I'll let the flames take me high, burn down the whole damn sky
Her eyes trace the score of stubble alongside the even, exploratory slide of her fingertips. It spills across the trench of a scar when it lifts higher into his face, the line beckoning her attention up even further with his admission, and she meets his stormwrought gaze for a moment. Her pulse has quickened much without her approval, discovering an unexpected intimacy in lingering so close to his face. Color threatens to flush her neckline, embarrassed to find even this most subtle thing affecting her. She backs away into humor, gaze flicking away with a huff of a laugh. "That makes one of us." Touch ghosts along his jaw a second longer before it too withdraws completely and she turns back towards the tray set beside her.
All his rough edges linger against her skin with a phantom prickle. It's so at odds with the metal she reaches for, cool and sleek, that at first contact her fingers curl back as though the tool is unnatural. "If I remember right," she hums, grasping the handle of the brush with a quick surge of defiance for the goosebumps threatening to bloom. "You aren't supposed to be seeing anything," she reminds, turning on her bootheel and descending with soap and brush like they could be weapons in the wrong hands. "I've half a mind to blindfold you," she threatens, beginning to swipe the lather across the shadow of his unkempt scruff.
Hoping to deter any further questions about why he can't be seeing, the joke surely losing its patience with him by now, she pulls the suds across his mouth next. Reassured for the time being, her quick movements slow to something more deliberate and methodical, gaze intent as she focuses on covering him evenly. "It's a shame, because you do look your best with some amount of stubble," she laments quietly, "but this has gone into a state of disrepair." So clean shaven it'll have to be.
Swapping out soap for steel, she holds the razor next, one hand settling near his ear and guiding a mild turn of his head. "Now hold still honey," she says softly as she leans in.
All his rough edges linger against her skin with a phantom prickle. It's so at odds with the metal she reaches for, cool and sleek, that at first contact her fingers curl back as though the tool is unnatural. "If I remember right," she hums, grasping the handle of the brush with a quick surge of defiance for the goosebumps threatening to bloom. "You aren't supposed to be seeing anything," she reminds, turning on her bootheel and descending with soap and brush like they could be weapons in the wrong hands. "I've half a mind to blindfold you," she threatens, beginning to swipe the lather across the shadow of his unkempt scruff.
Hoping to deter any further questions about why he can't be seeing, the joke surely losing its patience with him by now, she pulls the suds across his mouth next. Reassured for the time being, her quick movements slow to something more deliberate and methodical, gaze intent as she focuses on covering him evenly. "It's a shame, because you do look your best with some amount of stubble," she laments quietly, "but this has gone into a state of disrepair." So clean shaven it'll have to be.
Swapping out soap for steel, she holds the razor next, one hand settling near his ear and guiding a mild turn of his head. "Now hold still honey," she says softly as she leans in.
Colt
I spent the night on the ceiling, drank the whole weight of my weakness
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.
