Amalia
the shield of safrin
She watches Remi pour the drink, a little bit skeptical of her choices of late. Getting high with Adam, drinking with an alchemist... it is a different girl who sits here, than the one who died a year ago. Still, the glass is lovely, and Amalia hums appreciatively as she moves it through her fingers, tracing the delicately etched starwhales and inhaling the sweet scent of the drink before raising it to her lips. Always one to jump into bad decisions with both feet, she manages a single gulp before coughing suddenly, the alcohol burning to her untrained throat, a flush of embarrassment spreading across her cheeks.
"I'm ind of a lightweight," Amalia admits, as though that would come as any surprise. "This is... good, though. I think." Another sip, smaller this time, but still burning as it courses down her throat. Setting her glass down, the baker begins to serve them each some of the pie, heaping a large spoonful onto Remi's plate and a smaller one on her own before sitting down across from him, as though things were normal, as though this was a safe time. "We could ask the gods to heal you," the girl suggests somewhat dubiously. "Or try poking you with one of the roses, maybe."
"I'm ind of a lightweight," Amalia admits, as though that would come as any surprise. "This is... good, though. I think." Another sip, smaller this time, but still burning as it courses down her throat. Setting her glass down, the baker begins to serve them each some of the pie, heaping a large spoonful onto Remi's plate and a smaller one on her own before sitting down across from him, as though things were normal, as though this was a safe time. "We could ask the gods to heal you," the girl suggests somewhat dubiously. "Or try poking you with one of the roses, maybe."
you are slowly growing
but you are still growing
and that is enough
