“That’s a whole lot of ammo you’re wasting from such a puny gun.” 

deadeyedrifter‌:

Oh, and they were here tonight, it seemed. A remark like that could only come from a Gunner.  

“An unsurprising consequence of trying to pay you fucks a compliment. A lot of blanks and nothing to work with.” 

Indeed, the Gunners are everywhere. And though Ozias can hardly give two shits about gang loyalty, he does love an easy opportunity to measure pistols. 

“What can I say, the right hands make all the difference.” With two fingers, he taps one of his eyebrows and produces a malicious, cocky smirk. “And- you know- a decent pair of eyes.”

[[ ooc
     What is bound to be an unpopular opinion, below the cut. 

Keep reading

ivoryribcage‌:

Her mouth thinned into a grimace. She weighed her thoughts: the potential outcome of varying decisions, the short-and-long term risks associated to each, their benefits and their consequences. The distraction reflected itself in the lowered volume of her voice as she countered in response, “Even settlers can pose a threat under the right circumstances.” People often thought of her as a docile lamb led blind to Ozias’ slaughter, but the presumption couldn’t be farther from the truth. Their willingness to converse about a difference of opinion contributed to the well-being of The Red Storm. In the months before Veata it had been a stable threat of The Commonwealth, but their shared contribution laid the groundwork for better than stable. 

Better to place her trust in his assessment of the merchant. If she were to do otherwise it’d result in wasted resources. “I’d like to at least establish her standing with other merchants before we start. Did she mention how it is that she came to us?” The chance to profit from a nuisance made for a tempting offer. Before she could settle into the task at hand however Veata would prefer to know, in terms of business, the woman they’d dealt with. She placed a hold on the conversation when the elevator struggled to an open. It protested the addition of their weight before grinding into life as it began their ascent. She made note to send for someone to perform maintenance on the generators. 

Old. Easy. To his companion these terms were translated as routine, but routine was hardly reason enough to be complacent. “It shouldn’t be difficult then. Before we send people to deal with it though I’d like to head a scouting party to assess them in better detail. If they’re venturing further north of here either there are more than we thought or a deranged lunatic is leading them. I’d like to know which it is.” Both likely. Both dangerous. She could account for much, but she couldn’t account for madness. The elevator came to an abrupt halt on reaching their designated floor. Eager for solid bearing she followed Ozias. 

She knew each inch that he walked with her by heart. There’d been a time, after all, that her world had been no more than the private domains of his self-made kingdom. On crossing the threshold into his refurbished office – once a tasteful two-bedroom that had since been gutted into a single, much larger space – she closed the gouged door after them. Business. Pleasure. One bled into the other when he brought her here. As she waited for Ozias to settle she busied herself fetching one of numerous ledgers. Opening to the most recent pages she scanned her notes on their current supplies and the various assignments she’d given to The Red Storm.

Veata mused as much to Ozias as to herself as she approached with ledger in hand, “If I bring Lock, Scratch, and Simeon we’d only need supplies for half a week. We have more than enough to manage that.” He didn’t require she receive his permission for each decision she made – more so after she’d proven to be a more than capable second-in-command to his mercenaries – but she rather liked to hear his council on them. His field experience caught what she didn’t. Veata seated herself on the table well within his reach then frowned almost to herself as she compared dates. Without the slightest pause she rested her hand on his when he moved it to hold her thigh, transferring the ledger to balance in one hand as her thumb rubbed his wrist in small circles. 

What Ozias lacked as a result of his often impulsive practice, Veata balanced with careful but quick calculation. She never ruled out the possibility of additional factors, and did well to prepare their band of barely GUNNER-aligned mercenaries. After the controversy regarding her return as his consort - once word confirmed she was in fact the same kidnapped, adopted daughter of his mad father - Ozias’s loyalty to the gang wavered. He had so much of that newfound power to thank Veata for, as it was she who urged him onto this path in an effort to align with new, rising forces. No one could deny that VAULT DWELLER, hellbent on finding his son, had forced quite a dent in the aggressive forces of the COMMONWEALTH. The Red Storm had no intention of falling behind with them.

