Amalia
stop thinking so much
The comment about his beard seems to elicit some indignation, and Amalia grins behind his back, running her fingers soothingly over his curly cheeks. The comment that they have been busy lessens her mood a little; she drops her hands back to the water, biting at her lip. "We all have." Busy is an understatement: cataclysmically preoccupied would perhaps be more fitting. The world has been chaos and brimstone, falling apart and coiling into disaster, false queens and lost friends and days of fear and regret. Shaving, in the scheme of things, is far from an important task.
She is distracted, and so does not expect the onslaught, the hand upon her chin. Blushing at the sudden proximity, she wonders, waiting, her breath caught for a kiss, an embrace- but no. Swift and silly the man is upon her, his coarse hair running over her cheek, tickling and taunting and drawing out a laugh. "Not when you do that!" Her giggles betray any true indignation. She reaches down into the tub, hoping to splash and douse him with water, to saturate and distract with a sudden assault. Pulling away from his grasp, the girl regards him with sparkling eyes, her hand rising up to caress his face, fingers entwining in the wild locks. Mockingly serious, she stares him down, a little bit of a smile and flush on her face. "Nobody has the right to be as attractive as you."
you're breaking your own heart
