Aurelia
as if you were on fire
from within
from within
Aurelia can't help the loud laugh that comes out when he threatens to throw her overboard. "Ha! And I'll take you down with me," she smirks at him, a challenge lighting her green eyes. She means it, too, quite happy to oblige him should it come to that. But he's getting up to put his pants on, so she sharply turns away (to avoid any sight she doesn't want to behold) and returns to the box she brought in.
When she looks back up at him, she's sitting at the desk, in a seat that presumably would be his. She's leaned back into the chair and kicked her boots up on the desk. There's a sly grin on her face, because she hadn't actually known it was his birthday. Casually, she grabs another chunk of wood out of the box, pretending to examine it. "Oh, so it is! Should I bring the crew in here to sing you a birthday shanty?" She's taunting him at this point, but part of her thinks that might be a pretty good means of blackmailing him into this. The look on his face would be priceless, too.
Oh, and he'll find that the cigarettes taste vaguely reminiscent of something fruity and sweet. Like a tart. Not enough to be a bold flavor, but it's there, if only just. (If he can even taste it. If not, well... that sucks.)
"I am," she confirms, wiggling the piece of wood in emphasis, "and so are you. Hmmm... Maybe you can use one of your knick-knacks? You sure do have a lot of 'em," she casts a cursory glance around at his trinkets and treasures.
When she looks back up at him, she's sitting at the desk, in a seat that presumably would be his. She's leaned back into the chair and kicked her boots up on the desk. There's a sly grin on her face, because she hadn't actually known it was his birthday. Casually, she grabs another chunk of wood out of the box, pretending to examine it. "Oh, so it is! Should I bring the crew in here to sing you a birthday shanty?" She's taunting him at this point, but part of her thinks that might be a pretty good means of blackmailing him into this. The look on his face would be priceless, too.
Oh, and he'll find that the cigarettes taste vaguely reminiscent of something fruity and sweet. Like a tart. Not enough to be a bold flavor, but it's there, if only just. (If he can even taste it. If not, well... that sucks.)
"I am," she confirms, wiggling the piece of wood in emphasis, "and so are you. Hmmm... Maybe you can use one of your knick-knacks? You sure do have a lot of 'em," she casts a cursory glance around at his trinkets and treasures.
the moon lives
in the lining of your skin
in the lining of your skin