“Evidently we’ve built quite a reputation.” His response came with a hint of amusement, and as they entered the rickety elevator whining for repair, he turned his focus on her beside him. “Your blue-suited buddy is spreading the word; as far as mercenaries go, we’re the best and easiest to work with.” Aloud, the statement seemed less appealing to him. For a long time, he’d relished in being the terrifying COMMANDER OZIAS KRANE, a man who’d mastered the wasteland and taken his place as mercenary king. Now, some might consider him as helpful. Maybe it did well to put CAPS in their pockets, as well as an unending supply of food and weapons, but a certain reputation was one of Ozias’s greedy lusts. How it benefited them both, that he had no qualms with trading that lust for his second-in-command’s ongoing devotion. 

With her proposal, he agreed. “Good idea- from the sound of it, they’re gaining numbers. My bet’s on other RAIDER gangs chased out of their former bases, joining them, but I wanna know for sure.” He could feel the tension of his power stance unwinding the nearer they came to his private office. Although business would continue, it would do so with what would soon be a writhing, twitching body. He hadn’t forgotten the quiet might she’d used in the face of a jealous client - so professional, so undisturbed by the false claim made to break her. Veata had already experienced a side of Hell he’d barely dragged her out of, and there was something so deadly, crudely attractive he found in the demeanor it had built for her. 

Once inside the office, Ozias immediately unbuckled his rifle holster from his chest and dropped it carelessly, wooden planks creaking tiredly under new weight. Then he plopped down into his customized office chair, old shotgun barrels poking out behind his shoulders, welded to the seat in a lazy, but stylistic fashion. The Commander loved making appearances, that much was obvious in the bright white streak of hair atop his head, which he combed back with fingers he’d just freed from his gloves. They found her thigh next, and though he’d heard her speaking, none of the words actually registered except one. 

“You?” His head leaned back and those blue irises darkened with his narrowing eyes. “Sending you off on a scouting run is hardly good use of manpower. They’ll go, you’ll stay here. We’ve got bigger fish to fry coming up.” Tension grew in his fingertips, and he inhaled slowly and deeply through his flaring nostrils. “Lieutenant Clint is paying us a visit all the way from old Quincy. I need you here.”

TAGGED BY: @loving-lone-wanderer

1ST RULE: tag 9 muses you would like to know better

TAGGING: @emeraldhellfire @silentstalk @zwhacking @anachrxniism [everybody else I’m fairly familiar with- need to update my follow list, yikes; feel free to snag this if you wanna!]

2ND RULE: BOLD the statements that are true for your muse (both canon and modern verses)

APPEARANCE:

• I am 5'7" or taller
• I wear glasses
• I have at least one tattoo
  
• I have at least one piercing
• I have blonde hair (naturally)
• I have brown eyes
• I have short hair
• My abs are at least somewhat defined
• I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

• I love meeting new people
• People tell me that I’m funny
• Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me
• I enjoy physical challenges
• I enjoy mental challenges
• I’m rude with people
• I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it
• There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

• I can sing well
• I can play an instrument
• I can do over 30 pushups without stopping
• I’m a fast runner
• I can draw well
• I have a good memory
• I’m good at doing math in my head
• I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute
• I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling
• I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch
• I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

• I enjoy playing sports
• I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else
• I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else
• I have learned a new song in the past week
• I work out at least once a week
• I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months
• I have drawn something in the past month
• I enjoy writing
• FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION
• I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

• I have had my first kiss
• I have had alcohol
• I have scored the winning goal in a sports game    
• I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting
• I have been at an overnight event
• I have been in a taxi
• I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year
• I have beaten a video game in one day
• I have visited another country
• I have been to one of my favourite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

• I’m in a relationship
• I have a crush on a celebrity  
• I have a crush on someone I know
• I have been in at least 3 relationships
• I have never been in a relationship
• I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them
• I get crushes easily
• I have had a crush on someone for over a year
• I have been in a relationship for at least a year
• I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

• I have at least one person I consider(ed) a “best friend”
• I live close to my school
• My parents are still together (just not alive, but together)
• I have at least one sibling
• I live in the united states
• There is snow right now where I live
• I have hung out with a friend in the past month
• I have a smartphone
• I have at least 15 CD’s
• I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

