charlie
As Kaisel plays bartender, Charlie leans against the bar while he pours; coquettish, casual, absolutely posing without looking like she’s posing. One elbow rests on the countertop; her hip kicks out; the deep plunge of her leather dress shifts just enough to weaponize gravity in her favour. Her tail curls and uncurls behind her like it’s tapping out a drum solo. When the drinks are lined up, she sweeps them into her arms with the casual grace of a tavern wench who's been training for Oktoberfest her entire life, beerstein-girl style, carried with impressive balance considering her heels could legally qualify as stilts.
Kaisel’s non-answer hangs in the air between them, but Charlie doesn’t blink. She holds his gaze with those bright, ferocious blue eyes; so sweet, so knowing, so utterly immune to being deflected. "No, silly," she chirps, wrinkling her nose adorably. Then, with the same tone one might use to point out an empty snack bowl: "I meant for group sex." She says it like it’s the casual center of gravity around which all parties revolve. Like she’s asking whether the music is too loud. Like this is the most sensible interpretation of the night’s itinerary.
"I’ve seen Danta on totally normal Tuesday nights," she continues brightly, shifting one of the drinks to her other arm without breaking eye contact. "Ending up in a puddle of people." She beams at him, sunshine and sinful innocence perfectly blended. "He really likes having sex. And hey, if cake is involved?" She gives a saucy little shimmy of her shoulders. "All the better."
Before Kaisel can object, clarify, or combust, she dart!s away in a flash of leather and laughter, disappearing into the crowd to deliver her drinks with preternatural speed and exquisite timing, leaving behind only the faint scent of perfume, the sway of her departing tail, and the unmistakable aftershock of Charlie being Charlie.
Kaisel’s non-answer hangs in the air between them, but Charlie doesn’t blink. She holds his gaze with those bright, ferocious blue eyes; so sweet, so knowing, so utterly immune to being deflected. "No, silly," she chirps, wrinkling her nose adorably. Then, with the same tone one might use to point out an empty snack bowl: "I meant for group sex." She says it like it’s the casual center of gravity around which all parties revolve. Like she’s asking whether the music is too loud. Like this is the most sensible interpretation of the night’s itinerary.
"I’ve seen Danta on totally normal Tuesday nights," she continues brightly, shifting one of the drinks to her other arm without breaking eye contact. "Ending up in a puddle of people." She beams at him, sunshine and sinful innocence perfectly blended. "He really likes having sex. And hey, if cake is involved?" She gives a saucy little shimmy of her shoulders. "All the better."
Before Kaisel can object, clarify, or combust, she dart!s away in a flash of leather and laughter, disappearing into the crowd to deliver her drinks with preternatural speed and exquisite timing, leaving behind only the faint scent of perfume, the sway of her departing tail, and the unmistakable aftershock of Charlie being Charlie.
I did a double take, triple take
Take me to naked Twister back at your place
Take me to naked Twister back at your place
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
