Thalassa
The problem
with wearing a dress
with wearing a dress
Her eyes narrow at the new nickname, but she doesn't comment, preferring 'Peach' over anything demeaning or vaguely resembling her name. However, if Colt is calling her anything it means she's still talking, and Thal would like nothing more than to drown the woman with her bourbon - but it's good bourbon and then she'd have nothing to drink.
Honestly, she's doing an impressive job of controlling her urge for violence despite how much Colt is getting under her skin. She grips at the bottle, tapping her glass with her silver sapphire ring, and debating again why she'd come to this gilded version of literal hell. Maybe it's because she's usually in her element at a party, all fast quips and swaying hips that shift in the dark like smokey danger and bad decisions. Yet she'd found out recently that her lips won't curve right and she's too burdened by emotion to move with her usual grace, a phantom that haunts what used to bring her enjoyment.
That's not really something she'd like to admit to a stranger, and she definitely doesn't like to be reminded of her suffering - even if she can't seem to escape it nowadays. So she gives another glare, a sneer on her lips that suggests Colt is very much the reason. "It'd seemed like a good idea until people started opening their mouths."
Then the woman resorts to other forms of distraction, and the idea is so absurd that Thal nearly laughs at it. A vicious, bite of a scoff leaves her lips instead. "I doubt any man could handle me right now." Not even people who know her had been able to withstand her moody attitude, and she gets the feeling that if someone else rejects her right now, she might just stab them to soak in the warmth of their blood. It'd certainly be warmer than any reception she'd had. It might even feel like a kind embrace.
The idea becomes more tempting with every moment, but she tables the idea for now, choosing instead to take another concerningly long drag from her bottle. It's light enough now that it dangles carelessly from her fingers, an elbow propped on the table in a way that suggest she might soon stake her claim and banish any intruders. "Do you really have nothing better to do right now?" The accusation sharpens her tongue with crisp coldness, a blizzard of daggers beginning to swirl behind her eyes.
Honestly, she's doing an impressive job of controlling her urge for violence despite how much Colt is getting under her skin. She grips at the bottle, tapping her glass with her silver sapphire ring, and debating again why she'd come to this gilded version of literal hell. Maybe it's because she's usually in her element at a party, all fast quips and swaying hips that shift in the dark like smokey danger and bad decisions. Yet she'd found out recently that her lips won't curve right and she's too burdened by emotion to move with her usual grace, a phantom that haunts what used to bring her enjoyment.
That's not really something she'd like to admit to a stranger, and she definitely doesn't like to be reminded of her suffering - even if she can't seem to escape it nowadays. So she gives another glare, a sneer on her lips that suggests Colt is very much the reason. "It'd seemed like a good idea until people started opening their mouths."
Then the woman resorts to other forms of distraction, and the idea is so absurd that Thal nearly laughs at it. A vicious, bite of a scoff leaves her lips instead. "I doubt any man could handle me right now." Not even people who know her had been able to withstand her moody attitude, and she gets the feeling that if someone else rejects her right now, she might just stab them to soak in the warmth of their blood. It'd certainly be warmer than any reception she'd had. It might even feel like a kind embrace.
The idea becomes more tempting with every moment, but she tables the idea for now, choosing instead to take another concerningly long drag from her bottle. It's light enough now that it dangles carelessly from her fingers, an elbow propped on the table in a way that suggest she might soon stake her claim and banish any intruders. "Do you really have nothing better to do right now?" The accusation sharpens her tongue with crisp coldness, a blizzard of daggers beginning to swirl behind her eyes.
is that it clashes
with a sword.
with a sword.
