on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
He doesn’t know the power in his hands – not in the way that it causes a reaction within Casimir. If anything, Thorn thinks he’s gentle, accommodating, helpful. He doesn’t know the invisible brands his hands leave behind, even if there’s a simultaneous matching one coating Thorn’s frame but for vastly different reasons.
The courtesan isn’t touch starved, not physically, but mentally at times the abandoned finds himself relatively lonely. He can’t say it surprises him, with Colt being in the desert now and the rest of the faces he typically saw often had to pay to see him. Sure, he bantered with the other courtesans and their Archon on occasion, but it was absolutely nothing like what’s currently blooming being under Casimir’s magnifying glass.
This close, feeling his chest rise and fall against his own only keeps the flush deeper on his face and his neck, burning hotter and more visible with the help of the alcohol. His face is open, no mask or acting to be seen, just the truth in his words that drip like a salve for the brands he’s leaving on the bartender’s arms.
He’s suddenly let go and he finds himself sagging back against the bar a little more, taking a few deep breaths to try and regulate the heat in his body. Elbows braced behind him on the wood of the bar, chin dropping a touch to get a better view of Casimir as he retreats. He misses any less than graceful catching, but it’s bolstered by this standoff that ends with a win when he says the one thing the courtesan is so badly hoping for.
’Fine.’ All at once, despite the grit teeth of the other man, Thorn’s face breaks into something vibrant and excited, allowing him to pick himself up to stand a little straighter. He wants to start his snark, to ask if it was so hard to agree, but there’s something fragile between them that he isn’t sure would break if he started now. So he keeps the peace, keeps the grin on his face as he straightens out his sheer, silken shirt and readjusts some of the rings on his fingers and resets the choker that had slipped slightly in the abrupt pin. “Great. There’s a nice pasta place in New Haven that jus’ opened, or we could do somethin’ here if ya didn’t wanna go too far?”
He asks his questions as he starts to slip back to the right side of the bar, taking the chair he’d had before and leans across the whole bar, snagging the glass of water to down it so he can get a little more sober before they go and eat, and all the while he looks up at Casimir with raised brows – conceding to whichever choice he wanted.
The courtesan isn’t touch starved, not physically, but mentally at times the abandoned finds himself relatively lonely. He can’t say it surprises him, with Colt being in the desert now and the rest of the faces he typically saw often had to pay to see him. Sure, he bantered with the other courtesans and their Archon on occasion, but it was absolutely nothing like what’s currently blooming being under Casimir’s magnifying glass.
This close, feeling his chest rise and fall against his own only keeps the flush deeper on his face and his neck, burning hotter and more visible with the help of the alcohol. His face is open, no mask or acting to be seen, just the truth in his words that drip like a salve for the brands he’s leaving on the bartender’s arms.
He’s suddenly let go and he finds himself sagging back against the bar a little more, taking a few deep breaths to try and regulate the heat in his body. Elbows braced behind him on the wood of the bar, chin dropping a touch to get a better view of Casimir as he retreats. He misses any less than graceful catching, but it’s bolstered by this standoff that ends with a win when he says the one thing the courtesan is so badly hoping for.
’Fine.’ All at once, despite the grit teeth of the other man, Thorn’s face breaks into something vibrant and excited, allowing him to pick himself up to stand a little straighter. He wants to start his snark, to ask if it was so hard to agree, but there’s something fragile between them that he isn’t sure would break if he started now. So he keeps the peace, keeps the grin on his face as he straightens out his sheer, silken shirt and readjusts some of the rings on his fingers and resets the choker that had slipped slightly in the abrupt pin. “Great. There’s a nice pasta place in New Haven that jus’ opened, or we could do somethin’ here if ya didn’t wanna go too far?”
He asks his questions as he starts to slip back to the right side of the bar, taking the chair he’d had before and leans across the whole bar, snagging the glass of water to down it so he can get a little more sober before they go and eat, and all the while he looks up at Casimir with raised brows – conceding to whichever choice he wanted.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
