on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
It’s a slow day, at odds with the hustle and bustle of LongNight. It had been busy then, too, less than the year previously thanks to the party that ran during the week of darkness. But it had filled him with the anticipation that it might pick up after, that there might be a new bustle of people with fun new resolutions that might keep him busy in the confines of the House of Midnight.
Seems like that was a false sense of hope. He’s technically already been on shift for hours now, flitting between rooms and searching for anyone to spend some time with and maybe make a little bit of extra money. Everyone he sees so far has been scooped up or scouted already, so it leaves Thorn to drift toward the bar with nothing else going on for him.
The frigid start of Flowerbirth certainly was having its ripple effects. He’d even gone so far as to wear a little less than usual with the heat of the fireplace blooming from across the seating area. It’s a dark see through satin shirt that drapes over him, sheer enough that his tattoos are on display and with a v cut deep enough it nearly goes to his navel. It has billowy sleeves that end right past his elbows, leaving the vine shackle tattoos around his wrists fully viewable. His hair’s not as crazy for once, slicked back somewhat to give him a harder kind of look – one that pairs nicely with the bit of kohl lining his eyes that only seem to brighten the seafoam hues of them. His pants are leather and tight, and he’s decked out in quite a few gunmetal jewelry options – rings on his fingers, small hoop earrings that sit in each of the three pierced portions of his lobes, and a matching gunmetal choker with silver chains that trail down his chest, revealed by the deep cut.
He drapes against the bar when he finally reaches it, shooting Casimir a slightly masked grin when he realizes it’s his favorite bartender at his usual post. Usually his smiles are more carefree, easier, but this time it’s got a little less spark behind them. “I’ll uh, take a whiskey neat.” Which is rare for him, Thorn typically doesn’t drink when he’s working, but it’s clear he’s got no prospects right now anyway. “An’ before ya start, I don’t wanna hear it.” He sighs dramatically, folding his arms in front of him on the bar and buries his face in the crevice he’s made between them.
Seems like that was a false sense of hope. He’s technically already been on shift for hours now, flitting between rooms and searching for anyone to spend some time with and maybe make a little bit of extra money. Everyone he sees so far has been scooped up or scouted already, so it leaves Thorn to drift toward the bar with nothing else going on for him.
The frigid start of Flowerbirth certainly was having its ripple effects. He’d even gone so far as to wear a little less than usual with the heat of the fireplace blooming from across the seating area. It’s a dark see through satin shirt that drapes over him, sheer enough that his tattoos are on display and with a v cut deep enough it nearly goes to his navel. It has billowy sleeves that end right past his elbows, leaving the vine shackle tattoos around his wrists fully viewable. His hair’s not as crazy for once, slicked back somewhat to give him a harder kind of look – one that pairs nicely with the bit of kohl lining his eyes that only seem to brighten the seafoam hues of them. His pants are leather and tight, and he’s decked out in quite a few gunmetal jewelry options – rings on his fingers, small hoop earrings that sit in each of the three pierced portions of his lobes, and a matching gunmetal choker with silver chains that trail down his chest, revealed by the deep cut.
He drapes against the bar when he finally reaches it, shooting Casimir a slightly masked grin when he realizes it’s his favorite bartender at his usual post. Usually his smiles are more carefree, easier, but this time it’s got a little less spark behind them. “I’ll uh, take a whiskey neat.” Which is rare for him, Thorn typically doesn’t drink when he’s working, but it’s clear he’s got no prospects right now anyway. “An’ before ya start, I don’t wanna hear it.” He sighs dramatically, folding his arms in front of him on the bar and buries his face in the crevice he’s made between them.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
