on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
“Damn, I thought I was really onto somethin’.” Thorn mutters, though doesn’t seem put off by the fact he wasn’t the first one to call Casimir long legs. Though it does make him wonder for the rest of the trek to the restaurant who was the one that started it. Was it a patron that was upset at being removed from the bar? Was it someone else? Was it the fact that Casimir could turn into something absolutely horrifying (because yes, Thorn is admittedly not the biggest fan of spiders, whether they’re drunk on wine or not).
He settles for the idea that he’s creative in other waysha and takes the lead, leaving the back of his neck visible for the bartender to try and figure out whether or not the flush is caused from the heat, the liquor, or residual from the flush that had sparked to feel his body so close – because Thorn absolutely isn’t answering that question, should Cas get a bug up his ass to ask.
The restaurant is close and Thorn finds his steps increasing their pace a touch to reach the siren song of warmth and food from within when he notices Casimir’s increased step – opening the door for him. His kohl lined gaze lifts to the bartender’s face with a grateful smile and a glimmer of just how charmed he is, and he slips into the entrance of the restaurant with ease. “Thanks.” He says to Cas as he’s hit with the scent of basil and tomato, of a variety of pasta dishes and breads that attribute to a cozy, warm meal with the cold Flowerbirth weather outside.
He nods to the host in greeting and deosn’t wait to be sat, instead he leads the bartender further in so they can reach a booth closer to the back – cozy and warm and with a window just far enough away that they can’t be seen but they could absolutely stare out of it to watch the people mill past. Before he sits, though, there’s that unimpressed look in Casimir’s eye and something he reads as a silent offer to take his jacket.
Shrugging out of it with a brighter glint to his grateful smile from earlier, he hands the warm leather jacket over to the grumpy bartender. “Ain’t you a gentleman.” He teases, though it’s softer, something he’s look back on in fleeting moments while he still feels like he’s on cloud nine. The alcohol has started burning off, but Thorn’s cheeks remain rosy as he takes a seat against the worn leather booth. Before he takes up a menu, he stretches, tattooed arms raised above his head as he stretches out his back similarly to a cat prepping itself to sit and enjoy this space for a while.
His hands drop down in front of him, and he snags the menus and slides one over to Casimir when he sits. Taking a few moments to peruse it, Thorn’s not as sly as he thinks he is with the way he keeps glancing up to see the handsome bartender in a different backdrop, like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “They’ve also got pizza if you ain’t feelin’ pasta.” He points out, flipping his menu to point to the section that has a variety of on specialized pizzas.
He settles for the idea that he’s creative in other ways
The restaurant is close and Thorn finds his steps increasing their pace a touch to reach the siren song of warmth and food from within when he notices Casimir’s increased step – opening the door for him. His kohl lined gaze lifts to the bartender’s face with a grateful smile and a glimmer of just how charmed he is, and he slips into the entrance of the restaurant with ease. “Thanks.” He says to Cas as he’s hit with the scent of basil and tomato, of a variety of pasta dishes and breads that attribute to a cozy, warm meal with the cold Flowerbirth weather outside.
He nods to the host in greeting and deosn’t wait to be sat, instead he leads the bartender further in so they can reach a booth closer to the back – cozy and warm and with a window just far enough away that they can’t be seen but they could absolutely stare out of it to watch the people mill past. Before he sits, though, there’s that unimpressed look in Casimir’s eye and something he reads as a silent offer to take his jacket.
Shrugging out of it with a brighter glint to his grateful smile from earlier, he hands the warm leather jacket over to the grumpy bartender. “Ain’t you a gentleman.” He teases, though it’s softer, something he’s look back on in fleeting moments while he still feels like he’s on cloud nine. The alcohol has started burning off, but Thorn’s cheeks remain rosy as he takes a seat against the worn leather booth. Before he takes up a menu, he stretches, tattooed arms raised above his head as he stretches out his back similarly to a cat prepping itself to sit and enjoy this space for a while.
His hands drop down in front of him, and he snags the menus and slides one over to Casimir when he sits. Taking a few moments to peruse it, Thorn’s not as sly as he thinks he is with the way he keeps glancing up to see the handsome bartender in a different backdrop, like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “They’ve also got pizza if you ain’t feelin’ pasta.” He points out, flipping his menu to point to the section that has a variety of on specialized pizzas.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
