#Somewhere Over A Rainbow || Corinne and Luka

[whosxafraid]

Snowy Distraction

Tracked from [ X ] (hopefully this fixes the reblog issues) @corinnebaileyrp

You afraid of a little snow?

There's a smirk but nothing more. Breath barely escaping as he lies motionless. Listening to each step she takes. Feeling their landings at the tips of his fingers. A painstakingly slow breath chanced. Alleviating his momentary blind eye to the world. Where he sees by scent and touch.

Rich coffee bean, sugar sweet, the idea of wood smoke from the fire he had built in her room's hearth the night before. The harsh cold of winter nipping at the edges. And yet at the center of her there is a depth of warmth. As though she held universes in her chest but had no idea. And that alone is twitching at one corner of his mouth until its drawn itself out into a full on lop sided grin.

Cruuuunch.

She's moving closer. Each step chosen carefully. Searching for him. Following the trail he left behind. And then all goes quiet. Only the sound of her breathing, the beat of her heart--can be deciphered. And he counts the seconds in between each. But then....

Oh crap.

Every muscle comes alive at once. Every atom revving from a cold start. Powerful arms and legs that have held and carried more than she knows entire, vaulting him up and out. And he wastes no time at all catching her up around the middle from behind. Launching them side ways into a fresh pile of snow. A playful kind of air to his voice, when it comes at her ear.

"Go'cha."

[whosxafraid]

Dorothy :

Water horses

She arched an eyebrow. There’s a moment where she find she can’t discern even the slightest inflection in his tone to indicate whether he was serious or instead floating the idea to see if she’d bite like a fish on a lure.

“Water horses.” She did intentionally lace the inflection into her tone to indicate the slightest hint of incredulity. Really Luka? She lets out a soft sigh. “Okay, we’ll go with water horses then.” Really, at this point, what else can she do?

Though really it was only a beat or two, he does seem to be weighing the options of offering more. Also she’s not unaware there seems to be a conversation of sorts going on which she can’t follow. Then he does at least say they are the last of their kind. Okay, a little better than before. “Okay.” She accepts it with a nod. She casts an admiring gaze at the creatures. Her mind is still at odds with the sight, but at the same time, she wants to drink it all in. The fear that they’ll suddenly vanish fills her with a sense of loss even as they remain in place for the moment.

The rest of what he says is somewhat lost in a jumble of accented words she’s not fast enough to decipher, or at least she tells herself as much. So, he’s scared off a pack of wolves. Okay. Her short term memory tells her as much, so stands to reason that’s what the translation would be in google translate. Oh you’ve been here too long, Corinne. Now you’re believing in fairy tales and magical unicorns. Her eyes shift to the side. Hard to contradict the scene that had just unfolded and the creatures apparently carrying on a conversation with her jailer. Hard to dismiss what now seems obvious even while her subconscious is screaming, Oh yeah? Watch me.

At least he finally admits it’s all a bit much to take in. “Well, that’s most believable thing I’ve heard in the last five minutes.” Had it really only been a few minutes? Of course, Alice in Wonderland it is then. Her mind was tossing the most ridiculous notions at her because it was better than trying to suss out reality on this beach which seemed rife with otherworldly creatures and talking animals the likes of which seem ripped from the pages of fantasy and myths.

“Sure, let’s do that. I could use some coffee myself.” Or something stronger. Her lips twitched. Best to keep your wits about you, lass. Oh for fuck’s sakes now you’re thinking in his voice. “Yes, let’s get out of here.”

“Lead the way, last thing I want to do is step in land mines or be the unwitting cause of some other stampede of unusual creatures.” Sarcasm is about the only defense she can muster at this point, even her own unusual enhancements don’t feel a particular advantage at the moment. She is completely out of her element once more, no closer to answers and farthest aways from anything the least bit familiar to her. It is at the same time both a physical and mental distance. The worst kind of unbalance she can imagine. Even that thought unsettles her as she glances around recalling in snippets the scene that had only moments before unfolded in front of her. A tale she’d have dismissed out of hand had she not been witness to it.

