sucre'd fiend’s Comments (group member since Oct 20, 2015)

"And what if I have been drinking," Zhura snapped at Lorrie, regretting it a moment later. Why was she always the bad one? Why was she the one they had to pity? Closing her eyes, she turned over and away from her sisters, the considerably more stable ones. She, she fell on a spectrum of instability of her own. A prophecy looming over them, and she seemed to be the only breaking down, like she was weaker. "What have the two of you been up to," she asked, her back still to them. Being on the ground, on something solid and immobile felt nice. Even if it was the ground.

______________________ ( lyncoln andromedus ) _________________

●●● male, nineteen, bisexual, human, lucky blue smith ●●●

_____________ ( ♔ personality ♔ ) _____________

Lyncoln is...well. Most people tend to see him as that unforgivably beautiful boy who inherited his father's bakery. He's a bit of a mystery for most people, considering he doesn't really talk to people. Well, only certain people. The speculations about him are the thing of all the latest gossip if he really gives it a go. He seems nice, as far as anyone can tell. He's just slightly odd, with the way he stares, like he's trying not to forget. Lync has a tendency to be a little ditzy, to forget a few things if he isn't careful. Adorably clumsy, but for the most part, that's all people really know definitely.

Lync has a habit of shutting down if he can't deal with something emotionally. Not in the sense of leaving no room for other emotions, but sort of going a little...brain dead. His mind has the disadvantage of being able to think of multiple things at once. It's nothing too serious, but it's definitely not a good thing for him to be daydreaming about a certain someone when he's baking. Lots of fires to put out these days.

_____________ ( ♔ biography ♔ ) _____________

From a young age, Lyncoln had always found himself at a disadvantage. He couldn't hold a conversation and look at something sparkly at the same time. His attention could never be divided. He wasn't sure if that was meant to be a good thing, like his mother had once said, or a bad thing the way his father saw it. He knew, though, that it would be useful in some respects. His focus on a singular task is perhaps what even allowed him to be involved with the bakery. From the time he could identify tastes and smells, he was always deep in the kitchen, under the tables as he watched his parents work. His brothers, all five of the rowdy lot of them, had gone off to do other things while he kept up the fort.

A year ago, his father entrusted him with the bakery, stepping down as the owner. For Lync, it was perhaps the greatest thing to ever happen to him. Or, that was what he thought at the time. But then he stumbled his way into Lorraine, and well, he might have to revise the list of "greatest things ever" that he has.

The ground before her danced and swerved as she stumbled, not entirely sure which foot she'd set before the other. Pausing a moment to gather herself to sober up enough to walk a little straighter, Zhura began her mental chant of leftrightleftrightleftright. It was a blessing she hadn't fallen down in the grass already. Looking up, she spotted two familiar bobs of hair, one brown and one red. There were only so many people she'd seen in the course of her life that she could identify by the shape of their head and their hair alone, and it would always have to be her sisters. A giddy smile spreading out of her lips, she haphazardly made her way over to them.

Close enough now to drop down and wiggle her way forward, Zhura cheerfully--and drunkenly--slurred out a greeting before resting her head in the grass.