HOTARU
She's in a long black coat tonight
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
Since a young age she has fostered the skill of reading people in herself, and yet she does not dare to let her eyes linger on the profound and informative looks that the two men share. If these flirtations are to come to fruition in any sort of way, she will not allow herself any further opportunities to trick herself into misunderstandings and misplaced hope. Though Nate seems dearly determined to eradicate any doubts, and she can't help the spark of heat in her eyes at the blatant confirmation of what they are both offering. Unaware of Sunjata's piercing gaze, the way he strips her defenses from the habitual way she holds her glass, far too aware of the soul beneath that she has tried to board back up away from his addicting, poisonous touch.
What could it hurt? A single night, a way to chase away the void? The memories? If you are the first to walk away by morning, they can't see the hurt on your face as you leave. The voice sounds far too similar to her mother's for her own comfort, but Phaedra's wisdom has rarely steered her wrong. So she lets the idea consume her, foregoes any doubts or hesitations, and stands with a purpose that had abandoned her for most of the season. Both men are firm and solid beneath her touch, supporting her in the areas where she falters, where the drywall cracks and the loneliness seeps through. Perhaps they can help patch it up for the night, and leave her feeling something close to whole by morning.
Both offered arms are taken equally, striking an amusing picture as her diminutive form is swallowed on both sides by tall, imposing men. Her thumbs idly trail against the inner skin of their elbows, a restlessness low in her belly that - along with the alcohol cloying sweetly in her veins - keeps her warm the entirety of the walk. Their assurances make her feel briefly as if she is walking on air, more powerful than she believes. As they approach the domicile, this house they share (and she will not let herself dwell on her feelings of intrusiveness) she lets herself be led inside past the colorful blooms reaching up the trellis of the porch, bi-colored eyes flickering with appropriate awe and intrigue as the door swings open to permit them. The fireplace looms cold but promising, and Hotaru drops her hands from their arms to boldly begin peeling back her cardigan, letting the knitted fabric slide from slim shoulders to hang it as if she has always claimed this spot for her coat. "Well? I was promised warmth, at the very least," she teases, voice dipping into something velvety and teasing. Bodies or fireplace? It is up to them, it seems. She has taken her hands from the controls, letting her trust in them guide her instead of her hurt.
What could it hurt? A single night, a way to chase away the void? The memories? If you are the first to walk away by morning, they can't see the hurt on your face as you leave. The voice sounds far too similar to her mother's for her own comfort, but Phaedra's wisdom has rarely steered her wrong. So she lets the idea consume her, foregoes any doubts or hesitations, and stands with a purpose that had abandoned her for most of the season. Both men are firm and solid beneath her touch, supporting her in the areas where she falters, where the drywall cracks and the loneliness seeps through. Perhaps they can help patch it up for the night, and leave her feeling something close to whole by morning.
Both offered arms are taken equally, striking an amusing picture as her diminutive form is swallowed on both sides by tall, imposing men. Her thumbs idly trail against the inner skin of their elbows, a restlessness low in her belly that - along with the alcohol cloying sweetly in her veins - keeps her warm the entirety of the walk. Their assurances make her feel briefly as if she is walking on air, more powerful than she believes. As they approach the domicile, this house they share (and she will not let herself dwell on her feelings of intrusiveness) she lets herself be led inside past the colorful blooms reaching up the trellis of the porch, bi-colored eyes flickering with appropriate awe and intrigue as the door swings open to permit them. The fireplace looms cold but promising, and Hotaru drops her hands from their arms to boldly begin peeling back her cardigan, letting the knitted fabric slide from slim shoulders to hang it as if she has always claimed this spot for her coat. "Well? I was promised warmth, at the very least," she teases, voice dipping into something velvety and teasing. Bodies or fireplace? It is up to them, it seems. She has taken her hands from the controls, letting her trust in them guide her instead of her hurt.
singing "Baby come home" in a melody of tears
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time
