Re: Mat & Ren || The Docks
Once she’s yanked her slippery, cold limbs up onto the dock and parked her bony ass on the edge of it, she makes a show of angrily crossing her legs in a sharp gesture, enunciating a clarifying, exaggerated sigh. “Oh, boohoo!” she says, here, employing some theatrical gesture of blindly reaching back, not breaking any eye contact. Then, the petite monster gathers up his shirt, sopping up her demons spawn blood onto it. Deposits it next to the razorblade flare of her hip when she’s thru.
“I just wanted you to forget like, ten minutes of your life. There’s people out there who wish they could forget their whole fucking lives. You don’t need to know me. And newsflash, Ren,” the name was hissed at once with a delicate lilt and seethe, “If you weren’t good at going along with things, you wouldn't be in a lake without pants on right now.”
It was tempting to disinter, snatch her silver, tincase of cigarettes from the emerald, heaped glow of dress with, you guessed it, her mind. But she's not going to flash all of her cards. That would be fucking reckless of her. Does this mean she can't ever go to that cafe again? Because that would the real travesty. “So, do you want to keep fighting?” because, she thinks, feral-smirking, fighting is fun.