// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
Given the night they’d shared, Thorn thinks he’s pretty on top of figuring out the nuances of the bartender’s face. So he sees the way Casimir’s eyes widen just a breath of a fraction, the way his hands twitch ever so slightly with a barely there shake. He averts his gaze, focusing on the hat now that Casimir is making his drink, silent as usual but a touch more flighty than he’s used to. And Thorn, for all of his experience coming to the bar exhausted, doesn’t have the energy this time to poke and prod at Casimir until he bleeds.
So he waits patiently for the drink to be made, smoothing out a fleck of mud on the hat like it might do something to return it to its former glory, when he hears the two taps of the counter. It’s normal, it’s exactly how things had been before, and Thorn exhales a soft sigh of relief – barely there, but there nonetheless. "Thanks." His hand drifts immediately from the hat to the drink, long fingers without all the jewelry clutch it close and bring it up to his lips to take a long, healthy sip from it.
He looks like a mess, still, but the nod of greeting and the soft glint to his gaze now has Thorn warming alongside the fire he swallows down to try and alleviate the aches of horseback riding that his healing hadn’t quite stamped out. But before he can say anything, Casimir is moving to the other end of the bar – opposite of him, as opposite as can be – and collects an empty glass. He looks almost as ragged as Thorn feels (to his professional eyes, at least), and he silences anything that comes to mind immediately with another heavy sip of the liquor.
Licking the sugar from his lips, Thorn is silent as he tries to stretch out, his arms over his head as he feels something in his back pop. A long slow sigh escapes him as he leans forward again, braced on an arm on the bar, head down in the nest he’s made, letting the relief of the stretch pour through his aching bones.
So he waits patiently for the drink to be made, smoothing out a fleck of mud on the hat like it might do something to return it to its former glory, when he hears the two taps of the counter. It’s normal, it’s exactly how things had been before, and Thorn exhales a soft sigh of relief – barely there, but there nonetheless. "Thanks." His hand drifts immediately from the hat to the drink, long fingers without all the jewelry clutch it close and bring it up to his lips to take a long, healthy sip from it.
He looks like a mess, still, but the nod of greeting and the soft glint to his gaze now has Thorn warming alongside the fire he swallows down to try and alleviate the aches of horseback riding that his healing hadn’t quite stamped out. But before he can say anything, Casimir is moving to the other end of the bar – opposite of him, as opposite as can be – and collects an empty glass. He looks almost as ragged as Thorn feels (to his professional eyes, at least), and he silences anything that comes to mind immediately with another heavy sip of the liquor.
Licking the sugar from his lips, Thorn is silent as he tries to stretch out, his arms over his head as he feels something in his back pop. A long slow sigh escapes him as he leans forward again, braced on an arm on the bar, head down in the nest he’s made, letting the relief of the stretch pour through his aching bones.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