Calm. 

She’s calm.

Despite the hurricane of apprehension he can scent on her as easy as look upon her. And that alone--while slow--begins to settle in his bones. To relax the last few complaining muscles into silence. He’d thank her If he didn't think it would confuse her more. But he’s also not stupid. With the scenting of her calmness there is something else. Something that is akin to being dazed...because dazzled is definitely not the right word.

And so there’s a kind of sheepish duck to his head as he moves to take a step. Leading the way back to the house as she had instructed. A deep breath taken in and let out. Making his shoulders rise and fall like tectonic plates. Hands stuffed into his jacket pockets and setting a pace that would give her no difficulty in which to keep behind him or beside him. Whichever she preferred. And despite the fact social graces should have seen him trying to say something else, anything else to try and comfort her--

He doesn’t.

He keeps his tongue behind his teeth and his chin close to his chest. Watching the road a few steps ahead while the rest of him keeps tabs on the surrounding area. The troublesome brats wouldn’t dare try again but it’s instinct. And given what happened the last time he got distracted--aka not five minutes before--things got complicated faster than it should have. And maybe he’s questioning if here had been the best option to take her. But the decision had been made and there was no going back. So one booted foot lifts and plants itself, as the other comes up behind. One after another until the door of the house is passed through. 

He sheds his jacket. Drops it on the hook by the door. Moves to make the coffee. Because that’s manners. She’s the guest here not the other way round. Even if she had more or less taken over the kitchen since arriving. Not that he minds. It's an outlet for her and he’s not about to say the little lass couldn’t cook or bake. Because she can. And she does both rather well. The breakfasts she had made had proven that if nothing else. So the coffee is ground and poured. Set to brew. And he walks away. Disappearing into the hall, only to return ever so shortly with a book. 

One that is set down upon the counter, to retrieve clean mugs. The creamer she’s been using caught up from the fridge before he’s returning to pour the just finished coffee. FIxings as he’s noticed her use added in perfect amounts to her mug before the book is tucked under his arm and he comes round to sit down at the table. Her mug slid over to her across the way as he settles down. The book placed gently down. HIs own coffee taken into his lap as his gaze glues upon it. Because its always hard to know where to start. How to explain in a way to someone he’s not entirely familiar with. How to word what he’s got to say in a way that does not make him out to be an entire nut case. 

How do you explain you are the reason for one of the original villains of fairy tales and childhood? How do you just state with an complete straight face “Oi be D’Big Ba’ Wolf?” The truth is you don’t. So he chooses a much less shocking starting point. Green and yellow dragging up from his cup but only making it half way between them. Because its not a title he’s proud of is it? Even for all that it isn’t totally his fault.

              “Foi’re o’way, lass. Be answerin’ ye k’estions bes’ oi’ be able.”

And by that of course he means he will answer what he thinks she and her existing or non-existing belief on the supernatural can handle. 

[whosxafraid]

Meme: Uncomfortable Headcanons Status: Open URL: @corinnebaileyrp​

They’ve seconds. Heart beats really. And it’s that urgency that has him all but dragging her across the cabin. Hauling the plastic covered couch out of the way one handed. A knee taken as he displaces a seamless panel in the worn wood flooring. A one by one inch screen coming into view as he yanks an old painting off the wall. Ripping the nail that held it loose and jamming it into his finger. Crushing said bloody thumb against the screen a second later and the floor shifts a little. A trap door lifting up just enough for Cory to bodily forced into it. Because he knows she doesn’t want to go. She wants to help. But that isn’t her job. It’s his.

             “Ye stay. Dunna be makin’ o’sound, ye understand? Ye stay an’ ye wait. An’ f’i dunna be me ye see next... ye shoot an ye be takin’ d’at tunnel behoi’nd ye. Ye run Corinne, an’ ye dunna be stoppin’ or lookin’ back.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. The door pulled and pushed back down. The hissing click of locks moving into place. The grind of the couch shifted back in place. And his foot falls that will die away far too quickly. The silence growing with every second that beats by in that six by ten foot space with only one way out (behind her) aside from the way in (before her). And maybe not for the first time he takes it on faith that she’ll do as he tell hers. She has too. Because for all that he is...there’s only one of him and so very very many of them.

