I could take all that you love
We could get down fading numb
We could get down fading numb
The path to the salon is freshly cleared by way of her and Deimos' efforts, which makes hauling supplies back so much easier. She has been slowly making one of the back rooms a bedroom for herself, though she still spends many nights in Deimos' spare room. But she can't live with waking up in the middle of the night, tears already fresh on her cheeks, trying to choke down her noises lest she wake her best friend with a grief he cannot understand. Empathize with, perhaps, in the same way he has lost Amalia; but he'd never approved of Sunjata or Nate. She is tired, that much is undeniable. Sleeping more during the day - snatches and fitful naps on the massage tables or curled in one of the fireplace chairs - than any long stretch at night. The beds are too cold, too large, even smaller as they are than the one she'd once called theirs in Torchline.
Atlas walks beside her, silent and supportive, carrying the wares in his saddle bags which we wears with no actual saddle overtop it. Despite his ever-growing size, Hotaru does not ride him much; he is her equal, more than just her mount, though it is a familiar argument between the two of them.
They notice their visitor at the same time, Atlas' ears easing backwards into his dark windswept mane and Hotaru's fair brows crinkling. She hadn't had anyone on the books today. She's sure of it. Had even double checked before she'd left for the city. Though Atlas postures at her side, horn gleaming dark, Hotaru shoos him away as soon as she has pulled the bags off his back. Snorting, the unicorn abides, but not without a wary glance towards the stranger. Hotaru does no such thing, coming up with her vixen smile firmly in place. "Hello there, care to come in? I have no clients today if you're looking for services, but I also have tea and a fireplace if you're in need of that instead." Because he certainly looks lost.
Atlas walks beside her, silent and supportive, carrying the wares in his saddle bags which we wears with no actual saddle overtop it. Despite his ever-growing size, Hotaru does not ride him much; he is her equal, more than just her mount, though it is a familiar argument between the two of them.
They notice their visitor at the same time, Atlas' ears easing backwards into his dark windswept mane and Hotaru's fair brows crinkling. She hadn't had anyone on the books today. She's sure of it. Had even double checked before she'd left for the city. Though Atlas postures at her side, horn gleaming dark, Hotaru shoos him away as soon as she has pulled the bags off his back. Snorting, the unicorn abides, but not without a wary glance towards the stranger. Hotaru does no such thing, coming up with her vixen smile firmly in place. "Hello there, care to come in? I have no clients today if you're looking for services, but I also have tea and a fireplace if you're in need of that instead." Because he certainly looks lost.
Gasoline kiss on my lips
Tell yourself you know it's me
Tell yourself you know it's me
