Spinning out of control somewhere on the road to happiness

Hotaru

Somewhere my lifeline still hums and sings
In the mess of all I have thrown away

Kinship weaves itself in delicate threads around her throat as they sit, knees brushing idly when one woman or the other laughs, shifts, or gestures. Even as their tongues dance around the honest depths of their hurt and aimlessness, coated in spirits and hiding behind disarming, smiling lips, there is familiarity that slips through the cracks and finds a home through those same openings in the other woman. It's unnerving, admittedly, but the alcohol - so unfamiliar a method of indulgence - smooths the burrs of what otherwise would have manifested as reticence. Still, even gin isn't enough to have her waxing poetic stanzas about her hurt; she hums a noise of reserved agreement through slightly pursed lips, eyes briefly far away. Least expect it indeed.

When her lips part again it's to permit a startled laugh, flush rising in her cheeks and kissing down her neck at the unintentional euphemism that has slipped past her guard to deliver a rare, powerful blow to her composure. Gods, she either needs to drink a lot more to get better at resisting the effects, or she needs to hold true to never drinking more than a single glass. "I'm not sure if I should say yes, I've been ruined before, or if I should pluck the low-hanging fruit of an innuendo and say that I historically have always done more of the ruining myself." It's true on both counts, sex and sabotage, so Colt can take her pick between the available interpretations. Maybe it will net Hotaru enough time to tamp down the blush heating her skin and remind herself that Colt hadn't just boldly come onto her from a total blind side.

It doesn't fade half as fast as she'd like when Colt is so liberal with her praise - something Ru would bet money on being hard- earned (well. she'd bet it if she hadn't given all of it to Colt). Praise is sugar water, honey, and molasses to the Valkyrie; take your pick of the form of the lure, it catches her all the same. Noticing Colt's empty drink, Ru extends her arm over the width of the bar and taps her fingers gently on its surface, eyes remaining on the confident, comfortable companion she keeps even as she silently requests another of the same. Considering her options, she steels herself and drains her own glass - her second, gods above - so that they can both receive refills at the same time.

It's just efficient. Nothing more.

Head a bit cottony (though demigod genes are serving her well, making up for her pitiful tolerance and low body mass) Ru takes the new drink as they're both slid over and wrinkles her nose slightly in an expression that settles in an odd but honest way on her normally controlled features. "I hardly ever drink, you know? Always too scared of being out of control." In more ways than one. Scared to be vulnerable and unaware, but equally scared of the force of her own uninhibited desires and the way she'd surely act on them. Admitting it is just as intimidating, but she's going somewhere with it - she'll just keep her gaze away from Colt while she gets to it, avoiding those unnervingly knowing eyes. "But once you take the first sip, once it starts to work, suddenly that fear is gone and you find yourself determined to keep yourself in that zone. Or reaching beyond it, if it suits you." It's how she ended up with the new glass between her hands which she rotates idly to the cadence of her speech. With the bottom still flat against the bar, the ring of condensation around its base distorting with her less than stable motions. "That fear, that apprehension...it's all the greater with drugs. Hard to trust the quality, the motives of the dealer, even yourself if you're inexperienced. How much do you take? What if you only know half of the potential side effects? What will you do, what will happen to you, if things go wrong?" Picking up the glass, she drinks from it while turning back to Colt, the burn of the alcohol forgotten the more she drinks and grows accustomed to it. "But that feeling of escape? It's far stronger than whiskey or nicotine. More unique, too."

Confidence restored as the unintentional flirtation and the memory of Colt's intuitive gaze is put behind her, Ru leans closer naturally, elbow perched on the bar between them. Her grin is as smooth as the drink on her tongue, but sharpens at the corners like the knife in Colt's boot that had wetted itself with blood tonight. "Learning how to coax someone past that fear threshold? How to sell safety and trust in the span of minutes? Making coin off that predation? That's the villainy of it all." In Ru's experience it's just another enjoyable element, that sort of control and feeling of holding power above someone's head that spans greater distances than they can see. "And it's more skill than talent - which is why you'll need to be shrewd in your recruitment if you intend to make use of the plants in that desert." And if Hotaru is beginning to feel a sense of superiority over these imaginary figures? If she is beginning to imagine herself at that helm? Perhaps it can be blamed on the gin. "The considerate part is upfront and honest if you deliver on your word for the quality, consistency, and safety. Pleasure and indulgence." Hotaru hesitates, suddenly cognizant of the passion this has stirred up in her and wondering at the intensity of it. It's more emotion than she's felt in many days, or at least the most positive. She's glad she seems to remain capable of it. Perhaps that gratitude toward Colt's unwitting spark makes her decide the woman deserves a bit more honesty to finish it all out. "In my case, it's because I want to give that to people. Like you said, it's so often torn away from us. Even if it's just a temporary high, sometimes that's enough to keep someone going another day." Hotaru's eyes go dark, but she doesn't look away from the handsome cut of Colt's features in the bar's dingy lighting.

"I may be reading what I want to see in these lines here, but if you find your options insufficient...perhaps you'll consider me in their stead?" It's not exactly nerve wracking, but the squirming in her stomach feels a bit like the kind you get from asking someone on a date even at the height of self-confidence. Lampshading a bit, Ru smirks and leans back, out of Colt's space (how long had she lingered there?) and back into the depths of her barstool. "If you really do make something of that pit of sand, of course. Baby steps."

Hungry now,
I am gathering new seeds to throw wide