lossbroken.

@mcskiffle ❩ from x

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           UNDERTAKER.   how chivalrous of you.       distaste drips from her tongue like saccharine syrup. sentiment has never been her forté; she has preferred reasoning over passion every time the choice has presented itself. and yet, there is something tender in the idea of help. she perseveres alone, as she so often does; the idea of companionship has the slightest ring of appeal. and yet, in spite of herself, fingers flinch every so slightly from his for a moment ( is aversion to touch a holmes family trait? ), before stilling themselves under his hand as lips twist with a hint of sardonicism.   it’s ah, for a dog. my family’s dog; he passed away, rather regrettably. this is so my brother can get a proper goodbye.      

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                          PAUL’S GAZE SOFTENS,   the discomfort fading with a newfound explanation that sheds light on an otherwise grim situation.   ’M sorry t ’ hear that … y ’ know, I’ve a dog as well…  he seems to lean closer, a suave, deep look in hazel eyes that work to his subconscious advantage. If there’s one thing Paul knows by now, it’s that women tend to find an emotional openness  ALLURING  in men, a sensitivity that signifies a quality of man fit for love, settling down, sticking around. And if there’s another thing he possesses besides his natural charm  &  good fortune with the ladies, it’s an emotional  GROUNDING  within himself: it’s as if he's hyper aware of his emotions  &  just what it is he’s feeling … The music he creates is proof enough of just this.   Don’t know what I’d do if my Martha left me, y ’ know… ‘s heavy, that, th ’ thought, I mean. I c ’ n only imagine, y ’ know. ”  A beat, the sentimentality filtering through the air  &  sinking in with a prominence that seems to give birth to the perfect atmosphere that might inspire goose-pimpled flesh, the contact of their palms becoming especially relevant in the moment.  “ ‘S there anythin’ else I c ’ n do, y ’ know …  t ’ help take yer mind off’a things?