Aurelia
as if you were on fire
from within
from within
Aurelia's only making this joke to get back at him for having the audacity to make a penis bauble, not because she'd gotten herself an eyeful. "You sure? I think it's smaller, actually," she tilts her head at him with a sly smile.
She takes a moment to appreciate his quip, a little taken aback by it but, well... she glanced at the glitter on his eyebrows. He has a point. Not that she'll give that little victory to him so easily. "You may find it hard to believe but, not everyone can handle all of this," she makes a show of motioning to herself, straightening in her seat and and wiggling an eyebrow up at him.
The brief moment of humor is lost, though, as he mentions a father. And she has to wonder about that, having assumed that Jack doesn't have much of anyone (he certainly acts like it) but, he doesn't leave her hanging for too long. A letter is presented out of the desk drawer. She's startled by its contents though, guiding a mixed expression towards him as he puts some context behind it. He might be able to sense her spike of anger after a few moments' deliberation, after the compassion fades into something defensive.
She sets down the knife and the half-finished craft. Kinda hard to make baubles in good conscience now. How could a father be so cruel to his only son?
"What kind of..." she scrutinizes the letter again, reaching up to take it from him, to look at the word again as if making sure it really just says that, "edgy bastard sends nothing but the word 'murderer'? The fuck? What a piece a shit," she snaps the words out, brows furrowing, and looks over at Jack with a nice, healthy dose of animosity in her gaze, "Why would you keep this, Jack?"
She takes a moment to appreciate his quip, a little taken aback by it but, well... she glanced at the glitter on his eyebrows. He has a point. Not that she'll give that little victory to him so easily. "You may find it hard to believe but, not everyone can handle all of this," she makes a show of motioning to herself, straightening in her seat and and wiggling an eyebrow up at him.
The brief moment of humor is lost, though, as he mentions a father. And she has to wonder about that, having assumed that Jack doesn't have much of anyone (he certainly acts like it) but, he doesn't leave her hanging for too long. A letter is presented out of the desk drawer. She's startled by its contents though, guiding a mixed expression towards him as he puts some context behind it. He might be able to sense her spike of anger after a few moments' deliberation, after the compassion fades into something defensive.
She sets down the knife and the half-finished craft. Kinda hard to make baubles in good conscience now. How could a father be so cruel to his only son?
"What kind of..." she scrutinizes the letter again, reaching up to take it from him, to look at the word again as if making sure it really just says that, "edgy bastard sends nothing but the word 'murderer'? The fuck? What a piece a shit," she snaps the words out, brows furrowing, and looks over at Jack with a nice, healthy dose of animosity in her gaze, "Why would you keep this, Jack?"
the moon lives
in the lining of your skin
in the lining of your skin