But there’s no choice. And he checks the magazine of his side arm. Checks the one at his leg. The knife at his boot. Before all three are returned to their holsters and sheath. Slipping out the back door of the cabin and into the dying day. Because his only chance is to take them out one by one before the next one notices. Thin their numbers before they reach the cabin that was only supposed to be a stop gap. A stop gap that might just be a hell of a lot longer than he was planning on. For himself at least. 

And its silence as the first of them go down. Neck cut so deep it disconnects vocal cords. They couldn’t scream even if they wanted too. And he eases them down to the ground. The growing shadows of the approaching night used to his advantage. Because out here...out here where Corinne can’t see he has no qualms at all about being the monster the tales of him only hinted at. Out here where it is kill or fail. Out here where the darkness of him can breathe and only the wicked pay the cost.

[whosxafraid]

Meme:  Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it Status: Open URL: @corinnebaileyrp​

It’s late...or early depending upon how you perceived the clock. How you perceived time in general. And perhaps no two people could have such vastly different views. But so is one of many things that sets him apart from the other man shaped beings upon this planet. And it does nothing to stop him from stirring her from her rest, where she’d fallen asleep on the couch. Does nothing to make him doubt his actions as he nods in the direction of the glass doors, waves for her to follow him. Because he has something he wishes her to see. Something he’s an inkling she very well may never have seen before, might never again once their time here is done. And it is with that lack of hesitation that he slips out the door ahead of her.

Bare feet impossibly silent in the quiet against smooth wood. The chorus of bugs and night creatures never halting in their symphony until skin meets earth. And it is not unlike a ripple. How the silence tappers into existence around them. Though as they move onward, one might be able to hear them begin again once they’ve passed beyond the range of being a threat. Yet he seems unaffected. Drawn forward as much as picking his steps. The breeze bending the tall grass, that in turns seems to lean and twist around him as he moves through it. As though they wish no contact. As though they are avoiding him entire like a tree might bow away from shadow.

Moments more or hours, perhaps it is hard to tell in this vast open landscape. Where the faded crash of the tide carries to them only to die with every breath. Where the fireflies blink out of existence only to appear again a safe distance away once he’s come to a stop. Hands tucked within the pockets of jeans, gaze stuck on some far off unknown in the pervading dark. And if his companion were to notice, he might remind her Copernicus. Shunned by many for his truths, yet knowing none of them complete. But as quick as the moment comes perhaps too it is gone. And his chin tilts up, taking in the vast open sky above them. The starlight washing away a thousand years of troubles from his features.

             “Be sorry for wakin’ ye bu’....oi’ were d’inkin’ ye be pleased ta see d’is.”

And from there he says not another word. Quiet as the field is. Stone against the breeze that displaces unruly hair this way and that. Green and gold following patterns that perhaps only he sees. Only he recognizes. Because to appreciate beauty sometimes one had to be silent so as not to miss even the tiniest of details. Sometimes one had to allow for the point of view of another to form and flow. Allow them to take in the majesty you wish them to witness and let them make their own truths. Their own beliefs. But he hopes in some small way at least, this will be a moment she looks back on with fondness. That maybe someday when age has caught up and she can journey through this life as once she might, she will remember the beauty he shared with her. And if he’s lucky, remember an old man for his kindness too. However unlikely that will inevitably be.

[whosxafraid]

Dorothy : 

She smiles at his response. Corinne is curious, wondering just how long he wants to keep playing this snow war he’s started. If pressed, she’d have to admit it was fun, even though she’d been fully unprepared for it, that luxury had been to his advantage. But it’s been a fun distraction, a little lightening of the mood that had settled in like a shroud as the months dragged on.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been nice enough to her. In his own way, Luka had been growing on her. But it’s that idea alone she feared more than anything. It seemed more often than not, she’d been forgetting the reason for her presence here. It hadn’t been her choice, he was cryptic as a damn witch in some fairy tale that had a crooked path to the end. She had no idea whether she was trapped in some version of goldilocks or more of a twisted Grimm’s tale.

