and I loved you so much it was making me sick
Zeph is having a blow-out on the docks - that’s the word on the street anyway. Vai has been walking the world for long enough to know that the word on the street is one worth listening to, but if it weren’t for Zeph’s name, she’d likely not care much more than cursory interest. She’d been walking along the beach as the sun began to set, barefoot, pants rolled to the knee and her unruly curls up in a high tail, searching for cowries and oysters and watching the waves roll in.
Now there’s something more interesting afoot, and she makes her way up onto the boardwalk just the way she is, leaving wet prints on the wood. In Vai’s experience there’s either something to celebrate or something to mourn at times like this; her knowledge of Zeph so far tells her that it could well be either.
She spots him, a statue against the red and gold of the dying sun, ignoring calls that she’d be “better off leavin’ ‘im if she knows what’s good for ‘er” to approach. ”Party for one?” she asks, a whisper of a smile on her lips. ”Or room for one more?”
Now there’s something more interesting afoot, and she makes her way up onto the boardwalk just the way she is, leaving wet prints on the wood. In Vai’s experience there’s either something to celebrate or something to mourn at times like this; her knowledge of Zeph so far tells her that it could well be either.
She spots him, a statue against the red and gold of the dying sun, ignoring calls that she’d be “better off leavin’ ‘im if she knows what’s good for ‘er” to approach. ”Party for one?” she asks, a whisper of a smile on her lips. ”Or room for one more?”
