of all the beaches in Torchline

It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight

“Let’s pretend I didn’t ask that,” she says with a wince as she hears her own stupid question echoed back at her. Taking the handcuffs and placing them in her bag, the demi-god smiles to herself about the idle flattery. No one really flatters her. The Voice, maybe, but most people can probably tell that she isn’t susceptible to praises in the ways that others are. To her, they’re just facts. “Bows on handcuffs? All of a sudden I’m terribly curious about what you two do at night.” Except not really. It's banter for the sake of banter, not a legitimate question about their sex lives.

“Alright. I owe you. Tusks for the cloak, then? Or will a favor cover both?”