marked me like a bloodstain
Stiffly Flora stumbles forward, her bare feet tucked between Jack's as she rests her cheek uncomfortably against his chest, every muscle tight. Was loving someone something you had to learn? The queen's first instinct is to argue but of course it wasn't. It was something you just felt and that served as the motivation for you to do things. Only...Only before anyone had pointed out to her that feeling is nausea or that feeling is arousal, would she have known? Quickly, Flora swallowed to herself. Of course she would have. Not having a name for something didn't mean you had to learn how to feel it.
What was that other saying? About old dogs and new tricks?
Drumming her fingertips against his leg if only to direct his attention to the rings on her fingers, Flora shrugged against him. "I can tell when you're lying, remember?" She mumbles softly; not to imply that he had been, but only to save herself a good deal of pain if he tried at some point in the night to reassure her with words he truly didn't mean.
Words like I want to be here.
"I want to go to bed." Tilting her head and resting her chin against his chest as she blinks up at him, the Doubletake sighs wearily, her blue eyes red-rimmed and lined with smears of mascara.
Had Jack ever been to her second floor before? Flora didn't think so, though it wasn't as if she had the energy to give him any sort of tour as she turned, bottle of rum still in hand, to pad softly up the stairs. The queen's room screamed Flora. Everything within was immaculately styled, and while some of it was certainly sentimental rather than curated, everything screamed of cohesion even in the dark. A large bay window cast ribbons of moonlight onto an obnoxiously large bed whose thick pillows and blankets suggested you'd sink several inches upon getting into it.
Moving to a large wardrobe in the corner, Flora began to delicately unbutton the bloody shirt she was wearing with the intention of hanging it up so that she could send it off to be cleaned in the morning.
What was that other saying? About old dogs and new tricks?
Drumming her fingertips against his leg if only to direct his attention to the rings on her fingers, Flora shrugged against him. "I can tell when you're lying, remember?" She mumbles softly; not to imply that he had been, but only to save herself a good deal of pain if he tried at some point in the night to reassure her with words he truly didn't mean.
Words like I want to be here.
"I want to go to bed." Tilting her head and resting her chin against his chest as she blinks up at him, the Doubletake sighs wearily, her blue eyes red-rimmed and lined with smears of mascara.
Had Jack ever been to her second floor before? Flora didn't think so, though it wasn't as if she had the energy to give him any sort of tour as she turned, bottle of rum still in hand, to pad softly up the stairs. The queen's room screamed Flora. Everything within was immaculately styled, and while some of it was certainly sentimental rather than curated, everything screamed of cohesion even in the dark. A large bay window cast ribbons of moonlight onto an obnoxiously large bed whose thick pillows and blankets suggested you'd sink several inches upon getting into it.
Moving to a large wardrobe in the corner, Flora began to delicately unbutton the bloody shirt she was wearing with the intention of hanging it up so that she could send it off to be cleaned in the morning.
