Isla
"We still need to give this place a name," Isla is saying softly, her voice seeming to echo too much against the walls of the empty space. She's told Sunjata the same thing every day they've walked through the building's doors, and at this point it's more a joke than anything else. Nameless or otherwise, though, she thinks the brothel is starting to come together.
There are rooms, there are two floors and a loft space, and there's colour on the walls and drapes on the windows and rugs on the floors. A fuckton of furniture and decor and (of course) some people to do the work, and they should be basically ready to roll, here. "I never asked before," she adds, stamping the snow from her boots on the threshold of the doorway before stepping inside properly, "were you planning to move in here from the Refuge?"
There are rooms, there are two floors and a loft space, and there's colour on the walls and drapes on the windows and rugs on the floors. A fuckton of furniture and decor and (of course) some people to do the work, and they should be basically ready to roll, here. "I never asked before," she adds, stamping the snow from her boots on the threshold of the doorway before stepping inside properly, "were you planning to move in here from the Refuge?"
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight
we're always running scared but holding knives
we're always running scared but holding knives
