Dance with the waves, move with the sea,
Not trusting her voice, Thal let's her eyes do the talking. They're narrow and sharp, clearly questioning his excuse with an unspoken, 'Suuure. A rock.' She wouldn't push, but she doesn't know why he'd hide such a thing unless it's a source of embarrassment. Maybe the rock was oddly human shaped.
Despite her own predicament, she's not feeling quite as close-lipped, bitterness curling her lips up in a humorless smile. "I prayed for Dygra." Offering her hand like a delicious morsel of food (or information in this case), Thal completes her phrase. "Goth a curthe." Closing her fist, she tips back her glass to keep from grinding her teeth into harmless nubs. There's no way he didn't notice it now, the way her words are thick with the disobedience of her own tongue, distorting her words like a funhouse mirror.
Thal swears someone hears her, their gaze blazing into her skin with enough judgement to disrupt her breathing. Looking around to pin the culprit with a threatening look, she's met with nothing but the bustling of the bar. No one pays them any mind except for an occasional curious glance for the Butcher's sake, which is immediately aborted with appropriate fear.
When she turns back to Asta, her expression is barely contained fury, daring him to say something about her situation.
Despite her own predicament, she's not feeling quite as close-lipped, bitterness curling her lips up in a humorless smile. "I prayed for Dygra." Offering her hand like a delicious morsel of food (or information in this case), Thal completes her phrase. "Goth a curthe." Closing her fist, she tips back her glass to keep from grinding her teeth into harmless nubs. There's no way he didn't notice it now, the way her words are thick with the disobedience of her own tongue, distorting her words like a funhouse mirror.
Thal swears someone hears her, their gaze blazing into her skin with enough judgement to disrupt her breathing. Looking around to pin the culprit with a threatening look, she's met with nothing but the bustling of the bar. No one pays them any mind except for an occasional curious glance for the Butcher's sake, which is immediately aborted with appropriate fear.
When she turns back to Asta, her expression is barely contained fury, daring him to say something about her situation.
Thalassa
let the rhythm of the water set your soul free.
