#Counting The Steps|Skye and Beth

[brooklynislandgirl]

@little-earthquakes-rp {{xx}}

They flow with the easy grace of knowing your partner well. Skye's body is a little tense and for half a moment she almost asks about that sudden hesitance she'd felt but it melted away before she could get a read on it and so tucks it away for a different time. He settles around her; feet on either side of hers, hand on her hips, other hand held delicately in those long fingers. Even now he's careful with her and some devil in the back of her mind wonders what he might do if he could let himself go.

Her eyes narrow at the jab about her lack of stature. She feels no heated sting in it mostly because she knows Skye when he's being playful. She can hear the burn in the back of his throat, giving his voice a hint of smoke. She lets that little devil gain a deeper threshold. She deliberately slides against him, torso to muscled torso, as she rises on her toes again. Leans into him so that all of her can envelope his senses. "Dunno, ke Lani. You t'ink you got it in ya t' tame fire? Give it one direction t' burn? Cause...if can, can." A smouldering grin. "Well, can try, anyway."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@little-earthquakes-rp {{xx}}

"Never when it count," she murmurs, regarding his tendency to be 'off with the fairies' as she heard it put once. Skye has never once failed to listen to someone in need whether they knew it or not, and that's one of the things that makes him the brilliant professional that he is, the friend carved from the bedrock of the soul. His laugh warms her through and through and pleases her for no real reason except that it is a living thing.

The perfect date sounds wonderful. Perfect. Not that he was thinking about it with her in mind but the quieter the space, the more intimate, the better chance she has of participating in conversation and not having to struggle with words or having someone repeat themselves a hundred times over. And just as suddenly as being touched by his description, she wonders what her aura would look like through his eyes. She has the good graces not to ask. "See, I like dis whole vibe you describin' 'cept f' da part about midnight, but I could make an exception for da right person." She doesn't realise that she's leaned in a little and meets his gaze straight on, a little dreaminess in the depths of the mottled green. Then those eyes narrow and there's a particular tilt of her chin giving a newborn vivacity to the mischievous light that glows in her features. "Kinda 'shrooms we talkin' bout, exactly? Ones saute in garlic, butter, an' wine...or da kine dat you know...bring you closer f' da gods?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

If they wish to impress someone for whom they have romantic (or at least sexual) feelings, does your OC attempt to present themselves as more confident, wealthy, popular or otherwise impressive, than they truly are?

Me Ka Pu'uwai || Accepting

One could assume that the red streaks are paint. Only paint. But after years together, as friends and coworkers, and lately, something a little different, something closer that neither of them are quite willing to look in the eye, maybe Skye knows a little better. He leans in the archway of her studio space and his questions float toward her on slants of light and dust and maybe motes of certain kinds of magick that only come on late summer afternoons. Then she laughs and it blends into the music on the stereo. Wordless jazz. "Sorry. Is jus'....is jus'...d' idea is kind of silly t' me. When ya find yaself in my position, an' when spell it all out...it doesn't sound real. I'm a billionaire trustfund heiress. I have more land an' homes dan anyone could evah need in a lifetime...an' when my Auntie finally decides t' retire? I'm gonna have a title dat comes wi' castles an' tiaras." She tilts her head, brows knitting together, and the laugh turns into a contemplative grimace. "I'm also a biological dead end, Lani. But none of dat tells me if someone is interested in me because of...what dey can get out of me, da kine fairy-tale life everyone wishes dey had... or if dey want me." She wouldn't choose herself. "So if any kine, I do my best t' downplay everyt'ing I can."

[brooklynislandgirl]

💔 (broken heart) - Who has your character hurt most? Physically or emotionally? How did it feel? Do they regret it?

🌹 (rose) - What does your oc find attractive in other people? Are these traits found in their friends and/or romantic partners? Are they found in themselves?

