on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
There’s a small thrill that sparks through the courtesan’s body, one that he hides well enough as he leans with his back against the bar. With every step closer that the bartender takes, the more that sharp spark zips up his spine. And in the face of it, Thorn continues to stand tall and cocky, strong in comparison to the usual cat-like fluidity he often had. His feline grace does little here, not even as he’s being sized up (or simply looked at).
Thorn’s always loved to be looked at – it’s why he wears so much flashy jewelry, juxtaposed with sheer clothing, tattoos both visible and not so much, each a little breadcrumb to keep the eye drawn on him. So it’s no surprise he’s one of the more popular of the courtesans, nor is it a surprise that he is fucking thriving as Casimir stops not too far across from him and the richness of his voice is spat out, a lick of venom that Thorn doesn’t mind being pierced by the fang of.
He’s a sharp poisoned edge, too, when it comes down to it. Aptly nicknamed. “Why not?” Thorn repeats his previous comment, dark brows lifting as he can’t fight the smile that starts to tug on his lips, looking up at Casimir like he might be able to move past the slight amusement in his echoed tone.
He does put him out of his misery of the whys, though. Even if the answer isn’t going to be the one Casimir seeks. Even if it’s the one answer Thorn has that would poison the careful scarred, stone exterior the other man has. “’Cause if I do leave, I’d like to have a fun night with my friend.” His arms remain crossed, standing exactly where he is to hold his ground and look up into those blue green eyes of the bartender that somehow seem so much more colorful on this side of the bar, the curls that seem that much softer and almost angelic in the light of the golden hues the bar was decked out in.
Thorn’s always loved to be looked at – it’s why he wears so much flashy jewelry, juxtaposed with sheer clothing, tattoos both visible and not so much, each a little breadcrumb to keep the eye drawn on him. So it’s no surprise he’s one of the more popular of the courtesans, nor is it a surprise that he is fucking thriving as Casimir stops not too far across from him and the richness of his voice is spat out, a lick of venom that Thorn doesn’t mind being pierced by the fang of.
He’s a sharp poisoned edge, too, when it comes down to it. Aptly nicknamed. “Why not?” Thorn repeats his previous comment, dark brows lifting as he can’t fight the smile that starts to tug on his lips, looking up at Casimir like he might be able to move past the slight amusement in his echoed tone.
He does put him out of his misery of the whys, though. Even if the answer isn’t going to be the one Casimir seeks. Even if it’s the one answer Thorn has that would poison the careful scarred, stone exterior the other man has. “’Cause if I do leave, I’d like to have a fun night with my friend.” His arms remain crossed, standing exactly where he is to hold his ground and look up into those blue green eyes of the bartender that somehow seem so much more colorful on this side of the bar, the curls that seem that much softer and almost angelic in the light of the golden hues the bar was decked out in.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
