(Untitled)

[base_bastardy]

It's just a field.  Or it's supposed to be just a field, anyway.  Edmund lies on his back in the grass, chewing contemplatively on a stem.

Comments

[lolita_prince]

A stupid, gritty, dirty field with dirt that his heels sank into and slid over the feet of his stockings as he stomped along, trying to figure out where- how- anything.

There's a figure in the distance, though. How lovely.

"Y-you! Come help me, I command it-" Comes the false tone- higher pitched than normal, as Bel puts his hands on his hips, his dark purple dress going just to his knees.

[base_bastardy]

"You." In an entirely different tone.

"What are you doing here?" He approaches anyways.

[lolita_prince]

Bel practically blanches when he recognizes Edmund, and reaches for his knives, tucked nicely in a holster beneath his dress.

"Killing you."

[base_bastardy]

"Not if you want help out of this field. Besides, you can't kill a dead man."