07-28-2018, 02:45 PM
While Fischer's response to her compliment is short, it causes a smile to curl on Vandal's face anyway, shy and hidden when she ducks her head behind her talon. She's rubbing at her cheeks, which have begun to hurt from smiling so much already, but she dares not to let the expression slip away. It feels good to smile this easily, this giddily, this excitedly - this, this bashfully. Vandal is not someone who is quick to be embarrassed but she finds she quite likes to rush it brings. She definitely is a fan of the searing temperature of her face, heat creeping up to fill what seems like her entire being.
"Well, I do like things that taste good..." Her voice trails on before breaking off into a fluid rasp of a chuckle, one that settles low, comfortably, in the bottom of her throat. The sound fills the four walls of the hut with its gentle, easy nature. "Like brownies. Brownies taste good." It seems she can't hold on to her innuendos either. Where she would've held on and smiled impishly, she instead lets go in gentle, mirthful chimes.
Her body eases into something more relaxed when Fischer comes back, slides the plate towards her with a brownie on top. Vandal's eyes are still on her though, inquisitive and warm; Fischer really is beautiful, she thinks, especially with the shadows dancing on her cheeks from the flickering candlelight Jacob had left behind. She wonders if she can capture this moment forever. A part of her wants to tell her she's willing to share anything with her, if she'd let her - but Vandal keeps that to herself. Too heavy, she decides, too full when the moment is already close to bursting.
She keeps it like a secret, holds it to her chest, and responds differently. "Why wouldn't I? I'd probably jus' give it away, anyway. I don' need a lot of things in life, as difficult as that might be to believe - I jus' need company." What she admits, while serious, is spoken with a graceful tongue, careful to keep each word light despite their true weight - they flutter in the air, casting no weight. Her pensive expression changes at Fischer's admission of having taken the wrong drink, the sides of her eyes crinkling with a soft, enamored smile.
"Please don' apologize, Fischer," she begins, name pirouetting off her tongue, "I'm tellin' you right now. I know where I stand with you, but that doesn't mean m'not gonna try to give you a good, easy time." She means it, every word; she knows where she stands, she knows what she can't be to her - but Vandal is eager to at least make her smile wide by the end of the night. Her heart is yearning, she knows, yearning for the connection, stretching out into the space between them and waiting for something to touch it back (she still hopes, but she'll lie if anybody asks her to admit it).
"Here, allow me," comes her murmur, padding over to the refreshments and picking out what she assumes to be the water. Her lips part to taste the air, to let its clarity dance in her mouth. A confirmation. "Here's the water. Don' worry, I've made that same mistake before. Probably more times than I can count." She wanders over, places the full glass of water next to Fischer and lingers for only a split-second before returning to her own pillow. Conflicted, too. Conflicted, torn, stretched between contrasting sides - Fischer really is something else. "What about you? Not hungry, or jus' not feelin' the whole sweet-tooth thing?"
; weLP apparently this thread gives me a lot of good muse
"Well, I do like things that taste good..." Her voice trails on before breaking off into a fluid rasp of a chuckle, one that settles low, comfortably, in the bottom of her throat. The sound fills the four walls of the hut with its gentle, easy nature. "Like brownies. Brownies taste good." It seems she can't hold on to her innuendos either. Where she would've held on and smiled impishly, she instead lets go in gentle, mirthful chimes.
Her body eases into something more relaxed when Fischer comes back, slides the plate towards her with a brownie on top. Vandal's eyes are still on her though, inquisitive and warm; Fischer really is beautiful, she thinks, especially with the shadows dancing on her cheeks from the flickering candlelight Jacob had left behind. She wonders if she can capture this moment forever. A part of her wants to tell her she's willing to share anything with her, if she'd let her - but Vandal keeps that to herself. Too heavy, she decides, too full when the moment is already close to bursting.
She keeps it like a secret, holds it to her chest, and responds differently. "Why wouldn't I? I'd probably jus' give it away, anyway. I don' need a lot of things in life, as difficult as that might be to believe - I jus' need company." What she admits, while serious, is spoken with a graceful tongue, careful to keep each word light despite their true weight - they flutter in the air, casting no weight. Her pensive expression changes at Fischer's admission of having taken the wrong drink, the sides of her eyes crinkling with a soft, enamored smile.
"Please don' apologize, Fischer," she begins, name pirouetting off her tongue, "I'm tellin' you right now. I know where I stand with you, but that doesn't mean m'not gonna try to give you a good, easy time." She means it, every word; she knows where she stands, she knows what she can't be to her - but Vandal is eager to at least make her smile wide by the end of the night. Her heart is yearning, she knows, yearning for the connection, stretching out into the space between them and waiting for something to touch it back (she still hopes, but she'll lie if anybody asks her to admit it).
"Here, allow me," comes her murmur, padding over to the refreshments and picking out what she assumes to be the water. Her lips part to taste the air, to let its clarity dance in her mouth. A confirmation. "Here's the water. Don' worry, I've made that same mistake before. Probably more times than I can count." She wanders over, places the full glass of water next to Fischer and lingers for only a split-second before returning to her own pillow. Conflicted, too. Conflicted, torn, stretched between contrasting sides - Fischer really is something else. "What about you? Not hungry, or jus' not feelin' the whole sweet-tooth thing?"
; weLP apparently this thread gives me a lot of good muse
I TOLD THAT DEVIL TO TAKE YOU BACK
MAXINE VIENNA "VANDAL" ROUX — TAGS — THE TYPHOON