vasilyevna.

_{@bopnty  !}

         _{GAZE  IS  FIXED  ON  HIM,    the  way  he  moves  and  the  way  he  looks.    she  pushes  off  the  wall  she  had  been  leaning  against    (  arms  crossed  and  with  a  strand  of  golden  blonde  wrapped  around  her  finger  like  some  kind  of  lovesick  schoolgirl  )    and  walks  toward  him,    gait  far  too  slow  and  far  too  dramatic  for  it  just  being  the  two  of  them,    but,    then  again,    that’s  always  been  her  way.    she’s  entirely  shameless  in  the  way  hands  reach  out,    wrapping  around  his  waist  from  behind.}

          _{‘  so,    when  are  you  gonna  teach  me  how  to  fight,    spiegel  ?  ‘    there’s  a  mischievous  glint  to  her  eye,    though  she  knows  he  can’t  see  it.    he’d  yet  to  find  out  about  the  fire  that  mixed  with  her  blood,    though  he  seemed  too    observant    to  not  have  noticed  the  way  fists  close  too  tightly,    producing  nail  marks  on  her  palms,    or  the  way  her  jaw  seemed  to  clench  with  no  impetus.    though  again,    it  was  entirely  possible  he  hadn’t  picked  up  on  it  at  all.    after  all,    she  didn’t  put  all  that  effort  into  appearing  soft  and  elegant  for  nothing.    regardless    —    an  outlet  was  necessary.}

^{he is perceptive.   his eyes open all around,  fixed on every angle,  set on every space.  she watches him as her gaze is heavy on his back  -  it has a unique weight to it that he can understand why every man that crosses her would only long for more.   more attention,  more understanding,   more intimacy past the physicality.   but he doesn’t fall for it so easy   ..    no,    that just isn’t his style.} 

^{his kick is swift and his fists strike air in all different ways while containing his strength,  sending   a compact punch that elicits only an audible thump but packs the power to puncture holes through walls.  his invisible target is about to see a strike  ‘til a cool hand met his skin.  he stands relatively upright again   (  excluding the slouch that so commonly weighs on his shoulders  )  and his fists unfurl into a loose open-palm.  “  i never said i was offering lessons,  “   he answers,  regaining his urge to get another smoke.}  

^{helene portrays herself delicate  -  more so than faye  -  and doesn’t spurt out the same venom on her tongue.  yet.  there is a sigh that leaves his mouth.  leaves more as a deflated chest than an audible sound.    “  does that make you the not-delicate type ?  could’ve fooled me.  “}