on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
As he watches the transformation takes place, he can see Casimir’s head tilt up, taking in the view as Thorn wills it through the room. The warm, sweet air reaches him, satisfied and content like a honeyed addition to the otherwise warm and charming bar that they still sit at. He wants to keep some familiarity for the bartender, or else he’s sure it’ll send him running again.
But this? This combination of the two where the stars and moon shine down on them and the warm breeze whips its way through the beams of the bar, ruffling his tamed back hair somewhat. A loose curl of his own breaks from the rest, curling around his forehead as he lowers his gaze to the other man, taking in the way the moonlight and stars play with a face that’s been such a lovely challenge to read.
His question is aired with a quiet studiousness that is greeted with very little change in the handsome face of the bartender, but that short approving hum that pours from his throat and floats toward him has the courtesan softening in the sharp lines of his face, the way he shifts to sit up a little more from draping so much across the bar, curving his back like a cat might stretch as the shift of stars changes overhead.
It captures his attention and he finds himself staring up at it, all rogue and catlike smiles shifting to something more innocent, a boyish lilt as he takes it in. “Torchline..?” He asks softly, and before realizing it, the question continues to slip from his lips. “Did ya live there before? I did.. for a few years.” It wasn’t exactly like it was something Thorn kept quiet, but he rarely talked about his own Torchline experiences apart from where he worked.
But this? This combination of the two where the stars and moon shine down on them and the warm breeze whips its way through the beams of the bar, ruffling his tamed back hair somewhat. A loose curl of his own breaks from the rest, curling around his forehead as he lowers his gaze to the other man, taking in the way the moonlight and stars play with a face that’s been such a lovely challenge to read.
His question is aired with a quiet studiousness that is greeted with very little change in the handsome face of the bartender, but that short approving hum that pours from his throat and floats toward him has the courtesan softening in the sharp lines of his face, the way he shifts to sit up a little more from draping so much across the bar, curving his back like a cat might stretch as the shift of stars changes overhead.
It captures his attention and he finds himself staring up at it, all rogue and catlike smiles shifting to something more innocent, a boyish lilt as he takes it in. “Torchline..?” He asks softly, and before realizing it, the question continues to slip from his lips. “Did ya live there before? I did.. for a few years.” It wasn’t exactly like it was something Thorn kept quiet, but he rarely talked about his own Torchline experiences apart from where he worked.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
