on the low, i get vertigo from body overdose
Casimir doesn’t wait. If anything, the thunder is a backdrop to the thundering footsteps that depart the room faster than he thinks he’s heard anyone leave. But he tries not to let it burn in the crevices of his chest, where he’d been sure things had been going well. He thinks for a split second that maybe it isn’t him, though that thought fades just about as quickly as it had come on.
He rubs at his face and draws himself up from the floor. Picking up the trash from their dinner, with the cheese bread still mostly untouched. And with a few more chastising thoughts of what are you doing, Thorn?, the courtesan slips out of the shifting room to head toward the stairs. The back steps, at least, that way he can kind of try to follow the echoing footsteps that feel like they’ve branded their way into his mind.
He comes up empty, though, even heading back toward the bar where everything feels a little too bright compared to how it had been upstairs – where the oil lamps flicker and glow and the light fades from outside. No thunderstorms this time, but an overwhelming sense of ease and happiness that had always made things smoother.
It doesn’t this time, not as he reaches the other bartender, the one that had let Cas leave early. A quick conversation to ask if he’d seen him only to get the quick answer of last I saw him, he was with you, which only makes it feel that much more defeating.
So Thorn starts his search, wondering which nook and cranny the bartender had snuck off into – whether the wine spider currently curled around a port of wine back at the bar had been Casimir, hidden away from sight - not that Thorn would look too hard at it, afraid of spiders as he is.
He rubs at his face and draws himself up from the floor. Picking up the trash from their dinner, with the cheese bread still mostly untouched. And with a few more chastising thoughts of what are you doing, Thorn?, the courtesan slips out of the shifting room to head toward the stairs. The back steps, at least, that way he can kind of try to follow the echoing footsteps that feel like they’ve branded their way into his mind.
He comes up empty, though, even heading back toward the bar where everything feels a little too bright compared to how it had been upstairs – where the oil lamps flicker and glow and the light fades from outside. No thunderstorms this time, but an overwhelming sense of ease and happiness that had always made things smoother.
It doesn’t this time, not as he reaches the other bartender, the one that had let Cas leave early. A quick conversation to ask if he’d seen him only to get the quick answer of last I saw him, he was with you, which only makes it feel that much more defeating.
So Thorn starts his search, wondering which nook and cranny the bartender had snuck off into – whether the wine spider currently curled around a port of wine back at the bar had been Casimir, hidden away from sight - not that Thorn would look too hard at it, afraid of spiders as he is.
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
