He offered her the bottle, his dark chocolate eyes glazed with intoxication. "Mm. Thank you," Cruz hummed.
Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]
April plucked the bottle from his grip, taking a deep swig.
Cruz's lopsided smirk pulled further against his cheek. "No hesitation.. I like that.."
“Why should there be any?” April handed him back the bottle, letting the buzz set in.
He lapped up what little she left, and tossed it onto his desk. "There shouldn't," the drunken man replied, approaching her in a fast walk, seizing her by the shoulders to kiss her.
April’s eyes widened in shock as she stumbled backwards, accidentally breaking the kiss while her heart pounded.
"Did I hurt you?" Cruz exhaled in a husky tone, though still concerned through the fog of rum and whiskey. He moved his hands up to her face to cusp.
“N-No,” she managed, vowels and consonants slurring together ever so slightly. Her one hand was on her mouth, tracing the first place of contact, a shocked expression still on her face.
His glazed eyes examined her gently, breath brushing out of an open mouth. She could see all the tiny scars on his skin from war. He pet the side of April's face, "I'm so.. enamorado, mi amor," he slipped into his native tongue.
April was hopelessly lost in a sea of confusion and tangled emotions— in all the times she’d flirted at bars, this had never happened. Genuine emotion behind a fling? Unheard of. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
The Spaniard leaned in for a gentler kiss.
And she accepted, willingly losing herself in the sea of euphoria that arose, willingly allowing his mouth to explore hers.
Cruz planted his elbows against the wall behind either side of her head. The alcohol, the fire, him, made the air feel so much hotter than the outside.
April felt a rush of adrenaline course through her, and suddenly her hands were buried in his hair and she was pulling him closer, closer— what on earth was happening to her?
That made him laugh exuberantly. He pulled her away from the wall, and fell with her into bed.
(S k i p )
To morning, or back to Francis and Pierre?
Franklin and perp (😂)
Lmao
I have an idea to reveal more of perps backstory)
Yeah???)
He keeps a picture of his fam
If he were potentially sleeping
And Francis found said picture
And also one of the letters he used to write symbolically to his dead father
With information on how his sister became a prostitute at the age of fourteen
Oh my god yes i am a sucker for character development
Eyy)
So can I start? It’s night time? Perp is asleep?)
Yessss)
Pierre rolled over in his sleep, a heavy frown on his relaxed features. Crickets could be heard chirping from outside, their music carried into the tent on a breeze of night air.
Edonine couldn't sleep. The sound of drunken and sleepless soldiers poking life into campfires into the night, the uncanny chill of an oncoming winter. So she sat at her lover's bedside, studying his sleeping face.
The wind picked up force, pushing open the front flap of the tent and gusting inside, causing the flame of the candle to flicker and stirring the pile of papers by the man’s bedside. Two drifted away from the rest, landing at Edonine’s feet.
She leaned and pinched the candle. The campfires surrounding the tent bled enough light through the canvas for her to see– she gathered up the mussed papers in her hands.
The first was a black and white photograph— torn, faded, and crumpled. Eight figures were depicted; a family. And even in the faint picture, it was clear that it was a broken one.
She gently unfolded the drawing, running tbe pad of her thumb over the surface in interest.
(Cameras didnt come round til the civil war, but its ok. We'll just say its a rly good drawing)
person_off
Deleted user
"Mm." He laughed softly. "When I am gone, you can stay here. Make a home out of this house, Jane," he raphsodized.
"I will," she purred quietly.