"Afternoon, Quinn." The greeting is pleasant enough, as they spark up a cigarette and lean absently against the outside wall of the library for a moment's rest- and some people watching. "I hope you've been having a pleasant enough time?" They're familiar, of course- living in the commune together doesn't exactly make people capable of avoiding one another, and despite the nagging feeling in the back of Sin's skull- the bred-in sense for danger and that which would bring ruin taught by old men in robes to a version of themselves that Absinthe could no longer remember the name of. He'd been the one to receive the tattoos they had now. Absinthe had been the one who chose to display them, today. the blackout paintjob had only done more to obscure where pale skin stopped and ink began, hands black as they smoke, bones and chainlink clinking as they straighten up- offer a warm smile at Quinn beside them. "I'll be honest I didn't expect this sort of thing to hold any of your interest- you don't seem much like the... flight of fancy, type." at least, not flights of fancy that aren't steeped in blood and doomsday declarations. "It's refreshing to have a few days off from the habit."
@ambercast