• I have breakdanced
• I know a person named Jamie
• I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce
• I have dyed my hair
• I’m listening to one song on repeat right now
• I have punched someone in the past week
• I know someone who has gone to jail
• I have broken a bone
• I have eaten a waffle today
• I know what I want to do with my life
• I speak at least 2 languages  
• I have made a new friend in the past year

@noprodigalson​ 

It wasn’t right - the smell, copper stench of blood and the salty, pungent stink of sweat. It should have been something floral, some dainty plug-in device or seasonally themed candle he was decidedly fond of if only because it brought on those faded memories of home. But this, a revolting scent any human being would find repulsive and frightening, reminded him of a place which he’d one day be forced to take residence. Though reluctantly, should he find the burning halls of Hell, the thought motivated his eyes to gradually open and answer the suspicion. 

Not Hell, but it was certainly no place he wanted to be. Despite waking, little more light was offered by his surroundings than there had been behind his eyelids, taking the form of little orange flickers set in various places on the floor. Candlelight. A minimal pain throbbed reflexively in his skull, but when he drew to raise his hand to it, he found the limb immobile - bound. What was a gentle awakening stirred abruptly into a jerk of his shoulders, which lead to the quick discovery that not just his arms were chained to whatever seat he’d been placed in, but his legs as well. And when he looked to identify his restrains, he spotted the streaks of red stretching out beyond him and leading into points within a circle surrounding him – someone had done their homework. But who? 

Ozias’s focus darted ahead to the body just barely visible beyond the flexing shadows of those little fires, where he found his captor. What wisdom had been passed on to him about his kidnapper was enough to cause the switch of dark, blue eyes into black ones; there was no sense in disguising his reality - the HUNTER already knew. 

With unyielding pride despite his current disposition, the demon raised his head high and slowly parted his lips into a crooked smile, teeth separating only to snicker aloud and then speak. “You really go all out, don’t you?” His shoulders stretched, chains clanking while they rolled across his upper arms in as little room as was left between them and his skin. “This must be old man Bobby’s place; I’m honored.” The Winchesters’ wouldn’t be surprised with their reputation among demons, most especially this Winchester. And after a foolish series of adventures in his famed chariot, Ozias had been awaiting this particular spotlight before his solo audience. 

“So did you have to swap out those bench seats, or were you able to get the stains out?” Zero regret could be noted in his tone; instead, his composure bled with arrogance. He hadn’t realized at the time of the carjacking that such a well loved and well driven old Impala had been the property of one famous and very protective Dean Winchester. At least, not until he’d driven it wildly around the city and arrived to his house only to discover he could not exit the vehicle - demon traps had that affect. One uncomfortable phone call later and his rescuer came outside to do just that - and then join him in plotting the dispersing of evidence. That however, would follow several more opportunities to defile Baby’s exterior and interior; Ozias was so very good at coaxing the worst out of his mortal girlfriend. 

“Because I’d love to know if a part of me is still sunken into that leather.”

—    basics.

▸     is    your    muse    tall    /    short    /    average ?
an average tall; all the boys out here in OC-ville be tall af.

▸      are    they    okay    with    their    height ?
He’s quite content with his height; tall enough to demand power without forcing it, but making it look that much easier when he does– which is often.

▸      what’s    their    hair    like ?
Naturally jet black, but an obsession with appearances has made the man in many verses, bleach the center portion either a silver or completely white. If grown out, it would be wavy but not curly, fine but not thin. However he would almost never grow it out, preferring slick-back charmer looks over raggedy grunge. 

▸     do    they    spend    a    lot    of    time    on    their    hair     /    grooming ?
Absolutely. Given his usual choice of hairstyle, a certain amount of attention is required to maintain its striking, still bouncy look. That and a shave are what occupy the majority of his grooming time, preferring to wear his sharp jaw naked rather than stubbly. Although if he does decide to go with a 12 o’clock shadow, he’s adamant about it looking crisp, clean edges and all.

▸      does   your   muse   care   about   their   appearance   /   what    others    think ?
Yes. Despite his “no fucks given” attitude, Ozias is extremely particular about how he appears and how others perceive him. Strength and deadly charm are among the preferred adjectives, and if someone thinks differently they ought to not let him know should he decide to show them.

—    preferences.

