( she's not reading into it as much as he thinks. she might be able to handle her liquor, but comparatively she didn't want to end up under that heavy haze with him lingering too far behind. she knows that sweet spot, regardless, and she'll take no issue to slowing herself down when she knows she's teasing it—for now she gives an appreciative nod of the glass once it has some body to it once more. this seems to sort of be their thing, conversation that comes easier over the rim of a glass or the neck of a bottle, something to keep their hands busy. )
My self control might just surprise you.
( there aren't many pieces of her life that didn't embody recklessness to some degree, but alcohol was a handler she was familiar with. if he intended to take advantage of her with that bottle, well, he'd soon come to find there were much easier ways to soften her than that. she's not shy in the way she takes him in when he's shrugging out of that jacket, the way broad shoulders boast of their own accord, and she doesn't settle anywhere in particular so much as she does an appreciative, brief sweep. she's attentive enough to recognize that stint, how spine finds itself rigid if only for a beat—but if he's comfortable enough to have found himself here again, she'll take that for what it's worth.
her sights shift as if on cue, tongue crossing over her teeth as she gives her place a look, as if she hadn't been the one to spend the last few months making it feel as close to a home as possible. and almost in time with her exhale she's pressing upright. )
It's something.
It takes me awhile to get settled, but I'm getting there. ( for various reasons—what with vigilantes crawling in through her fire escape and dragging bloodied, beaten men through the front door, and all. )
Sometimes I think about what it'd be like, heading back to Vermont, or just... somewhere else. Getting a little home tucked away in the middle of nowhere. I'm not so sure the city lets go that easily, though.
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My self control might just surprise you.
( there aren't many pieces of her life that didn't embody recklessness to some degree, but alcohol was a handler she was familiar with. if he intended to take advantage of her with that bottle, well, he'd soon come to find there were much easier ways to soften her than that. she's not shy in the way she takes him in when he's shrugging out of that jacket, the way broad shoulders boast of their own accord, and she doesn't settle anywhere in particular so much as she does an appreciative, brief sweep. she's attentive enough to recognize that stint, how spine finds itself rigid if only for a beat—but if he's comfortable enough to have found himself here again, she'll take that for what it's worth.
her sights shift as if on cue, tongue crossing over her teeth as she gives her place a look, as if she hadn't been the one to spend the last few months making it feel as close to a home as possible. and almost in time with her exhale she's pressing upright. )
It's something.
It takes me awhile to get settled, but I'm getting there. ( for various reasons—what with vigilantes crawling in through her fire escape and dragging bloodied, beaten men through the front door, and all. )
Sometimes I think about what it'd be like, heading back to Vermont, or just... somewhere else. Getting a little home tucked away in the middle of nowhere. I'm not so sure the city lets go that easily, though.