Isla
to share the space with simple living things, infinitely suffering
Her eyes widen a touch, not having expected a beaver of all shifts, but suddenly the woodworking as a hobby seems to make a lot more sense. "How cute," she says, not bothering to hide her grin as she finally reaches out to open the container of figs and berries. Resisting the urge to plop a couple of blackberries into her wine glass in case the cross-contamination causes uproar, she instead takes one out to pop it into her mouth, relishing the explosion of sweetness on her tongue.
"Perhaps for one of our dates, we can go down into Haulani and stop at one of the carpentry stalls. You can see what sort of wood you like best." She knows what sort she likes best but she's not making that innuendo yet, not for all the blackberries in the world.
Everest looks towards the sea and Isla keeps her eyes on him, head softly tilted as if she can physically see the cogs working in his mind. Only the mention of her apartment has her hiding a smirk behind another berry and a sip of wine, and she shrugs her shoulders. "We could always reduce the space to one particular area," she suggests. "The kitchen and living room would be consistent enough." So would her bedroom, but she doesn't say that for obvious reasons.
Waiting for his argument at her reference to themselves as the experimental constants, when it doesn't come Isla can't help the soft flush to her cheeks, her laughter warm and easy. "I will be your constant for as long as you will have me," she assures him.
"Perhaps for one of our dates, we can go down into Haulani and stop at one of the carpentry stalls. You can see what sort of wood you like best." She knows what sort she likes best but she's not making that innuendo yet, not for all the blackberries in the world.
Everest looks towards the sea and Isla keeps her eyes on him, head softly tilted as if she can physically see the cogs working in his mind. Only the mention of her apartment has her hiding a smirk behind another berry and a sip of wine, and she shrugs her shoulders. "We could always reduce the space to one particular area," she suggests. "The kitchen and living room would be consistent enough." So would her bedroom, but she doesn't say that for obvious reasons.
Waiting for his argument at her reference to themselves as the experimental constants, when it doesn't come Isla can't help the soft flush to her cheeks, her laughter warm and easy. "I will be your constant for as long as you will have me," she assures him.
fighting off like all creation, the absence of itself