▸      indoors    or    outdoors ?      outdoors
▸      rain    or    sunshine ?  sunshine
▸     forest    or    beach ?      beach
▸      precious    metals    or    gems ?      metals
▸     flowers    or    perfumes ?     perfumes
▸      personality    or    appearance ?      personality
▸     being    alone    or    being    in    a    crowd ?     alone
▸     order    or    anarchy ?  anarchy
▸      painful    truths    or    white    lies ?     white lies
▸  science    or    magic ?     science
▸      peace    or    conflict ?   conflict
▸     night    or    day ?     night
▸      dusk    or    dawn ?  dusk
▸   warmth    or    cold ?    warmth
▸     many   acquaintances    or    a    few    close    friends ?      a few close friends
▸     reading    or    playing    a    game ?      playing  a  game

—    questionnaire.

▸      what    are    some    of    your    muse’s    bad    habits ?
It’d be easier to write down what habits of his are not bad. He’s often a heavy smoker bordering on alcoholism in addition to near sex addiction. He can’t stand being in one place for too long, and suffers commitment issues as a result. Early on, he learned to deal with his problems with drugs, sex, and violence and he continued that lifestyle through the decades. It’s unusual to see his knuckles clean of scratches and bruising, or a hand without a lit cigarette. The concept of a girlfriend is reduced to a regular hookup with no strings attached, and he likes it that way. If asked about all this however, his response would be: “You call it a bad habit; I call it life.”

▸      has    your    muse    lost    anyone    close    to    them ?      how    has    it    affected    them ?
The loss of his sister and/or best friend Roz is a frequent theme in the many verses I’ve thrown Ozias into. It marks a turning point in his already piss poor lifestyle, as he chooses to give up on a moral high road in nearly every big decision that follows. Although his mother often passes in his teenage years, her death is predictable given her similar, but heightened vices. Finally, the death/murder of his father is another extremely relevant event, being the major source of Ozias’s rage and detachment after years of physical abuse. Despite being gone, Ozias frequently faces a comparison to him by many sources, which is why his death is most powerful when it’s caused by his own son.

▸      what    are    some    fond    memories    your    muse    has ?
They’re few and far between, honestly. I like my boys full of angst. There are memories of being out with friends and feeling the bliss of uncaring youth, recalling what that was like when it was at all an opportunity. But Ozias doesn’t often hold on to the past, at least not in a way that he would acknowledge. That all being said, in many verses there occurs a young woman with whom he becomes more fond of than even his best gun. In years following her introduction, she would become those fond memories.

▸     is    it    easy    for    your    muse    to    kill ?
Without a doubt, the man was built to be a soldier. Murder comes as second nature in most verses, and he’s hardly bothered by that fact. Even his first kill often occurs with little hesitation, the way the hunt comes naturally to the wolf. 

▸      what’s    it    like    when    your    muse    breaks    down ?
Ugly. Messy. Bloody. Although prone to violence, a complete meltdown is fairly rare and triggered by very few things. Nonetheless, one would be wise to avoid being the cause of one.

▸      is    your    muse    capable    of    trusting    someone    with    their    life ?
More often than not, no. But in any case, he’d prefer to get things done in a way that keeps his life in the security of his own, manageable hands. He is the arrogant, cocky kind who will avoid doctor visits and surgery at all costs, and would sooner use someone as bait than let them be his cover in battle. 

▸      what’s    your    muse    like    when    they’re    in    love ?
Difficult, to say the least. There’s only been one such occasion, and the counterpart has endured quite a hefty load of troubles as a result of their shared passion. But this isn’t as a result of common issues such as jealousy or trust, but rather those earlier mentioned habits with which he maintains his lifestyle. Although leaving the single life was fairly easy - all things considered - his flightiness and reluctance compromise are cause for many bumps in the road. That, and often the murder. But when all is said and done, one is likely to glance upon a happy pair who, without a doubt, are fiercely in love.

love-buckybarnes:

I love this knife flip.

daggersandsparks‌:

She smirked a little bit at his words. She couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t entirely surprised that the Boss of this group saw himself as better than the rest. She hummed non-noncommittally to his talk about ‘earning skirts’. She wasn’t going to comment on that one. It reeked of arrogance. Earned or not

He was either playing very hard to get, or he wasn’t interested in getting into bed with her. She could simply walk off, find someone else among those wandering about. [She was far more likely to wander to one of the women. She even already had an eye on which one.]

