her smile ain't seen the light of day
"Not hair of the dog then, mm?" Eloise murmured almost absently, her head tilted slightly to gaze down at the pathetic skeleton of a man curled so inelegantly beneath the sheets. He really was rather wirey looking, the illusionist had the chance to note, and she vaguely found herself wondering what about him was nonetheless so attractive. His eyes blazed a blue that was almost painfully bright, the line of his jaw and whatever brand of charm he did have, was always just a bit too sharp. But there was something.
"I was planning on going through your underwear drawer. You know. See what I might find hidden." Eloise joked. Maybe. Her thoughts suggested that while it wasn't actually her plan, now that she'd said it she was rather curious. Something told her there'd be a bit of intrigue hidden in there, amidst the plethora of sex toys she was also likely to find.
"You must be hard done by to be asking about me." Eloise tutted in response, finding herself sparsely defensive in the wake of the question. "Come'ere then." Patting the crook of her thigh for him to place his head upon it—it was clear that this was a headache or migraine possibly, and not just a rogue hangover—and she hadn't anywhere else to be anyhow. That, of course, was the answer to his question: at port, all that awaited her were quick flings, pretty smiles, men and women who underestimated her because of her size and appearance. None of it was challenging or interesting.
Not like the sea.
Not like Jack, for that matter.
"I was planning on going through your underwear drawer. You know. See what I might find hidden." Eloise joked. Maybe. Her thoughts suggested that while it wasn't actually her plan, now that she'd said it she was rather curious. Something told her there'd be a bit of intrigue hidden in there, amidst the plethora of sex toys she was also likely to find.
"You must be hard done by to be asking about me." Eloise tutted in response, finding herself sparsely defensive in the wake of the question. "Come'ere then." Patting the crook of her thigh for him to place his head upon it—it was clear that this was a headache or migraine possibly, and not just a rogue hangover—and she hadn't anywhere else to be anyhow. That, of course, was the answer to his question: at port, all that awaited her were quick flings, pretty smiles, men and women who underestimated her because of her size and appearance. None of it was challenging or interesting.
Not like the sea.
Not like Jack, for that matter.
exchanged it for some treasures somewhere along the way