Paint the Town Red || - Even if they were in the office, Beth would have not been inclined to lie on his couch and answer these questions, though truth be told, if Skye were anyone else, she would have already gone. Her treatment notes from other therapists are a two-decade long history of avoidance, of her unwillingness to open up and get to the matters at hand that make therapy necessary. The least kind would say she's guilty of drug-seeking though Respiradol and Depakote don't quite have the same street-market value some people might imagine. She runs a delicate finger round the rim of her glass and gazes up at Skye through the veil of her lashes. A slow, somewhat sad smile curves her lips and she shakes her head. "Hones'ly, one of my deepest spiritual convictions is t' make every kine beddah dan when I found it. Or Hippocratic oat'...do no harm. An' I know people are imperfect, dat no one can say dey nevah did dis kine or dat....so...I dunno. Mebbe my braddah. Mebbe my hanai-sistah. Bein' incapable of stayin' in one place....but I no can imagine bein' important enough to anyone really dat I've done harm wi'out intending." She struggles to interpret the look that crosses his face and maybe bristles at the idea that he's going to counter her own opinion of herself. But when he doesn't? Maybe she is a little more confused. Or distracted because she doesn't really see the second question coming until it sits down and starts unpacking itself. "Oh, uh." She swallows that gulp of wine a little too hard. It makes an audible sound. Her brows still knit together even after that slow half-blink of hers. Doesn't give herself the opportunity to question why it doesn't bother him the way it does so many others. "From a...uh...artistic point of view? Sucker for pretty eyes ~colour no maddah~ or hands...da shape of dem, texture, how dey move when da person speaks or dances or...jus' wha'evah, you know?" She doesn't realise hers are aflutter as she speaks, pairing action with words. I-I don' know if dat draws me to someone, or if its someone I notice aftah da fact...but I mean it doesn't have to be a requirement for me to want to spend time wi' anoddah person." In the entire time she's known Skye, he's the only person she seems to spend time with on her off hours, though she tries to be caring and considerate with everyone she meets. "But wha' I really find attractive in oddahs? Kindness. Openness. Sensitivity. No' just to oddah people, but to animals, to da land. Realisin' every t'ing in dis world needs gentility. Dat gets me in my softest places." She looks away, as if she's wounded herself by saying to much. Or maybe because the world she wants isn't one that exists any more. Maybe never did. "Same same back to you den, d'ough ya don' really hafta answer if is too personal. Mebbe instead...tell me about ya mos' perfect day. Wha' is it like? Who you see? Wha' do you do? Or mebbe even...tell me about ya hannabaddah days. You know, small kid time. When you were in school, where ya grew up. Da kine."

[brooklynislandgirl]

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

This Softness || Accepting

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Those first few times when Skye put his hand out to shake hers and found himself enveloped in a hug became funny as the months rolled by. Eventually it was just a part of Beth and who she is as a person when he noticed that she would offer that same warm, welcoming embrace to a variety of people. Patients, of course. Friends without hesitation. But even strangers, people who looked like they could use a spark of human decency. It never really seems to occur to her that this is not a common thing. She's always been touch-oriented, finding it easier to navigate the world and the people in it through physical contact. And maybe that isn't such a bad thing. Most of the time those embraces are short. So carefully light that the other person might not feel caged by her. Perhaps the hilarity in that comes from the fact that Beth is a wisp of a person, bird-boned and delicate as glass. Or so it might seem. And she always smells good; faint essential oils that can not overpower the senses or trigger the illness-frail. ~*~

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) While the deepest recesses of her closet might look like the place where bespoke and designer outfits go to languish their existence on earth, Beth rarely seems to bother with them. She prefers scrubs when she takes volunteer shifts at the local ERs, and modest office wear when she works the reception desk for Skye. On those rare days off, she putters around in old tee-shirts several sizes too big for her frame, floor length skirts, and more often than not? Beach wear. Bikinis and the like, with bright floral wraps that belong on the shores of her beloved O'ahu. "Hate clothes. Shoes are worse," she's murmured a time or two. Sometimes? Things slip her mind, especially when they might be anxiety-inducing or unpleasantly traumatic. Like now. He's come to pick her up for drinks and trivia which is their weekly scheduled appointment ~she calls it date night, though maybe she doesn't mean it the way anyone else might~ and she seems almost surprised when he turns up. Everything about her is tight. The tension in her shoulders. The smooth, freckled skin around her full lips. The short, clipped way she moves in general. There's other things that are just a little...off. Beth rarely wears make-up, and when she does, it's almost always natural, enhancing her eyes and complimenting both her skin tone and the outfit she's chosen. Tonight? She's wearing at least three supermodels worth of product. Her face is practically sculpted to take some of the roundness away, and to soften her jaw. Her eyes, always wide and bright, seem to have less of their tilt to them. The most noticible thing? She's pale. Her skin artificially lightened so no trace of duskiness remains. Her hair is brutally straight, swept up and back into a chignon. She's covered shoulder-to-toes in a wide-legged Versace pant-suit, and she's looking at him as if she's attending her own funeral. "Gold studs, or these hoops?" She holds one each to a different ear as she asks his opinion. "It's just... the Admiral...he prefers a classic look. Maybe I should do the diamonds instead..."

