ISLA
Having slaked her thirst with tequila and lime juice, Isla settles back to dismantle the lobster claw and dip it - duh - in butter, listening with interest as Remi speaks. It's probably more awkward for him than it is for her, given that (from what she understands of it, anyway) he's just been smashed in the feels with the entirety of their history all at once, and so she forgives whatever small talk he chooses.
"That's your cue never to have sex with anything as a kraken, then," she points out with a fanged smile. "I find the word to be interesting too," she adds - octopus, she means. "It's got three plurals, because of some linguistic argument about which language was oldest. Octopuses, octopi, and octopodes."
Wiping off her hands and raising an eyebrow as she realises Remi hasn't touched any food, it strikes Isla suddenly that this might not be to his taste. Or worse, he might be deathly allergic. "Did you want to order something else?" she asks. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think to check if this would be alright."
"That's your cue never to have sex with anything as a kraken, then," she points out with a fanged smile. "I find the word to be interesting too," she adds - octopus, she means. "It's got three plurals, because of some linguistic argument about which language was oldest. Octopuses, octopi, and octopodes."
Wiping off her hands and raising an eyebrow as she realises Remi hasn't touched any food, it strikes Isla suddenly that this might not be to his taste. Or worse, he might be deathly allergic. "Did you want to order something else?" she asks. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think to check if this would be alright."
she's a runner
rebel, and a stunner
rebel, and a stunner
