Re: shiloh & harlow ; dancing
Catapulted into the brilliance of indoor lighting with that lamp on its side, bulb glaring at them from beneath the bonnet of its decorative shade, Shiloh was much better illuminated than he had been while outside. His curls were a credit to the grand schemes of the gods, and Harlow found herself feeling foolishly(and most unusually) sentimental. It was probably the drink. Up close enough to study his angular details, she could see the minuscule, pebbled and powdery remnants of fishscale white on the fringe of his nostril. Being no limp-wristed ingenue fresh out of a glass house, Harlow recognized the telltale mores of more hedonistic living. She hadn't known that Shiloh was high, but found that it didn't bother her. Her best friend in the whole world, sweet bb Sage, was high more often than she was not. And besides, it was a party.
She looked to some nearby window then, glimpsing the reflections of other, more subdued party people in the gleam. "... and they've never felt as if they were dead," she theorized darkly.
But enough of puling rapport! Harlow dug in with her elbows and sat up all the way, the couch springs soughed gently beneath her in protest. "Before the pitchforks come out, do you want to commit some thievery and go for a walk? I think I saw a bottle of rum near the hummus."