But his next words had her staying for now. She rolled her eyes about what ‘women in her business’ wouldn’t be able to handle, noting the implication. Her initial response that came to mind was ‘not my first rodeo’, but she held that back, instead considering his question, especially as he drew his face closer to her. She didn’t pull back from him and just let a smirk make its way unto her face.

❝Honey. I’m not hiding my body, you can see my scars. Ya don’t get those from a job like this.❞  Or maybe he hadn’t noticed. When she did things like this, it was actually common for the men to overlook them in the haze of lust and sex. But if he was more than talk, he had. She was covered in them, after all. ❝I do this for fun, not just for caps. And I tend to like a challenge. Why go for easy?❞

For fun? The very idea had an angular eyebrow raise in climbing curiosity. She was either higher than a knocked out RAIDER, or addicted to something less chemical but equally as hopeless. The scars he hadn’t attributed any relevance to, namely due to the fact that most everyone he dealt with was coated in old wounds, himself included. Occupying a certain kind of lifestyle, one such GUNNER had stopped asking about scars. 

“I’ve seen plenty of whores that could argue that.” His response was spat out cold as he leaned back, the smirk fading from his face. There was something so appealing to Ozias Krane about tearing apart the layers of one’s ego to find that gooey center of self consciousness within them. Whether it was for money or personal gain, the Commander took sickening pleasure in degrading those whose confidence attempted to speak louder than his believed superiority. After all, he was the one in charge here. But if it was a challenge she wanted, she’d get it. 

“Is the fun part getting turned down repeatedly for a gal with better skin, or am I missing something?” His tone dripped with poisonous sarcasm. 

ivoryribcage‌:

It happened at once. Each of them had read the informational leaflets – had memorized the minimal procedures and warnings. But no amount of preparation could circumvent the simple fact in life that sometimes it went wrong. Not a soul breathed as she and the others that accompanied herself and her fiancé fixed their horrified stares on the seventh individual of their happenstance alliance. She stood with delicate, manicured hands clasped to her mouth, and at the corners of her hazel eyes welled fat tears. Past the unnamed woman – more child than adult – Veata caught the flash of a thin, hairless tail just as its owner scrambled into a near gutter. Rat. She had screamed in horror for no reason other than a simple rat. 

Ozias had been right to discourage her. Had she not insisted on joining him in scavenging, Ozias might not be with these people – with this woman – that had just damned them. She found though that horrified anticipation swallowed her capabilities for righteous anger. The tide of adrenaline released into her veins slowed her perception of time and heightened her awareness of herself and the barren street. She could her heart beating in her chest so loud that she felt as if she stood in the heart of a thunderstorm – feared that the foreign beasts that stalked Seattle could too. But it wouldn’t matter. Though the woman’s outburst had lasted no more than a breath the horrors that had crossed into Seattle needed no more than that. Veata trembled. 

The sheer number of emotions that struggled for the spotlight overwhelmed her at once. Chief among them were fear and regret, confusion and resentment. Veata fumbled blind for the comfort of his hand. Scared. The emotion had carried with her the minute she’d set foot outside their home, but in the face of certain death it’d reached a nauseating peak. She squeezed Ozias’ hand so hard that her knuckles turned white. But then the seconds passed into minutes, and nothing had come bounding through the streets for them. The breath began to ebb into her lungs again. Once. Twice. Thrice. Nothing. She felt that she could collapse to her knees in relief. Instead she leaned into the weight of her fiancé.

She could feel the heat of his anger as it radiated from him. But he wasn’t alone as the others began to emerge from their tense anticipation too. The woman seemed aware of it as she began to mouth tear-stricken apologies. It didn’t matter. She’d almost cost them more than just her life. Veata lifted her head to peer at her fiancé’s face – his expression a storm of anger – and she squeezed his hand twice to catch his attention. She understood that he’d been right to reject the mimed proposal to join the strangers that had crossed their paths earlier. Or could it be that in the heat of the moment she allowed her personal resentment to change her opinion? It didn’t matter just then. Veata tugged his hand once then stepped in a direction opposite of the others. 

