Re: Mat & Ren || The Docks
Don’t worry, Ren. You’re safe from her shoulder-checking you back out into the abyssal zones of this miry lake. At a comparatively miniscule speck of sylvan 5feet, 2inches tall, it’s unlikely she’d be able shove any grown man, without the assistance of her wicked little mind, anywhere. She arises to her feet, catwalking over to her shimmering pile of vestiture, all posture and point of chin. She hauls her dress up into a bundled grasp. A slender, white cigarette is pierced between two fangy cuspids once she extracts it from its reliquary. She doesn’t necessarily feel bad for what she’s done, it isn’t like she’s hurt him. But, there’s a shred of mercy, considering that she hasn’t really met anybody else who can do what she does in this town; who can resist what she can do the way he had.
“You know the best part?” says she, dripping over to where he doggedly shakes, wringing out her long hair, water splattering onto the deck. “You know my fucking name. You’ve yelled it when my latte was ready, idiot. You just don’t remember it.”
And then, impossibly, “Well,” she says, inspecting the warm geometry of him. “I guess this means a hasty, boathouse grudgefuck is out of the picture.” A pity! She thinks. It might improve her mood for a few days.