ISLA
Isla is lost in the sway of the waves and the rush of the distant ocean, and a smile touches to her lips as she pats at her face and hair with lazy touches of the towel. Of course, this leaves her completely exposed everywhere else, and as a voice nearby clears their throat she almost jumps clean out of her skin. "Oh-- I'm sorry, I-- oh gods, Varus?" It's with a dawning horror that she scrambles to cover herself up, the towel wrapped clumsily (but successfully, at least) around her as she tries to angle herself so he sees less, somehow.
But when it's a choice between bare ass and bare front, even if they are technically covered by now, she knows her preference. "How long have you been standing there?" she asks in a voice that's about an octave higher than before. "I didn't think anyone would be out here."
But when it's a choice between bare ass and bare front, even if they are technically covered by now, she knows her preference. "How long have you been standing there?" she asks in a voice that's about an octave higher than before. "I didn't think anyone would be out here."
she's a runner
rebel, and a stunner
rebel, and a stunner
