[A voice pierces through the brewing tempest and the world around her slowly rights itself, coalescing and fusing the muddle of light and noise into something solid. The syllables falling on her ears are carried by a sound with depth. Deep and male. There's a rich timbre to it despite the unused quality it bears. It's the sound of a rusty door hinge opening as one sinks into a chair late at night, too intoxicated from the notes of oak dancing and burning on one's tongue to care about a home invasion. She's had many nights like that. Is someone coming home? Or has someone come to finish the job? Her mind meanders as she offers a nod to the stranger's query. Curving her lips, she does her best to smile at his unexpected concern.]
Perhaps after a drink.
[Her hand wraps around the cool mocktail he's set on the table, letting the drops on the glass blend with the sweat on her palm. The cold's almost comforting as she lifts the liquid to her lips. If she had been in the right state of mind, she'd be chastising herself for her stupidity right now.
Never accept anything that you haven't seen prepared in front of you.
But there are worse ways to die. The beverage is sweet; a blend of kiwi, strawberry and far too much sugar. She sips with as much grace as she can muster before setting the drink down on the table once more, leaving it half-empty and with the ghost of her kiss on the rim prominently displayed in dark red lipstick.]
no subject
Perhaps after a drink.
[Her hand wraps around the cool mocktail he's set on the table, letting the drops on the glass blend with the sweat on her palm. The cold's almost comforting as she lifts the liquid to her lips. If she had been in the right state of mind, she'd be chastising herself for her stupidity right now.
Never accept anything that you haven't seen prepared in front of you.
But there are worse ways to die. The beverage is sweet; a blend of kiwi, strawberry and far too much sugar. She sips with as much grace as she can muster before setting the drink down on the table once more, leaving it half-empty and with the ghost of her kiss on the rim prominently displayed in dark red lipstick.]
To whom do I owe my thanks?