And it burns like a gin and I like it,
After the carnival, Thal had been feeling a mix of emotions about everything - particularly about her own response to a certain shadowy demigod - but rather than address whatever strange emotions might be swirling deep, deep inside, she did what she always did: deflect. If she was too busy losing herself in other senses and emotions, maybe she could convince herself that the others didn't exist. It's why she'd followed Pierce from the game, looking to distract and maybe insight some jealousy. However, when he'd somehow slipped from her in the crowd, she'd had to settle for other options, like visiting a pale Ancient to start a fight. Was it her best idea? Perhaps not. And maybe that's why she finds herself in Stormbreak again where few people might know or recognize her, a lingering fury in her chest.
People notice that kind of thing, the simmer of anger on pale skin, the glint of danger in her blue eyes, the staccato clip of her heeled boots. It's enough to attract a multitude of leering eyes - and Thal basks in it. Her hips and tail sway in unison like a seductive melody as she enters the bar, throwing a fanged grin in the direction of a tall man looming by the door. He runs his gaze down her appreciatively, catching the tightness of her leather pants, the low plunge of her black blouse, and the plethora of daggers strapped across her body. She doesn't stop to indulge him, preferring that someone chase her tonight as she makes her way to the bar, knowing he'll eventually follow.
Thal arrives just in time to witness a rejection gone wrong, a man digging his fingers into the arm of a pretty brunette like he might drag her to the dance floor instead. Some women might like a rough hand on occasion (herself included), but this girl looks like it might be her worst nightmare come true, eyes wide with fear as she tries to pull out of his grasp. The man just whispers words of encouragement, talking about how much 'she'll like it.'
Already at the tipping edge of violence, Thal doesn't need a lot of encouragement to reach for his hand, her grip red with heat as she places it over his. He lets out a yell that draws the eyes of a few nearby patrons, but she doesn't look away, a wicked gleam in her eyes that goes beautifully with the sharp flash of her fangs. Still holding his hand, her voice drips with vicious delight. "Find someone who's willing, or I'll be the one you're dancing with." Face pale, the man whimpers a little and nods his head, finally ripping his red, blistering hand free to cradle against his chest. She can smell the singed flesh when he shuffles away, abandoning his drink at the bar in lieu of escape. Smart.
Stepping forward, she barely spares the girl a glance (or the others blatantly staring at her), leaning against the bar as she downs the random amber liquid. It slides down her throat without so much as a wince, and she raises a finger to the bartender. "Whiskey."
People notice that kind of thing, the simmer of anger on pale skin, the glint of danger in her blue eyes, the staccato clip of her heeled boots. It's enough to attract a multitude of leering eyes - and Thal basks in it. Her hips and tail sway in unison like a seductive melody as she enters the bar, throwing a fanged grin in the direction of a tall man looming by the door. He runs his gaze down her appreciatively, catching the tightness of her leather pants, the low plunge of her black blouse, and the plethora of daggers strapped across her body. She doesn't stop to indulge him, preferring that someone chase her tonight as she makes her way to the bar, knowing he'll eventually follow.
Thal arrives just in time to witness a rejection gone wrong, a man digging his fingers into the arm of a pretty brunette like he might drag her to the dance floor instead. Some women might like a rough hand on occasion (herself included), but this girl looks like it might be her worst nightmare come true, eyes wide with fear as she tries to pull out of his grasp. The man just whispers words of encouragement, talking about how much 'she'll like it.'
Already at the tipping edge of violence, Thal doesn't need a lot of encouragement to reach for his hand, her grip red with heat as she places it over his. He lets out a yell that draws the eyes of a few nearby patrons, but she doesn't look away, a wicked gleam in her eyes that goes beautifully with the sharp flash of her fangs. Still holding his hand, her voice drips with vicious delight. "Find someone who's willing, or I'll be the one you're dancing with." Face pale, the man whimpers a little and nods his head, finally ripping his red, blistering hand free to cradle against his chest. She can smell the singed flesh when he shuffles away, abandoning his drink at the bar in lieu of escape. Smart.
Stepping forward, she barely spares the girl a glance (or the others blatantly staring at her), leaning against the bar as she downs the random amber liquid. It slides down her throat without so much as a wince, and she raises a finger to the bartender. "Whiskey."
Thalassa
put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it