The signal of their departure didn’t go unnoticed. One of the three original men – she suspected the father of the woman that had screamed – attempted to communicate with them, but she raised a single hand to force an immediate end to it. She could see past him the guilt stricken expression of the woman, but the need for self-preservation outweighed the pity she might feel for her otherwise. Ozias brought his hand to rest on her shoulder, and the couple turned from their short-lived alliance. She didn’t see it when it happened – didn’t hear the noise of it. Not, at least, until the woman’s shrill scream pierced the silence. On instinct Veata turned to face the direction it’d come from. 

Bile lurched into her throat at once. She could no longer see the woman, but she could hear her screams as she tangled with a horror Veata had only seen in photographs until then. Limbs. It seemed so much to be nothing more than long, spindle limbs. Flesh. Lean. Its mottled coloration impressed on her the thought of a beast that had been starved then stripped of its coat before it’d been beaten past the point of death. No. Not naked. She could see, as she pressed a hand to her mouth, how the creature’s head opened in pieces. Armour. It began to raise itself and the man that had tried to dissuade them earlier bashed at its back using his flashlight wth a fearsome roar – the pride lion attempting to protect his cub from danger. 

Veata felt the scream building in her mouth. Instead she hiccuped a hard breath – as soon hating herself for the sound – as she flinched and turned her face into Ozias’ shoulder. She could not bear the sight a moment longer as the woman’s screams cut into silence. It felt too much at once. Clicking. Screaming. Though she had pressed her face into him, her stare of abject horror remained open. She could see in her peripheral another figure join the man – more screams as Ozias began to inch her further from the massacre – but the other three remained rooted in place like herself. Ozias kept her grounded. But then a sound that made her blood run cold. In the not far distance three additional screeching death tolls joined the horror’s as another voice cut into abrupt silence. 

No matter life’s challenges, Ozias was bound for perpetual survival if for no other reason than his endless selfishness; his upbringing had taught him that much. When it came to be that monsters beyond their wildest nightmares joined them on Earth, he was no less prepared than he’d been evading the police on the winding streets of Seattle in his youth. But where he failed to educate himself, Veata assumed the role, and they flourished in the ruin of mankind. The two of them, anyway. 

What he would have done to have the young woman’s gurgling remains his doing, if it wouldn’t mean drawing more of them to the fray. He’d hated the idea, and now it was spiraling out of control in a worse way than he could have anticipated. Where Veata saw opportunity in other people, Ozias merely saw risk, and indeed he’d been correct to assume as much. When the others had begun to ease in false hope, he continued to urge his fiance in so many sharp tugs and firm grips to her shoulder away from the noise makers. Not for a second did he believe they were so lucky as to go unnoticed by the sound hunters, and in a flash of fleshy lightning, it arrived. 

The thing spared not a moment to begin peeling and scraping her body open not unlike an abused piece of fruit, visceral carnage left in the wake of its feast. He’d turned to pursue Veata’s movement when the nightmarish sight caused him to pause in abrupt horror; third party images simply hadn’t prepared him as well as he’d thought. He’d seen first hand the mortality of humans almost a hundred times, and yet the horror just meters away from them pushed the boundaries of his iron gut. A shaky exhale was relieved slowly, but as its body straightened and the pedals of evidently its head began to pry open, Ozias’s focus returned.

Whatever became of the group to follow, he hoped would draw the most attention while he urged his attachment farther from the feeding. Her tension reflexively bubbled up aggravation, which made the grip that latched on to both of her shoulders tighter than he would have liked; it was necessary. The rattle of dampened trees alerted him to the arrival of several more monsters eager to join the shrieking chorus - and to silence them indefinitely. He didn’t expect to become one of them, and he wouldn’t let Veata either. 

The minimal sound that escaped her had his fingers curl like claws into her skin. Hastily he considered abandoning her for his own sake, but the dark thought was abruptly flooded by a new tension in his stomach and his tightening grip around her. Not her. She’s mine. The weight of her body moving into him had his arms snap around the curve of her back and the behind her head. Faster than he could have realized the decision to go in motion had been made up in his own mind, he raised Veata off the ground and swiftly stepped backward across the sand laden path. 

Ozias’s breath stuttered out of his nose while Veata dangled against him, desperate that the impromptu relocation would offer them some assurance - if they’d heard her, she wouldn’t be where she’d been just a moment before. Then he waited, and watched as the incoming beasts burst from the forest’s edge and sped in their direction.