bakerstreet | you are my sunshine

you are my sunshine

sunrise, sunset.
this is a meme about sunrises and sunsets. no matter where your characters are, they're now watching a sunrise or a sunset together. make it as picturesque as you want.

that's it. that's the meme.

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[OTA gen/platonic things, in the voice testing stages so please be gentle!]

( info in journal! )

We can stop here.

[ She declares it the way animals know to both herd together and graze apart — some sure-seeming sense, perhaps, for another fact of the world. They'll reach the goblins soon; the sun is setting; it is easier to travel through the day. Reaching the goblins means Halsin, means the possibility of a cure, means helping the tieflings. Nothing exists alone. So the saying goes.

It's been a week since she met Anton. He dresses very carefully, she thinks, and he's persuasive. People listen to him, even Nettie. They have some semblance of order, whenever they set up camp now — Gale cooks, Karlach and Bosky wrestle, Wyll always has some story to tell around the fire — but it's too early to tell, how Anton will fit into their routine.

It's in this small time, light in the sky is going, and they've yet to eat anything (but, at least, they've finally found something that isn't just bottles of Esmeltar Red), that she takes it upon herself to find him. ]

Anton, may I sit?

[ Time together is how wild things survive. Well — and battle, too, one supposes. ]

We don't know each other very well.

[ As if in explanation. She smiles a little, the apples of her cheeks rounding. Some attempt to be unthreatening, despite the straightness in her spine, or the careful, considering insight she gives to most things. ]

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[STARES INTO THAT ONE SCENE IN CANON'S SOUL....]

Brief bio- A shapeshifting warrior poet alien, who splits his time between superheroics and many human lives, as he tries to find his place on Earth. Feel free to direct tags to a particular secret identity.

Optional starter-

[ The warm red light of the sun across the sands brings J'onn a special comfort, and homesick loneliness unlike anything else. When he wishes to tip the scales from one to another, he indulges in Martian rituals long since forgotten to all others. He holds out his arms to the sky, as they stretch out into great webbed claws, his legs lifting him higher as they follow suit. His cape flares out behind him and forms a pair of webbed wings, a tail trailing out behind. When his wings flap, his body stretches into an almost serpentine form. Another flap and he's airborne, the colours of his costume fading into skin that turns to scales. Dwarfing a jetliner, the massive form dives and weaves through the air, throwing up sand as he approaches the surface to catch the light. A full loop to frame the sun in shadow. It's a dance, of sorts, to honour a species now extinct.

Some might find it beautiful. Some might get spooked by a big ol' dragon swooping around. ]