Thalassa
Thal bats her eyelashes at Colt, the picture of poisonous innocence. "Only if you get a matching one."
The humor quickly dies, almost making her regret the choice of question. It doesn't turn out to be something funny or easy to exploit because there's a numb reality to the answer Colt gives, a raw honesty she can't even make fun of. It brushes against a kindred thing in her, an echo of something violet and manipulating, thorn scars and ligature marks that are finally beginning to fade against her heart.
She can't look, can't see the empty ache in Colt's eyes. Not when she knows hers will reflect the same. Thal just nods her head, muttering a flat "Dramatic much?" as she reaches for her bourbon. Uncaring about the alcohol beyond the distraction it provides, she takes a deep swig.
When she sets the glass aside, it's with a soft clunk and a mischievous grin. "A goat, huh?" It's not the sexiest animal to imitate, but there's plenty of chaos the horned creatures can get into.
Shooting Colt a wink, Thal saunters over to the table to conduct a confusing display. A seductive horned Ancient with a dick painted on her forehead lowering herself to kneel on the ground, and from her lips comes an attractive baah.
The men don't know what to do with her, stunned into silence, drinks hovering in the air as they watch her crawl forward to bite her fangs into a dangling jacket. She tugs, almost offsetting the chair a man is sitting on. Grinning, Thal pulls her head, attempting to unseat him with a sudden motion. A ripping sensation rubs against her fangs, the material giving halfway as the man stumbles down to the floor.
Flicking her tail, Thal lets out another baah and pretends to chew on the strip of fabric. But when one young man decides to laugh, well... goats don't appreciate that kind of sound.
Thal freezes, head turning slowly to lock eyes on the man like a threat, blue fabric poised midway in her mouth. Giving a small hop like a declaration of war, she lunges forward, ramming her horn into the leg he dangles in front of her face. She makes sure not to use the tangs, but she doesn't hold back on the force, making certain there will be a bruise for the next week - and quite proud of it.
She stands like the whole event never occurred, chewing a moment on the jacket before dropping it from her mouth into one of the men's glasses with a suggestive flicker of her eyes. It makes a quiet splash, an underwhelming sound for the chaos she leaves in her wake.
Plopping herself back against the bar, another shit-eating grin spreads across her face the moment she registers 'dare.' She doesn't even have to think, gesturing to Colt's fancy footwear. "Mix lime juice and milk into your boots, then wear them the rest of the night." Thal can't imagine the smell will be great by the end, but that's the game, and she's not eager to lose.
Still, she has to acknowledge the efforts so far and Thal raises her glass of bourbon to Colt, congratulating the woman for the moment that's finally arrived. "Okay. Ask your truth." While she waits, Thal takes another large swig, figuring she'll need it for whatever festering meat gets drawn up.
Thal dares Colt to mix lime juice and milk in her boots, then wear them damp the rest of the night.
Thal picks truth.
The humor quickly dies, almost making her regret the choice of question. It doesn't turn out to be something funny or easy to exploit because there's a numb reality to the answer Colt gives, a raw honesty she can't even make fun of. It brushes against a kindred thing in her, an echo of something violet and manipulating, thorn scars and ligature marks that are finally beginning to fade against her heart.
She can't look, can't see the empty ache in Colt's eyes. Not when she knows hers will reflect the same. Thal just nods her head, muttering a flat "Dramatic much?" as she reaches for her bourbon. Uncaring about the alcohol beyond the distraction it provides, she takes a deep swig.
When she sets the glass aside, it's with a soft clunk and a mischievous grin. "A goat, huh?" It's not the sexiest animal to imitate, but there's plenty of chaos the horned creatures can get into.
Shooting Colt a wink, Thal saunters over to the table to conduct a confusing display. A seductive horned Ancient with a dick painted on her forehead lowering herself to kneel on the ground, and from her lips comes an attractive baah.
The men don't know what to do with her, stunned into silence, drinks hovering in the air as they watch her crawl forward to bite her fangs into a dangling jacket. She tugs, almost offsetting the chair a man is sitting on. Grinning, Thal pulls her head, attempting to unseat him with a sudden motion. A ripping sensation rubs against her fangs, the material giving halfway as the man stumbles down to the floor.
Flicking her tail, Thal lets out another baah and pretends to chew on the strip of fabric. But when one young man decides to laugh, well... goats don't appreciate that kind of sound.
Thal freezes, head turning slowly to lock eyes on the man like a threat, blue fabric poised midway in her mouth. Giving a small hop like a declaration of war, she lunges forward, ramming her horn into the leg he dangles in front of her face. She makes sure not to use the tangs, but she doesn't hold back on the force, making certain there will be a bruise for the next week - and quite proud of it.
She stands like the whole event never occurred, chewing a moment on the jacket before dropping it from her mouth into one of the men's glasses with a suggestive flicker of her eyes. It makes a quiet splash, an underwhelming sound for the chaos she leaves in her wake.
Plopping herself back against the bar, another shit-eating grin spreads across her face the moment she registers 'dare.' She doesn't even have to think, gesturing to Colt's fancy footwear. "Mix lime juice and milk into your boots, then wear them the rest of the night." Thal can't imagine the smell will be great by the end, but that's the game, and she's not eager to lose.
Still, she has to acknowledge the efforts so far and Thal raises her glass of bourbon to Colt, congratulating the woman for the moment that's finally arrived. "Okay. Ask your truth." While she waits, Thal takes another large swig, figuring she'll need it for whatever festering meat gets drawn up.
Thal dares Colt to mix lime juice and milk in her boots, then wear them damp the rest of the night.
Thal picks truth.
Never been the type to
Let someone see right through
Let someone see right through