There’s s sudden stillness in the air. Corinne realizes she’s missed her opportunity to catch a glimpse of Luka preparing for his next snowy assault. “Damn it.” She mutters under her breath. Less than a few minutes of advantage and he’s snatched the upper hand back. Shouldn’t surprise her, again he’d started it, the man did nothing without a plan that she’d seen so why would a good old fashioned snow ball fight be any different?

“You afraid of a little snow?” She called out, lobbing one her smaller missiles as a test grenade. It lands on the walk he’d cleared with a dusty puff softly breaking the silence before the stillness settled back in. Another curse is uttered before she ventures out with pockets packed full of prepared snowy weapons.

With a slightly bowed head, as if shrinking in stature somehow helps, she takes slow, tentative steps, fingers gripping the icy balls In readiness. She’s greeted with nothing more than the quiet of a snow covered winter tableau. Still as a painting.

She advances another few hesitant paces, glancing around for signs of disturbances in the scene.

There’s a spot where footsteps disappear. She looks to her left and back to her right as realization dawns. It’s as if he’s vanished. “Oh, crap.” It’s nothing more than a whisper, yet somehow she’s convinced he can hear her despite her quiet.

Oh, crap.

In other words she was correct in conviencing herself he could hear her. And there’s a grin that twitches at the corner of his mouth. She’s just a step off from where she needs to be, judging by the crunch of her boots and sound of her voice. And he waits. Just five more heart beats. Just five. And she’ll be right...where...he...wants....

Out of the snow in less time than a startled deer might turn tail and scatter. All six foot seven inches comes up. Arms already wrapped about her as he twists the rest of him. Brings them crashing down into another snow embankment with something that might have been laughter on his part. Something deep like mountain roots yet wide as the open sky and rolling like only thunder can. 

A few moments chaos of vying for supremacy before he’s pulling them both up and over. Planting them in a sit along the side, where he releases her at last. Starts brushing snow off his jacket and pants. Chuckling dying off as the snow fell loose.

               “How be d’at for o’snow attack?”

And there’s something to his gaze when he looks up at the end of the question. Something a thousand years younger, that glints off the snow and back again. Something that anyone would know meant mischief of the most elegant kind.

             “Oi’ be havin’ sum’din’ ta show ye, f’ye be o’d’moi’nd, lass.”

And there’s a jerk of his head towards the cliffs and the shoreline he’s warned her not to walk on without her shoes. Hands that brush each other off as he’s getting to his feet. One that’s offered back to her in an ever so old fashion gentleman sort of way.

            “Promise i’be sum’din’ ye goin’ ta want dat wee camera o’ye’s for.”

[whosxafraid]

@corinnebaileyrp

                  Have ourselves a merry little Christmas....

[whosxafraid]

So what? You’re saying you’re a flying monkey or something?

...Or somed’in’.

[whosxafraid]

28) things you said but not out loud

Meme: Things promptsStatus: Selectively Open

They both have secrets. Things that they hold so close to their chests that might as well be buried into the hollowed wounds in their souls. Burrowed so deep that even stuck as they have been for months, little of them have surfaced in their quiet conversations. Yet he knows, she is the closest that has gotten in decades. Scratched and wedged herself beyond the surface of his armor. Tip toeing across this new landscape with no small amount of trepidation. And he knows perhaps in parts and pieces he has done the same to her. Is doing. And there are so many moments that in place of words that wash against the shores of his lips, actions are carried out instead. Because it’s safer. Because she can’t possibly trust him that much. Because…so very many reasons. 

So many words are lost in the flow of action…perhaps speaking louder than the former every could.

