// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
It’s a surprisingly sharp grip that the courtesan has on the bartender’s arm – his heart leaping into his throat. With the help, however, he straightens up and takes a few deep breaths to prove he hasn’t just fallen straight into the wood of his door, trying to swallow down the panic that had swelled up in his throat. "Oops. Sorry." He hesitates for a few long moments, slowly releasing the death grip he’s got latched onto Casimir’s arm like a leech.
It helps that the bartender doesn’t run, too. That he pulls away gently and makes sure he’s steadied. Thorn clutches the hat to his chest where it had stuck from its crumpling as Cas opens the door to his room. It’s dark inside, but it’s homey – and Thorn reaches again for Casimir’s arm for support as he starts to step into his room.
Immediately there’s the smell of petrichor, the sudden realization that while the room and the bed were small, Thorn had taken care and time into making it comfortable. Blankets are strewn all across the bed, colorful and comfortable, bundled and bunched in places to become makeshift pillows. There’s tons of pillows, too, and across from the bed sits a desk with a row of mirrors and a variety of jewelry and makeup.
Thorn tosses the muddy hat into the corner of the room, and uses a touch of his telekinesis magic to spark an oil lamp to life to illuminate the rest of the room, a row of the glittering clothes, sheer and netted and body suits line the opposite side of where his bathroom was attached. Yet all the courtesan has eyes for is his bed.
It helps that the bartender doesn’t run, too. That he pulls away gently and makes sure he’s steadied. Thorn clutches the hat to his chest where it had stuck from its crumpling as Cas opens the door to his room. It’s dark inside, but it’s homey – and Thorn reaches again for Casimir’s arm for support as he starts to step into his room.
Immediately there’s the smell of petrichor, the sudden realization that while the room and the bed were small, Thorn had taken care and time into making it comfortable. Blankets are strewn all across the bed, colorful and comfortable, bundled and bunched in places to become makeshift pillows. There’s tons of pillows, too, and across from the bed sits a desk with a row of mirrors and a variety of jewelry and makeup.
Thorn tosses the muddy hat into the corner of the room, and uses a touch of his telekinesis magic to spark an oil lamp to life to illuminate the rest of the room, a row of the glittering clothes, sheer and netted and body suits line the opposite side of where his bathroom was attached. Yet all the courtesan has eyes for is his bed.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
