"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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The Burned Handler
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I used to be a handler like you, then I turned into a horse.
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It stung just a little, how she seemed almost uninterested. Sure, he knew not everyone had his passion for the game, but "'kay"? Really? He never dismissed her talking about her interests. Her attitude usually slid right off him, partly because he didn't particularly care and partly because he understood where she was coming from, but for just a second his back stiffened and his pace quickened and he let out a little huff. There were days his obligations to the team were all that got him out of bed in the morning, so it could be a bit of a sore spot.

They kept walking, but the offence bled out of his stance as he reminded himself she didn't mean harm. It was only that that was a very rare thing that could actually get to him, and he idly wondered which of them would be more surprised that something could still sting him at all. They were walking away from the sun which helped with the heat and the harshness of the midday light, and Jane fell so silent he actually took a glance over, once, to see if she was even still there.

She was, of course. He gave her a little grin, as if to say 'all's well', then returned his attention to the trail. The horse and the rider had long since gone their own way and left the pair's sight, leaving Cris to scout ridges and monoliths and cacti. He could see why it might not be the most terribly exciting view of Kingman's many hiking paths, but the variety was something, wasn't it? The desert had a character all of its own, even if there were no trees for them to sneak behind or whatever if that mood struck. Too hot for that kind of thing anyway.

And then, a soft little tug, the warmth of skin on skin. Cris blinked and looked down, saw her hand cupping his. Slowly, surprised rather than reluctant, he turned over the hand to grip hers, squeezing gently. They kept walking like that, and after a few steps his thumb began to stroke the back of her hand. Her hand was so much softer than his, and he enjoyed the sensation, even if it did mean slowing his stride to not detach from her.
MurderWeasel getting impatient
 
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.


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18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!


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16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene


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Walkabouts · Memories from the Past