[The woman following Paul stands impassive and still at the edge of the pooled light around this particularly well-adjusted expedition. With her autumnal hair pulled high above a delicately formed face and a willowy body sheathed in a clinging dress the color of shadow, she is, undeniably, hot. Even MILF-y, if the recently and evidently peacefully deceased are a person's 'thing'.
Then again, so is the man standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with her, whose limp hand at times seems to entangle her listless fingers in his own as they brush against each other. Wearing the same shade of black, his own dark hair shot through with distinguishing greys, the Duke Atreides is nearly as eye-catching in death as he was in life.
Standing between them and the rest of the expedition is the extraordinarily harried mingling of the two of them, looking between all four speakers in abject disbelief.]
Is this necessary?
[Horror and exasperation make for a strange tonal mix. Paul covers his eyes with one hand and seethes out a breath through his clenched teeth.]
cw: corpses, ghosts
Then again, so is the man standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with her, whose limp hand at times seems to entangle her listless fingers in his own as they brush against each other. Wearing the same shade of black, his own dark hair shot through with distinguishing greys, the Duke Atreides is nearly as eye-catching in death as he was in life.
Standing between them and the rest of the expedition is the extraordinarily harried mingling of the two of them, looking between all four speakers in abject disbelief.]
Is this necessary?
[Horror and exasperation make for a strange tonal mix. Paul covers his eyes with one hand and seethes out a breath through his clenched teeth.]
What kind of game is this supposed to be?