         Ye be cold. Becomes a blanket draped over her shoulders as he passes by still dripping from his swim. 

          Canna sleep? Becomes hot tea waiting on her in the kitchen when he can’t either. 

          D’ought we could be usin’ some air. Becomes snow boots only a size too big and a warm coat she could swim in held out.

         Oi’ve seen ye readin’ i’ o’lot…i’  be havin’ o’be’er loi’fe wi’d ye d’an me dusty shelf. Becomes a book of poetry left on her nightstand wrapped in a simple green ribbon.

And there are so many more things he thinks but doesn’t say. So many more moments it is simpler to simply act. Because he knows what it is to be an island in the vast sea of humanity. What it is to be different. To hide in plain sight. And though this does not make them the same…it does make them unique unto themselves. And he can not help but try to ease the burden of it. As she perhaps unknowingly has done for him.

[whosxafraid]

...It’s Cold Outside...

Tracked from [x] @corinnebaileyrp​

Old habits.

He listens to the rest quietly though perhaps not appearing as though she’s got his full attention, pulling open the fridge as he is. Looking for the eggs to make some semblance of a proper morning meal. But even for the small split in focus...he catches it. The tinge of something bygone and wistful, as the candies are tucked away out of sight. And perhaps...the more human parts of him--sigh out the sentimentalism only just so low.

The fridge door is allowed to fall shut as the eggs are set out on the counter. Luka moving round her as she pours them both some coffee. The cupboard opened and the bowl retrieved.  Shifting away again to set it center on the table behind them. Why? Because while he might be immortal, while holidays have...mostly lost their speicalness for having experienced so very many--he still understands the mortal love of such things. 

Understands that its a grasping cling to normalicy, something constant that stays the same no matter how much shite around them might change. And it isn’t really her fault they’re stuck here. Snowed and iced in for the winter months as they are. And if one tiny gesture such as this will make her feel better? It’s not really a sacrifice for them to sit there. Not really skin off his nose, when one is plucked from the lot and offered to her open palmed as the other hand takes his cup of go.

          “D’en dunna be lettin’ me old arse be messin’ wi’d ye rituals, lass. S’no harm, no foul, aye?”

          “Jus’ dunna be bakin’ cookies wi’d ‘em or nod’in.”

And with the latter he’s once again kidding. Well...mostly.

[whosxafraid]

Meme: Mistletoe Status: selectively open

There’s a second where nothing more than a brow is raised at the bowl of individually wrapped “kisses”. Gaze tracking up from them only so far as to see the mistletoe hanging from the door frame and back down again for another moment. Pocketed hands not moving to snitch any at all, though he leans down and closer to her by fractions. The lilt of something teasing, playing at the edge of his voice. 

          “Barkin’ uh’ d’wrong tree, lass. Ye be wantin’ me on me back f’days, be’er ta be askin’ d’en resor’in ta poison.”

He’s kidding. Well…mostly anyway. Something that is perhaps reiterated in the way a hand finally rises up. A singular finger tapping her on the end of the nose before he’s moving further into the kitchen. Looking for that much needed cup of go.

[whosxafraid]

🌸

Meme:  Send 🌸 for three things my muse likes about yours. Status: Open

             “Willin’ness ta be givin’ uh e’eryd’in’ ye be havin’....jus’ ta keep d’ose ye be lovin’ safe....ye persistence...an’...”

              “Ye’ no o’ba’ shot.”

[whosxafraid]

Where are we going?

Indie | Fandomless | OC Corinne Bailey | Interactions

Somewhere d’at dunna be here, lass.

Indie | Fandomless | ORT Luka O'Rìan | Somewhere Over A Rainbow

[whosxafraid]

Split personality: She looked from one to the other, not saying a word for several beats. Corinne even blinked a couple of times, just in case. Nope, still there. "So, you have a twin?" She finally said, not expecting much of an answer given how getting information out of him seemed on par with pulling teeth.

