you’re probably not going to find it. So just don’t get your hopes up or anything like that. Oh.’ His voice continued to ooze hatred, but there was another emotion mixed into it. He seemed to the girl again a little false, a little strained. Stop that, she chided herself. Stop guessing what he’s thinking, and why. Maybe the pain comes from some horrible sport, or from a fall. And maybe that’s just how he talks. The thought brought a laugh to her lips, but she just blushed gently and replied, tilting her head slightly left. “I haven’t really. Lost something, that is.” The laugh broke forth, unbidden. She was not laughing at him, nor at herself, not really. “I guess I’m looking for glass that lightning might have out here. Unless it didn’t.” Again, she laughed, fairly bursting. “But the lightning doesn’t put it there. Not the way I’m sure you’re thinking. It melts!” Nala beamed, the laughter infecting the last word. Had she been standing, she would have spun. As she wasn’t, she chose instead to lie back, splashing gently into the sandy ground, laughing all the way. A few strands of sodden hair, now lightly coated in wet sand, fell into her eyes, and she brushed them away with a flick of the wrist. Her tattoo was visible as the sleeve of her ochre shrug fell away. She couldn’t see his face anymore, but she listened to his next words. He spoke differently from her. He spoke to keep her from understanding him, not to try to let her into his world, the way she did.

‘Crazy. So what was with the whole freak-rain dance? Not that I watched you or anything.’ From her prone position she laughed, and continued. He wasn’t calling her crazy, but she knew he thought it. and that didn’t bother her. Better to be seen as the crazy girl lying in the sand than someone horribly boring. “Well. . . I love storms. They make me feel so alive! Honestly, why would I want to come back when it’s dry. The world is so much….more… when it’s raining.” The emphasis on the single word, more, encompassed words she couldn’t find, not at the moment. Now staring into the driving sky, she blinked water out of her eyes, and opened her mouth to catch rain drops. She listened to the crashing waves as she swallowed the rain. Listening carefully she could hear the boy breathing, a little shaky, and she was sure she could hear him if he shifted the sand as he moved. She smiled. He still sounded angry, upset, but she wasn’t going to let him change the way she was feeling. Nala always managed to control her own heart. Or, at least, to understand where it was headed, and rein it in. Some part of her felt that he wasn’t sharing her joy, but the last sentiment seemed like a catch. He had been watchuing her, and that was his way of saving face. He sounded so full of disdain, so angry. For a moment her mind flashed back to the bruising on his face, and she wondered, sadly, if that was why he spoke to hurt. Wishing, once again, to take away his pain, the girl closed her eyes, forgetting, treating him the way she’d treat anyone else. Opening her eyes, Nala smiled, swallowing a mouthful of water, and licking the droplets off her thin lips. “I have a name, you know. Regardless of the whole freak-rain-dance, as you call it. Perhaps I have it even more when I am.” She laughed, high and long, euphoric. Perhaps she could infect him with her joy, bring him where she was, where a part of her knew he should be. “I’m Nala.”

[/b]

[/blockquote]Time Of Day: Early evening.
Month: Late August, a Tuesday
Others in the RP: Ash Cooper
Attire: clicky!
Words: 1314
Notes: No worries! I got what he was saying. He should lie down next to her. She’s such a silly little girl, isn’t she?
Muse: The Chain – Ingrid Michaelson
[/size][/font]
[/justify]