Re: Mat & Ren || The Docks
Oh, Ren, prepare thyself for the seething (somehow, strangely ethereal with the silver incandescence of exposed witchskin) explanation you never expected, as to why you’re tacked to her vibrant wheel-of-death recollection as oatmilk latte guy. Her words target him, honing. Her, like some absurdly seraphic viper slinking close with a viciously slim squint, but a playful cadence in the lilt, peers up at the latenight, haloed contrast of him.
“To be fair, I don’t listen to anybody’s recommendations.” A lie, unique anomalies exist, she angles the snip of her chin. “I’m evil.” (Mostly true). “It’s part of my charm. But you listen.” oh yes, yes he does, and like a feline spotting a mink to inject its smiling jaws into, she begins carefully circling him, partly colluding, partly playing. “You listen, when I say that I want scalding hot. Nobody else ever has. They don't want me to get hurt. You know what that tells me about you? You want me to burn my tongue, you want me to get hurt. You want to teach me a lesson about asking for a hot latte that could incinerate the scales off a dragon. Well, newsflash, Ren? I’ll never learn my lesson.” reaching the leftside slope of his bare arm, she hiss-whispers, “I’ll always want it hot.”
Of note, he had passed a few tests here. The first hurdle being going along with something really stupid like swimming in a freezing lake, the second being the banter. “Me first? This was your idea!” inexplicably, she seems benign again. Declawed. She moves to the edge of the dock, sits down, “How do I even do this? A little at a time, all at once? What do you… recommend?”