i can make the badguys good for a weekend
Unsurprisingly, Charlie is not a fan of the weather, and with the docks slick and shining under sheets of rain, the priestess has also sought refuge inside the tavern. Perched atop the polished wood bar top like it was always meant to hold her there, one leg crossed lazily over the other, Charlie nurses a drink while a loose wreath of fire curls around her shoulders and spine, flickering gold and coral as it dries her skin and fabric alike. Steam rises softly where the rain had been—ancient problems require ancient solutions—and though this wasn't the Grounds, it wasn't so far away that the sight of her covered in fire was causing too much commotion (though Charlie's presence inevitably caused a little anywhere she went).
Her gaze is half on her glass, half on the door, because sailors always come in soaked and grumbling when the weather turns like this, and she finds that those most inclined for heat and alcohol are also more willing to listen to her sermons on Dygra, when she sees him. As Jack slinks in with all the grace of a man trying to escape his own reputation, bottle in hand and shoulders tight, Charlie’s mouth curves instantly, bright and delighted, like the evening has just begun. "Jack!" she calls, voice cutting clean through idle chatter and thunder alike, pure recognition and cheer wrapped together without restraint.
She hops down from the bar in one smooth, eager motion, fire following her like a living thing as her boots hit the floor. The heat pulls in tighter around her as she moves, tail flicking once, twice, and then she is dart!ing across the tavern and into the booth across from him, a grin already firmly in place as she leans forward, elbows on the table, firelight dancing in her eyes. "Well," she says, bright and unapologetic, eyes skimming him with open curiosity, "fancy seeing you here." Her tail curls lazily around the edge of the seat, flame softening to a warm glow as she lifts her glass in a casual little salute.
Her gaze is half on her glass, half on the door, because sailors always come in soaked and grumbling when the weather turns like this, and she finds that those most inclined for heat and alcohol are also more willing to listen to her sermons on Dygra, when she sees him. As Jack slinks in with all the grace of a man trying to escape his own reputation, bottle in hand and shoulders tight, Charlie’s mouth curves instantly, bright and delighted, like the evening has just begun. "Jack!" she calls, voice cutting clean through idle chatter and thunder alike, pure recognition and cheer wrapped together without restraint.
She hops down from the bar in one smooth, eager motion, fire following her like a living thing as her boots hit the floor. The heat pulls in tighter around her as she moves, tail flicking once, twice, and then she is dart!ing across the tavern and into the booth across from him, a grin already firmly in place as she leans forward, elbows on the table, firelight dancing in her eyes. "Well," she says, bright and unapologetic, eyes skimming him with open curiosity, "fancy seeing you here." Her tail curls lazily around the edge of the seat, flame softening to a warm glow as she lifts her glass in a casual little salute.
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