Meme:  the muse is split into two versions of them-self for [10] asks. Status: openCount: 7/10

        “T̶w̵i̵n̸?̴ ̴H̵a̷r̴’̷l̴y̵.̴”

         “̷O̷i̷’̷b̶e̶ ̷d̴'̴b̴e̵’̵e̵r̶ ̸h̷a̶l̵f̷.̶ ̶A̵n̸ ̶y̶e̴ ̶m̸u̷s̴'̵ ̶ ̶b̸-̵-̵”

-puts a knife straight through second’s outstretched hand and into the table-

           “Sorry o’bou’ d’at lass.”

              “ He dunna be understandin’ d’meanin’ o’bubble space.”

                “…………….̶o̵w̴.”

[whosxafraid]

⏳

Meme: Send ⏳to hear what my muse would do if they were told they only had 24 hours left to live- alternatively send running out of time if you can’t sent the emoji +reverse to see what my muse thinks yours would doStatus: Closed

A chuckle. What is it with mortals and hypotheticals? And that’s not a judgement. It’s more of an…amusement. A facination with the idea of things that could be but probably never would be. Though she can’t possibly understand why such a question would be as amusing to him as it is. Bitterly stained though the amusement might be.

           “Take o’red oi’ye ta Norway.”

A pause because it’s really an odd beginning to answering such a question. But that’s the art of it all isn’t it? He’s a fairy tale after all. A story. So there’s a breath then two before he continues.

             “Ren’ o’boa’….droi’ve meself ou’ inta d’nor’d sea and have o’si’.”

             “Watch d’sun se’ o’er Oi’reland. Situate meself jus’ roigh’ so when me end be comin’…oi’be droppin’ inta d’sea. Seems as goo’ o’restin’ place as any.”

Because really…that water had taken him in when he’d been cast out of his homeland. Spit him back out along the shores that were home to ancient pirates. If anyone knew his sins…knew where he came from…why he could not go back…it was that water. And if he had to pick a spot–well like he said, its as good a resting place as any.

[whosxafraid]

Have Ourselves A...

Tracked from [ x ]

It’s easy to lose track of days when you’re so far removed from the outside world. Easy to forget about holidays when you’re as old as he is. When there’s been so many the idea loses its shine. The sentimentalism fading over the years. Until you need those of mortal make to remind you those ideas still exist. Still lives and breathes. So when he catches her in the kitchen decorating cookies. Humming along with quiet music that reflects the season filtering from tucked away speakers--

Green and yellow shift away from her to the open area of the living space. Empty of anything festive. Empty of anything really. Save the lap of the water in the pool. The walls of shelves filled with books and the few sitting spots to read said books. No Christmas tree that the radio sings about. No tinsel and trimmings. Nothing that the modern world has turned the season into. Nothing that Cory would take comfort in or even maybe a little joy. Nothing...

His gaze catches on something when it shifts back to her. The little dish of chocolate kisses she’d felt so terrible about even having. And a hand finds its way to the back of his neck. Something that tastes an awful lot like guilt tinging his tongue. Something that later he’ll try not to think about shouldn’t have happened at all.

         In the meadow we can build a snowman...                       and pretend that he's a circus clown.                             We'll have lots of fun with mister snowman....                                         until the the other kids knock him down

A spark of inspiration that again--he will later wrestle with the idea it shouldn’t have happened. For now however he steps away from his place just out of her sight. Finds his boots, jacket and hat. Slipping out the back door while her back is turned. Her own boots and outwear left by the table as he goes. Feet carrying him down the deck and off the side. Ducked down behind one of the stones that juts away from the underground house. Bare hands that don’t feel the cold quite the same gathering up snow. Compacting it into a ball before it’s launched with just enough strength to carry it to its intended destination.

THUD

It explodes in a powdery mess along the glass and wood of the deck. A count of five before he’s repeating the action again. And then a third time, before he waits to see if his charge falls for the bait. Breath forming clouds against the late morning air. Because he does have a purpose for this. Aside from the playful. It’s just a simple case of whether or not he can draw the baker from her comforts long enough to do it.