on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
He has to give the bartender props, because as soon as he sets eyes on him, he can see he’s handled it way better than he had before. It’s still amusing, though, seeing that spark in the other man’s eye, the way Thorn isn’t sure whether to continue this little game, to make his snide little comments and playful answers – like throwing a paint balloon at a board and seeing what stuck.
He’s happy to guide him up ahead, wearing Casimir’s coat like a blanket that keeps his shoulders and chest warm. The bag does the rest, tucked beneath the wool jacket and clutched in one hand so he doesn’t drop it. As the House comes into view, he glances back to make sure he hasn’t lost the bartender. He sees him, though, relieved, and it’s that jerk of his head to the back door that Thorn immediately diverts course for. He knows the rumors of the bartender – hell, he’s probably added a few himself inadvertently. Namely the one that might suggest he’s got some kind of hidden harem.
Thorn will keep this secret away from the rest of the House for as long as he could, though, gliding up the stairs with ease until they reach the door of an empty room on the second floor. And as usual, it opens relatively normal for him, letting his partner choose how he wanted the room to be morphed into – and the second he steps in toward the center he’s greeted with warmth of a fireplace, two plush seats. A living room that looks extremely comfortable with décor and architecture that Thorn wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the night laying on the fur rug and staring up at it like it was his equivalent of stars in the night sky.
And then? It’s gone. Instead, familiarity creeps in as the room morphs and the bar comes visible. And Cas might see the way Thorn stills like a predator might, taking in the surroundings before he’s huffing a scoff of a sound and turns toward Casimir to level him a flat and unimpressed look. “The chairs looked comfy.” He whines, but he puts up with it. He’d promised they could make it whatever they wanted to keep it familiar, and if Cas wanted the bar to be the thing they ate at and enjoyed a night at, Thorn would give it to him. “But you better sit on my side’ve the bar or I get to sit on yours.” He doesn’t shrug out of the jacket, almost like he’s attached to it, but he does set the bag of food down on the bar and hesitates as if deciding whether he should stick on this side or the other. Instead, he chooses something else entirely. "Actually..."
A cheshire smirk is flashed toward Casimir briefly before he’s grabbing the lip of the bar and hauling himself up onto it to sit his happy ass right on the wood countertop – something he’s sure Cas would have killed him for were this the real bar downstairs.
He’s happy to guide him up ahead, wearing Casimir’s coat like a blanket that keeps his shoulders and chest warm. The bag does the rest, tucked beneath the wool jacket and clutched in one hand so he doesn’t drop it. As the House comes into view, he glances back to make sure he hasn’t lost the bartender. He sees him, though, relieved, and it’s that jerk of his head to the back door that Thorn immediately diverts course for. He knows the rumors of the bartender – hell, he’s probably added a few himself inadvertently. Namely the one that might suggest he’s got some kind of hidden harem.
Thorn will keep this secret away from the rest of the House for as long as he could, though, gliding up the stairs with ease until they reach the door of an empty room on the second floor. And as usual, it opens relatively normal for him, letting his partner choose how he wanted the room to be morphed into – and the second he steps in toward the center he’s greeted with warmth of a fireplace, two plush seats. A living room that looks extremely comfortable with décor and architecture that Thorn wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the night laying on the fur rug and staring up at it like it was his equivalent of stars in the night sky.
And then? It’s gone. Instead, familiarity creeps in as the room morphs and the bar comes visible. And Cas might see the way Thorn stills like a predator might, taking in the surroundings before he’s huffing a scoff of a sound and turns toward Casimir to level him a flat and unimpressed look. “The chairs looked comfy.” He whines, but he puts up with it. He’d promised they could make it whatever they wanted to keep it familiar, and if Cas wanted the bar to be the thing they ate at and enjoyed a night at, Thorn would give it to him. “But you better sit on my side’ve the bar or I get to sit on yours.” He doesn’t shrug out of the jacket, almost like he’s attached to it, but he does set the bag of food down on the bar and hesitates as if deciding whether he should stick on this side or the other. Instead, he chooses something else entirely. "Actually..."
A cheshire smirk is flashed toward Casimir briefly before he’s grabbing the lip of the bar and hauling himself up onto it to sit his happy ass right on the wood countertop – something he’s sure Cas would have killed him for were this the real bar downstairs.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
