Thalassa
In the back of my mind, I'm still overseas
The specific mention of her lisp makes Thal's blue eyes narrow, fire flaring for a moment as she considers leaving in a blaze, a charred cadaver in her wake. His genuine curiosity might be the only thing that saves him, and the fact that he doesn't seem to mock her, just state the obvious. Not that it helps her pride much.
She pointedly takes the whiskey bottle from his grasp, her flames just far enough from his own hand not to burn. Although her blazing eyes might be enough to singe. "Yeth." It's succinct, daring him to say anything insulting as she throws down another mouthful of whiskey. As it slides into her core, she says, "If you mutht know, thongue twithters." Her tongue fumbles over the words ironically, making her slide it through her teeth like she might be able to bite it into submission. The tip of a fang catches against her tongue, drawing a drop of blood that mixes with the liquor to give it a pleasant coppery taste. It does more to calm her than the alcohol and she lets out a defeated sigh. "I know. Ironic."
Luckily, the topic of scales and items have nothing to do with her uncooperative anatomy. His clear passion for his sisters is surprising. Not one for gooey sentimental family nonsense, Thal doesn't know how to navigate the conversation. It feels almost friendly, and she's still not used to that, so she just lets out a melodic hum as another lightning strikes. "Like what?" And because she's feeling generous (and not because she feels somewhat guilty for her earlier outburst), Thal offers him the whiskey bottle again.
She pointedly takes the whiskey bottle from his grasp, her flames just far enough from his own hand not to burn. Although her blazing eyes might be enough to singe. "Yeth." It's succinct, daring him to say anything insulting as she throws down another mouthful of whiskey. As it slides into her core, she says, "If you mutht know, thongue twithters." Her tongue fumbles over the words ironically, making her slide it through her teeth like she might be able to bite it into submission. The tip of a fang catches against her tongue, drawing a drop of blood that mixes with the liquor to give it a pleasant coppery taste. It does more to calm her than the alcohol and she lets out a defeated sigh. "I know. Ironic."
Luckily, the topic of scales and items have nothing to do with her uncooperative anatomy. His clear passion for his sisters is surprising. Not one for gooey sentimental family nonsense, Thal doesn't know how to navigate the conversation. It feels almost friendly, and she's still not used to that, so she just lets out a melodic hum as another lightning strikes. "Like what?" And because she's feeling generous (and not because she feels somewhat guilty for her earlier outburst), Thal offers him the whiskey bottle again.
