COLT
I've been sleeping wide awake
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
The hint of a smirk creases her lips, certain he would have easily misted out of her makeshift firebomb if it'd come to that. "Here I thought you let them beat you up, now I find out you just dodge them all?" He did say to come punch him next time she felt blue, and almost setting him on fire seems to have worked just fine in place of it. Not quite the same cure all, but enough to get her off the couch at least.
There's not enough spark in her tonight to catch on the offer buried under the offer of his shirt, but she is more than willing to make him put his cloth where his mouth is. "Alright," she says simply, gaze flicking back to him with a dare. Inside pockets of light dance in various corners, heat like a moving thing that ebbs and flows through the spaces not directly next to the flames. She waits until the cut of amber and shadow fully embraces them, the door clicking shut on the worst of the cold, then she extends a waiting hand towards him. If the rack by the door took his coat, she'd be taking his shirt. Certainly faster than rummaging back through her closet, and she's only interested in things that don't make anything harder for her right now. The hallway feels like an agonizingly long stretch of ground to cover.
She waves away his apology, the humor of it not lost on her but not enough to pull a smile from the depths of where she's fallen either. "For the best, nothing to celebrate on these days." Quite the opposite take from before, when waking up had been enough of a joyful affair. Though she's not quite so grim as to wish the opposite, sometimes hurt is enough that you can't easily see the other end of it, and despite surviving this one every year, it also feels harder to manage it each time. In part, because how is she still here, caught in his shadow when he's been long gone? Her fingers on one hand curl in at the thought, nails pressing to her palm like a fresh bite might keep her from sinking into the mire further.
"Rum?" she asks, remembering manners after a minute, searching for something else to focus on too. "Assuming you mean to stay?" she wonders, pausing the start of her stride. "Can't say you'll have much fun here," she admits with a sigh, one of her arms limply showing off the poorly illuminated and overly quiet house. "Plenty of parties elsewhere though, if you wanted." She knows he hasn't experienced LongNight here yet, and while it's not quite so festive as the Torchline version, there's surely much warmer holes to tuck into than this one.
There's not enough spark in her tonight to catch on the offer buried under the offer of his shirt, but she is more than willing to make him put his cloth where his mouth is. "Alright," she says simply, gaze flicking back to him with a dare. Inside pockets of light dance in various corners, heat like a moving thing that ebbs and flows through the spaces not directly next to the flames. She waits until the cut of amber and shadow fully embraces them, the door clicking shut on the worst of the cold, then she extends a waiting hand towards him. If the rack by the door took his coat, she'd be taking his shirt. Certainly faster than rummaging back through her closet, and she's only interested in things that don't make anything harder for her right now. The hallway feels like an agonizingly long stretch of ground to cover.
She waves away his apology, the humor of it not lost on her but not enough to pull a smile from the depths of where she's fallen either. "For the best, nothing to celebrate on these days." Quite the opposite take from before, when waking up had been enough of a joyful affair. Though she's not quite so grim as to wish the opposite, sometimes hurt is enough that you can't easily see the other end of it, and despite surviving this one every year, it also feels harder to manage it each time. In part, because how is she still here, caught in his shadow when he's been long gone? Her fingers on one hand curl in at the thought, nails pressing to her palm like a fresh bite might keep her from sinking into the mire further.
"Rum?" she asks, remembering manners after a minute, searching for something else to focus on too. "Assuming you mean to stay?" she wonders, pausing the start of her stride. "Can't say you'll have much fun here," she admits with a sigh, one of her arms limply showing off the poorly illuminated and overly quiet house. "Plenty of parties elsewhere though, if you wanted." She knows he hasn't experienced LongNight here yet, and while it's not quite so festive as the Torchline version, there's surely much warmer holes to tuck into than this one.
I'm tired of running from the conversations
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
