Isla
Isla isn't used to parties any more, but in fairness, that much was true far before the war. As things at the Hanged Man get rowdy, get rowdier, and then eventualy begin to burn out and settle, she finds herself at the dregs of the bonfire, sitting in the sand with her bare toes pushed into the embers, sandals abandoned nearby. It would be a lie to say she's sober, but equaly so to say that she's wasted - Isla has come full circle through inebriation, and now there's a measured sort of haze to the world that dares to bring it clarity if she looks close enough.
She's certainly looked at a lot of things tonight, too. Bodies pressed and dancing together, the flutter of Flora's thick eyelashes, the beauty of Hotaru's painted expression and the view of two silhouettes sitting together, companionable and comfortable. Huffing a sigh that blows a stray curl out of her face, she considers sprawling back to lose herself in the stars, before opting instead to slouch back on one hand. A modicum of put-togetherness that's as sloppy a lie as the hundred nice to meet yous she's said tonight.
She's certainly looked at a lot of things tonight, too. Bodies pressed and dancing together, the flutter of Flora's thick eyelashes, the beauty of Hotaru's painted expression and the view of two silhouettes sitting together, companionable and comfortable. Huffing a sigh that blows a stray curl out of her face, she considers sprawling back to lose herself in the stars, before opting instead to slouch back on one hand. A modicum of put-togetherness that's as sloppy a lie as the hundred nice to meet yous she's said tonight.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