[brooklynislandgirl]

What appears in your OC's darkest nightmares?

The Fruit from the Poisoned Tree || Accepting

The problem with lines being blurred between them is that Beth is never quite sure whether Skye is curious for the sake of intimacy between friends, or if he's digging a little deeper into her issues that brought them to the situation their in the first place. After years of working together, it was bound to happen that they would become friends, socialising after work, then spending a majority of their time together, especially after discovering just how similar they were, those special things they had in common. And maybe the rest of it falls on Beth's shoulders. She did try to explain that she has no filter or artificial boundaries when it comes for love, that for her both platonic and romantic are one and the same and she isn't sure if there's a distinction. Only that it exists or it doesn't. They've been working on that, though she's pretty sure it's become painfully obvious that her feelings for him are strong. Maybe the biting gave it away. Or the dancing. Stealing his clothes. Drinking his coffee. And so on. But this? Well...had she woken him the other night when she was finally able to cry out when the suffocating paralysis relaxed after the night terrors? He'd come into her room ready to fight hell itself only to find her cold, small, and shaking uncontrollably. At least now he knows where the chronic insomnia comes from and why she doesn't stop until she drops. "Yeah, sorry 'bout dat," she says and stops again before expounding on it. "I..ah. I guess I don' really know dat dere's much to tell. Even before I was born into da world, I've had dese horrific dreams... it's always dark, tight. Confining. I'm always on da edge of sleep, or at least in bed. I'm always same-same age in dese dreams, even when I was small kid. A' first I can feel it brea'ding. In an' out, dragging air but it echoes. Sounds like a hundred screams whispered all at once. Den, from dat dark somet'ing darker, amorphous...comes slinkin' t' da edge of da bed. Runs dese giant claws along blankets an' sheets, almos' tracin' da outline of my body. Time has no meanin' but no can move, no can make sound... an' it keeps movin' up toward my head an' da pillow." She shudders instinctively. "Always wake up before it makes it, but I know...eventually, I'm not gonna. An' when it finally reaches my head? Den I'm...I'm...not gonna wake up evah 'gain. From when I was born until I was sixteen, I sleep in my braddah's room an' his presence was enough t' keep dem...da dreams, dat is....at bay. Dey've come more frequent since...he's been gone."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@little-earthquakes-rp {{xx}}

Some times one has to confront awkward truths. The convenient thing to do would be to lie like a rug and tell him that is exactly what happened. Not that she's fallen asleep in a hammock recently, and not that she'd ever gotten a cramp when she has in the past. There are some things you just can't tell your dear friend and boss; that you're a witch whose speciality is life-magick which covers healing and shape shifting and growing things, fostering the smallest single cell organisms and sometimes for fun...becoming one of nature's creatures. You also really can't expect to tell him you're technically a quarter shark on your mother's side of the family, but not actually a shape-shifter, so you have to compensate for what nature didn't gift you with. But even those options are still better than having to admit a certain kind of pleasure building where it ought not. Especially because he is her boss. He is her friend. She doesn't want to ruin what is already the perfect sort of relationship the way she has before. Of course, even the most innocent thing out of his mouth sounds like a specific sort of turn on and she can't seem to push those thoughts out of her head. "Uh...probably pull somet'ing dis weekend, workin' out a lil." Okay. That managed to sound reasonable without being a direct lie. She resists the urge to squirm. To offer her neck as a place for him to press his lips or sink his teeth. He'll never know how close they both came to dying when he smiles and says she's easy to read. Because if she was? She'd perish of straight shame, and he'd be right behind her if he could only see the image of himself that flickered behind her eyes in the treacherous recesses of her mind. "Typically? Nevah. But den, you've nevah given me one before, eiddah." A little too honest, dancing there on knive's edge. And this followed by the back of her head lolling onto her shoulders, and a dreamy sort of sigh following. "Dis tells me mebbe we need to get ya out more. Mebbe I need t' find you da right person." The tip of her tongue drags itself over the curve of her lower lip and there's a momentary pause. "Whatcha t'ink ya lookin' for?" She doesn't follow that by telling him, she can be literally anything or anyone.