Damsel in Distress

For a hot second, she is crestfallen. No, not England - but then it hits her that he is at least familiar with Earth and their world. “No… Portsmouth, Virgina. In America.” It was silly to think someone might have heard of the medium-sized city, but she couldn’t help getting her hopes up. She nibbles a little at her lower lip, trying to place his accent. She’s not a terribly worldly lady, they don’t get a lot of international visitors, but she can rule out England, France, and Germany... “Are you from Europe? Ummm… Spain?” The conversation continues as she takes the proffered hand, wobbling on quickly numbing toes in surely ruined shoes (note to self, probably don’t need heels here). She climbs over the pillar in a less than dainty manner, heavy, wet skirt getting tangled around her ankles (which does nothing for the pain, she barely hides it with a wince) as she clears it. But oh, Bastien smiles, and it seems like everything just miiiiight be alright. “I’m a performer. Usually in bars, or for private parties. Sing, dance, play cards, instruments… you know.” And it’s the truth. Just not the whole truth. But they’ve only just met, no need to bare their souls to each other until there’s alcohol and more… fortuitous circumstances. lily as if you were on fire from within the moon lives in the lining of your skin