She lets him down. Something like dread settle in her stomach where there had once been glowing embers. Cool night air hits Carolina's front and her temperature drops steeply. She's never been good at these things. No use in pretending. The UNSC soldier boys that had steeled themselves enough to approach her were left running with tails between legs. They were distractions. Irritations. She was smarter than to fall for their sweet words. Knew they'd call her a bitch in the inevitable aftermath. No, she kept her head on her shoulders and worked hard.
Now, she kicks herself for dropping something she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto.
They walk quietly. Her's is a clenching silence. His, loose and cool. Cobbled streets break down into dirt roads; city housing into cropped hills. They roll out into fields and small pastures where animals graze, pink and orange light sprawling across their bowed heads and backs. She points to a calf which trips over its own gangly legs and springs back to galloping. 'Looks kind of like you'.
The dirt path slopes down, and on the horizon is a quaint, if somewhat run-down farmhouse with a strawberry field flanking its side.
"That one's mine."
Carolina slows her gait and takes ahold of his hand.
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Date: 2025-06-01 02:31 am (UTC)She lets him down. Something like dread settle in her stomach where there had once been glowing embers. Cool night air hits Carolina's front and her temperature drops steeply. She's never been good at these things. No use in pretending. The UNSC soldier boys that had steeled themselves enough to approach her were left running with tails between legs. They were distractions. Irritations. She was smarter than to fall for their sweet words. Knew they'd call her a bitch in the inevitable aftermath. No, she kept her head on her shoulders and worked hard.
Now, she kicks herself for dropping something she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto.
They walk quietly. Her's is a clenching silence. His, loose and cool. Cobbled streets break down into dirt roads; city housing into cropped hills. They roll out into fields and small pastures where animals graze, pink and orange light sprawling across their bowed heads and backs. She points to a calf which trips over its own gangly legs and springs back to galloping. 'Looks kind of like you'.
The dirt path slopes down, and on the horizon is a quaint, if somewhat run-down farmhouse with a strawberry field flanking its side.
"That one's mine."
Carolina slows her gait and takes ahold of his hand.
"Careful. It gets slippery."