06-25-2013, 08:48 AM
In the interstitial space between the shots and the conversation, there's no telling how long Serafíne sat there at the edge of her barstool, elbows braced on the lip of the bar, eyes closed. Justin's arms around her and his breath warm against her cheek. Just still. Well: Serafíne's a seer, so perhaps she could tell. Perhaps she could measure it out in heartbeats and breaths, in the firing of neurons and the movement of the hidden stars in the smoke-filled sky. Longer than you'd expect, not so long as it seemed, and when she finally roused and moved to shrug him off, well. Maybe she was steadier for it.
Otherwise, she didn't fucking acknowledge the moment at all.
---
So, the next day. Justin parks the Jeep and jumps out. Sera is slightly less vigorous than he today, treats the world as if it were (or should be) coated in cotton wool. She sliiides out of the passenger's seat, and meets Justin on the sidewalk. If you imagine that she is half-clothed, you are correct sir!
Today: a white Jesus and Mary Chain t-shirt that has been altered with scissors to be a cut-off tank. PSYCHOCANDY in crawling black block letters just above the improvised hem, that shows an inch or three of skin above the waistband of her skirt. Black bra visible beneath the white t-shirt and a thin black hoodie slung over it, sleeves pushed up to her elbows because hey, it's hot, the hood drawn up over her hair.
Fishnets (natch) and hey! she's short today. Those are practical shoes she's wearing, old, broken in and beaten up Doc Martens in lieu of heels.
"He's a WASP and a dealer and that means he's kind of a shit," Sera returns, quiet as they walk. Hands in her pockets. She's got cash on her. She's always got cash on her, though. A weavering shrug. " - but I've never really had a problem with him."
Quiet a moment, then, " - he might call me by a different fucking name. If he does just ignore him. I knew him a while back and he's just being an ass, trying to get under my skin. Sometimes though, he's solicitous." Trying to get into her pants. "Never know which one you'll find."
Guess they're gonna find out.
Otherwise, she didn't fucking acknowledge the moment at all.
---
So, the next day. Justin parks the Jeep and jumps out. Sera is slightly less vigorous than he today, treats the world as if it were (or should be) coated in cotton wool. She sliiides out of the passenger's seat, and meets Justin on the sidewalk. If you imagine that she is half-clothed, you are correct sir!
Today: a white Jesus and Mary Chain t-shirt that has been altered with scissors to be a cut-off tank. PSYCHOCANDY in crawling black block letters just above the improvised hem, that shows an inch or three of skin above the waistband of her skirt. Black bra visible beneath the white t-shirt and a thin black hoodie slung over it, sleeves pushed up to her elbows because hey, it's hot, the hood drawn up over her hair.
Fishnets (natch) and hey! she's short today. Those are practical shoes she's wearing, old, broken in and beaten up Doc Martens in lieu of heels.
"He's a WASP and a dealer and that means he's kind of a shit," Sera returns, quiet as they walk. Hands in her pockets. She's got cash on her. She's always got cash on her, though. A weavering shrug. " - but I've never really had a problem with him."
Quiet a moment, then, " - he might call me by a different fucking name. If he does just ignore him. I knew him a while back and he's just being an ass, trying to get under my skin. Sometimes though, he's solicitous." Trying to get into her pants. "Never know which one you'll find."
Guess they're gonna find out.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula