how to kiss a boy
- grab his waist
- slip your hand in his pocket
- steal his wallet
- dont even kiss him
- just run
Azee looked surprised and then a bit suspicious as she walked over. Well…now that the streets were full again she hadn’t expected anyone to actually reply.
The sound of stolen cutlery made her stop and stare at the other for a minute before she held out her hand. “Hand it over.”
Giving a grumble under her breath for the fact her load was too cumbersome to flee with, Belle fell back on negotiation best she could.
"Oh, come on. It’s not like anyone’s using them, this place doesn’t look like it’s been lived in for years. Think of it as me… relocating them to somewhere they’ll be better appreciated!” Until they were hocked and melted down into gaudy jewelry meant for tourists, most likely.
Layle looked to the eyes of the cooing bundle, then looked to Belle. With a nod, the Clavat pressed himself from the bed gently to keep the springs from creaking, taking the candle. He dragged throbbing haggard legs to the other room, and with unabashed hands, grabbed what he could to clean himself of all the blood stained upon his flesh and clothes— most not his own.
Layle managed to wipe most of the red away, though some remained as streaks or encrusted clots. He emerged and threw a clean and dry towel at Belle. “We better dry him-her-it-whatever, before it gets sick,” he suggested as he walked out toward the stove, taking the fire iron from it and nonchalantly examined it in the candle light. A satisfied nod, then Layle summoned enough crystal power to chip off a burnt piece of wood from the stove and hold it over the candle until it blazed with a brighter intensity. He threw the burning flame into the stove and watched the cage light up. Soon the remaining wood began crackling, the room was hugged by a warmth.
Layle leaned over the counter with a breath stunted by pain. He held the iron over the fire until an ethereal blaze lined the tip. With his free hand, Layle moved the frayed twill of his pants and placed the burning tip onto the open gash for a quick second. He huffed as his skin burned together and pulled the iron away.
“Sorry for barging in,” he said insincerely, feigning a charisma. He put the iron over the fire again and hovered it over his leg. He honed in on one end, but the impetuousness of his actions caused him to haphazardly hold the burning iron to his skin. “And for the mess,” he grunted. He pinched his skin to examine his handiwork, and decided to leave it alone, not wanting to suffer with the smell of his burning flesh. Either way, cauterizing or not, it hurt. Ignoring it, he thought, was the better option.
With his elbows on the counter, Layle directed his focus on Belle and the baby. The image brought out a stare; the idea, a suppressed smile.
Towel in hand, she hesitated, hovering centimeters above the damp of a rosy cheek. It might have remained there indefinitely, had the infant not wrested a tiny hand free from Layle’s coat, which they waved about in aimless mirth. Unable to help but smile at sight of it, her apprehension eased in slight as a clap of thunder earned nothing more than a gurgle of intrigue, assuring the Selkie her touch couldn’t possibly distress the steadfast little thing.
So invested in this task was she that Layle’s fumbling about failed to distract— it wasn’t until the stench of seared flesh assaulted her nostrils that Belle turned to face him, features first slack with mortification quickly contorting in anger. Abandoning the baby, she stormed into the kitchen to inspect his handiwork herself, barely biting back the urge to give him a verbal lashing to rival the one he had suffered physically at his state, made visible in the firelight. Dropping to her knees before him, she hooked a finger through the singed denim, ripping it further. “Did you even clean this?!” she hissed at a whisper, easily concluding the cooling bathwater remained untouched by the blood still caked in his bangs.
my g spot is located about 2 inches inside your wallet
What a sight.
Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the burning sun, Vanille took a deep breath in of the pure ocean atmosphere. It was crazy how similar this beach was to the one in New Bodhum, with its blue waters, bright skies, and noisy hussle-bussle of the fellow-sea goers. One voice in particular seemed to talk rather close behind her- but it was only when that voice developed into a touch that the red-head turned to see a girl only slightly taller than her.
Eyes widened slightly before a slight smile took over her features, and she offered her hand.
“Oh, it’s no issue, really!” she offered a polite laugh, “the name’s Vanille. Yours?”
Opaque lenses obscuring a quick once-over of the outfit she decided had a strange sort of vintage appeal after all, previously pursed lips tugged up into a smirk. If there had been any suspicion as to whether the other was Selkic before, the amicable offer of a handshake dismissed it entirely.
"Belle," she obliged, though her hold was detachedly brief.
selkiesgosolo started following you
The cities may have been empty because of the Void but Azee still felt like she needed to walk the streets every once in a while to see if anyone was around. At hearing someone skulking around in one of the inner halls she frowned. “Zanel? If you’re trying to hide you suck at it.” The dragoon called out before turning the corner and stopping.
“Oh, I thought you were my friend. What’re you doing here?”
Belle wheeled about wide-eyed, the telltale clatter of cutlery coming from a conspicuously bundled jacket she was quick to hide behind her back.
"S-so there are people in this creepy old dump…!”
"What are you wearing, Cyela?” Mistaking titian curls for cotton candy pink through a pair of oversized sunglasses, Belle tapped the girl’s bare shoulder when she received no response. "Hey, I’m talking to—
Oh, sorry. Thought you were someone else.”