Summary: The Bliss was supposed to set you free, but for the unfortunate Deputy, it happened to set certain fantasies free instead.
Warnings: Drug-use, nsfw language
She was sprawled out in the field when Faith found her. The Bliss flowers swayed all around, brushing against her skin like a sea of reeds and dosing her in a haze of green.
Rook spared a moment of lucidity to wonder how long she’d been there. The sun was lower than it had been earlier, so maybe a few hours had passed; leaving her fully exposed to the potent drug. If she managed to escape, it would teach her to never use the crops as hiding places again.
A soft humming distracted her, making her turn her head to see Faith parting the flowers, a ghostly prophet in the red sea, and in her stupor Rook could only smile welcomingly.
“I think…I fucked up,” she told the other woman, twiddling her fingers like jazz hands where they were starfished out by her sides. “And hi.”
Faith giggled, expression warm as she reached out to brush away strands of hair that had fallen in front of Rook’s face. If she were in a right state of mind, Rook would have marvelled at Faith’s apparent immunity to the drug; how she could be standing right in the middle of a field and be utterly as sane as ever.
“How are you feeling?” The Herald asked, cupping the Deputy’s cheek and examining her face carefully; likely checking for the telltale signs of overdosing. “Can you understand me?”
Rook frowned, taking a moment to wonder why Faith was asking her these silly questions because of course she could understand her, and then she made an ‘o’ shape as she realised the purpose of it.
“I’m not an Angel,” she said, as though it were obvious and Faith was a moron for even thinking that she could become one. “I’m still a smartie.”
Faith hummed, and then gently tugged at Rook’s shoulder, gesturing for her to rise.
“I know you are,” she replied soothingly as she helped the hapless woman to sit up. “In fact, why don’t you and I go and tell Joseph just how smart you are?”
I think it is necessary for me to transcribe what she’s saying because it is EXACTLY how I babytalk to my cat:
“Oh Stepa! So little – little Stepa! My little kiss, where’s my little kiss?? Where are my little fingers? Where are my little legs? Where are my little paws? Stepa!” *shakes his paw* “Say hello! Hello my little one! Hello!” *lies down on him* “Oh how nice, how warm. Good boy…”
to be clear, this bear is named the russian equivalent of “steve”
Stepan was just three months old when the Panteleenkos adopted him. He had been found by hunters after reportedly losing his mother and was in very bad shape. So they took him in and have been happily living together for the last 23 years. The couple say that because Stepan has been domesticated from a very young age, he has developed the gentlest temperament.
Svetlana and Yuriy Panteleenko are both animal trainers.
when the world is torn by war when the rain of bullets pour when bombs fall like autumn leaves there’s a garden through the gate where the father keeps us safe you’ll find it if you follow me
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