10-07-2018, 06:42 PM
"Painted on pants." She hummed laughter as she leaned to collect the drinks from across the bar.
Almost as funny as civilised celebrities.
The whole room revolved in various degrees around that conversation. A little tension sparked, toeing towards confrontation, though she doubted it would escalate. Jaxen Marveet was a showman; he would not let tonight be remembered for a quip over Aiden Finnegan's sex life. Though given the cabaret performance, the kinds of questions that followed seemed to sway away from artful subversion and dangerously close to mutiny. Her side-glance shadowed amusement, she did not pause before threading her path away.
One knight in shining armour departed for another to take residence.
Placing her own drink down, she ruffled a hand through the man's curls; overly familiar with a stranger, perhaps, but then she was on that glowy side of tipsy where such distinctions had even less impact on her behaviour than usual. The glass of water slid firmly into his grip. Thalia stared curiously at the marks on his neck as she flopped down beside him, even when his hand self-consciously pressed against the scars. Sweat glittered his forehead like tiny stars. He didn't look well.
Unperturbed, she folded her legs up under her. A thick braid curled around her crown, the rest of her hair left to a wild waterfall. The sleek glamour of such places as this made her an odd denizen; a dandelion sprung up amidst a bed of cultivated roses, though the distinction never seemed to bother her, social butterfly that she was. A pair of heels lingered somewhere lost during the musical interlude. Neither song had been of much tempo, yet while others had clamoured to immortalise the once-in-a-lifetime moment, Thalia let herself sweep away on life's current. The spontaneity delighted her. It didn't much matter that she had been one of the only ones dancing.
"The race of kings," she explained, wondering if he was staring at the group by the bar like that because he was trying to place the reference. Thalia had technically studied history at MSU, but her studies had unravelled almost as soon as she got there, lost to the voracious imagination of something else entirely. A poor student, but a marvellous collector. Myth dipped dusty fingers into most of her work. "Three days and three night of darkness? They lost Ireland eventually. I guess that's how they became fairies."
His gaze blinked away from the scene, lost. So maybe he hadn't been considering Irish lore. He did offer a grin though, a little frayed at the edges, the flat shine of his eyes suggesting the embrace of fever. Something tugged at that, but mostly her curious gaze was drawn to the scars. His mouth moved in words that were probably thank you before he took a grimaced sip of the water. Thalia's headed tilted, aware that she really ought to chide him into going home. But he was an adult, and it was the burgeoning of a smile lighting her lips, not concern.
She laughed, mostly to herself, as she leaned to fish through her bag, currently dumped on the floor. The rush of movement made her head feel a little dizzy, but it was triumphance that offered out the small sketchbook and pencil.
Almost as funny as civilised celebrities.
The whole room revolved in various degrees around that conversation. A little tension sparked, toeing towards confrontation, though she doubted it would escalate. Jaxen Marveet was a showman; he would not let tonight be remembered for a quip over Aiden Finnegan's sex life. Though given the cabaret performance, the kinds of questions that followed seemed to sway away from artful subversion and dangerously close to mutiny. Her side-glance shadowed amusement, she did not pause before threading her path away.
One knight in shining armour departed for another to take residence.
Placing her own drink down, she ruffled a hand through the man's curls; overly familiar with a stranger, perhaps, but then she was on that glowy side of tipsy where such distinctions had even less impact on her behaviour than usual. The glass of water slid firmly into his grip. Thalia stared curiously at the marks on his neck as she flopped down beside him, even when his hand self-consciously pressed against the scars. Sweat glittered his forehead like tiny stars. He didn't look well.
Unperturbed, she folded her legs up under her. A thick braid curled around her crown, the rest of her hair left to a wild waterfall. The sleek glamour of such places as this made her an odd denizen; a dandelion sprung up amidst a bed of cultivated roses, though the distinction never seemed to bother her, social butterfly that she was. A pair of heels lingered somewhere lost during the musical interlude. Neither song had been of much tempo, yet while others had clamoured to immortalise the once-in-a-lifetime moment, Thalia let herself sweep away on life's current. The spontaneity delighted her. It didn't much matter that she had been one of the only ones dancing.
"The race of kings," she explained, wondering if he was staring at the group by the bar like that because he was trying to place the reference. Thalia had technically studied history at MSU, but her studies had unravelled almost as soon as she got there, lost to the voracious imagination of something else entirely. A poor student, but a marvellous collector. Myth dipped dusty fingers into most of her work. "Three days and three night of darkness? They lost Ireland eventually. I guess that's how they became fairies."
His gaze blinked away from the scene, lost. So maybe he hadn't been considering Irish lore. He did offer a grin though, a little frayed at the edges, the flat shine of his eyes suggesting the embrace of fever. Something tugged at that, but mostly her curious gaze was drawn to the scars. His mouth moved in words that were probably thank you before he took a grimaced sip of the water. Thalia's headed tilted, aware that she really ought to chide him into going home. But he was an adult, and it was the burgeoning of a smile lighting her lips, not concern.
She laughed, mostly to herself, as she leaned to fish through her bag, currently dumped on the floor. The rush of movement made her head feel a little dizzy, but it was triumphance that offered out the small sketchbook and pencil.