Re: shiloh & harlow ; dancing
It was a risible thrill to be reckless and manic, to shout at the chimerical devils and howl at the crepuscular moon. She craved it, the aeolian, wind-whipped kind of madness that meant living tilt-a-whirl fast and never looking back, no matter the bridges ever-burning in her shadow. Harlow would not dwell on the obdurate guilts of her past, and she actively avoided the uncertainties of her future. That only left the now, and getting spun until she was seasick with dizziness was a good way to not dread the inevitable return to her cage.
Laughter flowered from her, a bouquet of gleeful shrieks and cackles as they crashed, and boomed, and banged into furniture, walls, and people like a pair of buzzed, beautiful little pin balls. She apologized briefly when they knocked the drink out of somebody's hand, but even the apology was a laugh fired from over the sculpted edge of her shoulder. Her eyes, sincere but also gleefully glittering blue from within a tousled haze, the cotton candy sherbet swirl of her hair. If they were annoying the waylaid party guests, it seemed to mostly slip their shared notice for now.
It was after they knocked over, but miraculously didn't break, the lamp that they hit the edge of the couch and Harlow teetered unsteady before toppling sideways onto the empty cushions. She flopped breathless, pulling Shiloh along with her. Catching a lungful of air, she closed her eyes for a minute in effort to make the room stop spinning. When she opened them again, she caught a few sidelong and judgey looks from bystanders, and so she grinned at Shiloh. "It's like they don't know it's a party."