Isla
"You're really selling it to me," Isla drawls, grinning as she pushes herself to sit on her knees, accepting the fish he offers out. In truth she's skated along the surface of the ocean at speeds that seem impossible and in shapes that beggar belief, but they aren't memories that bring pleasure any more, so she prefers not to dwell on them at all. "I might make you a bet to see if you can go a year without getting any new scars," she teases him back.
As for how it works, Isla waits until he's opened the parchment paper and sets a fish down in each one of them. "So we season them with the herbs and lemon, and coat them in the oil, like this..." Having never been bothered to get her hands dirty, Isla gets straight to it, before folding each fish into a little parchment parcel. "And then if you dig a little hole in the sand, we put them in and cover them up again, and the sun does the rest. Apparently."
As for how it works, Isla waits until he's opened the parchment paper and sets a fish down in each one of them. "So we season them with the herbs and lemon, and coat them in the oil, like this..." Having never been bothered to get her hands dirty, Isla gets straight to it, before folding each fish into a little parchment parcel. "And then if you dig a little hole in the sand, we put them in and cover them up again, and the sun does the rest. Apparently."
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
