LILY
“Harper?” she replies, surprised for a moment to find him here, even though she knew he was definitely in Torchline now and was absolutely hoping to see him again during LongNight. Sure enough, it was a Harper - a sweaty, glistening (holy fuck does he look good without his shirt on), mop-topped, clearly very fit, Harper. And though she’s wearing clothing she can easily move in and her hair is pulled away from her face and wrapped into what is hopefully a tight bun, Lily is suddenly very aware that is… nowhere near that athletic. The entertainer is made of softer curves and a fondness for baked goods. She is more generously endowed (which was the hardest part, actually, keeping those ladies down), has a solid hourglass figure. Ass, tits, and hips: something to hold on to, something to lay on, something to safely birth a child. Everything you could want in an 18th century woman who was thoroughly unaffected by fashion icons and social media.
“Hi,” she says brightly, dropping her small rucksack of ‘things she might need.’ She’s a bit unsure whether to hug him in this state and may end up doing some sort of really awkward dance when he gets closer, but eventually she does answer the question. “I wanted to learn some basic fighting things. To keep myself safe. Just in case.” She has to think for a moment about what others have called it, because if you’re not in the army, ‘self defense’ is still a novel idea, especially for women.
“Defense?” She asks, wrinkling her nose up in uncertainty.
don't know if you love me or you want me dead
the way you're looking through my eyes
Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive
