Thalassa
In the back of my mind, I'm still overseas
The whistle blends with the winds catching the paneling of the building next to her, but the drawling voice is familiar, drawing her attention away from the building anger and frustration. It's strange to see the young man in such a different place than the bright sunshine of the Suvahasi. The darkness punctuated by flashes of lightning seems to fit him better, caressing his figure in a manner that reminds her of the magic he'd utilized. A grunt is the only response she gives to his attempt at a greeting. It's Levinsward, there's never a day not like this. That's exactly why she picked it. To be alone. Although that wasn't really working for her.
Glancing up at the warm light framing the door atop the stairs, she takes a moment to listen to the shouts and cheers of her crew. By the sheer volume, she'd assume they just started another drinking match, and someone's winning. So, it's either sit out here with this stranger who just sauntered out of the woods or return to the chaos of the men above.
Thal nods towards the man (it was Vesper, right?), granting him permission to join her. Even if he turns out to be annoying, at least he's nice to look at. That's more than she can say for the majority of her sailors. Although she swears, if he makes fun of her lisp, the flames licking her fingers will find better uses down his throat. As if hearing her thoughts, they flare slightly, heating her glass warmly against her hand.
His comment about height elicits a humorless chuckle and she gestures to the stairs with her free hand. "Maybe thry thitting." The words aren't as biting as they could be, softened by the lisp and her own shift of mood. But if he doesn't want to get fried (by her or the lightning), it's probably safest just to sit (at least that's the word she was trying to say). She scoots to the side to make room, her dark blue-black tail flicking away to avoid being flattened if he takes her offer. Once settled, she raises the whiskey bottle in something that might resemble 'politeness.' "Drink?" Her blue eyes raise to meet his, both invitation and fiery temper burning bright.
Glancing up at the warm light framing the door atop the stairs, she takes a moment to listen to the shouts and cheers of her crew. By the sheer volume, she'd assume they just started another drinking match, and someone's winning. So, it's either sit out here with this stranger who just sauntered out of the woods or return to the chaos of the men above.
Thal nods towards the man (it was Vesper, right?), granting him permission to join her. Even if he turns out to be annoying, at least he's nice to look at. That's more than she can say for the majority of her sailors. Although she swears, if he makes fun of her lisp, the flames licking her fingers will find better uses down his throat. As if hearing her thoughts, they flare slightly, heating her glass warmly against her hand.
His comment about height elicits a humorless chuckle and she gestures to the stairs with her free hand. "Maybe thry thitting." The words aren't as biting as they could be, softened by the lisp and her own shift of mood. But if he doesn't want to get fried (by her or the lightning), it's probably safest just to sit (at least that's the word she was trying to say). She scoots to the side to make room, her dark blue-black tail flicking away to avoid being flattened if he takes her offer. Once settled, she raises the whiskey bottle in something that might resemble 'politeness.' "Drink?" Her blue eyes raise to meet his, both invitation and fiery temper burning bright.
