#coupdetats

omg this is such a good parallel tbh????

The spoon trembled lightly between her fingers as she took it from him, not from nerves but from the way she held it. Steam curled upward, golden and heady with saffron, threading its way through her hair and directly into her memory. That scent...carried her toward a past that was not truly hers, though she could almost believe it had been: a long afternoon on some sunlit coast, laughter caught between waves and wine, a table heavy with food and stories. A trick from the senses, to have some remnant of nostalgia for a place she had no rightful claim to…

Bringing the spoon to her lips, she let the taste sit with her for a bit, longer than necessary perhaps. The rice was tender, the broth rich, the flavor, mingling politely (maybe too politely) when she really longed for something more. There was a particular BITE she missed. Maybe the spark of a pepper that both startled and woke the palate. Still, she reminded herself, this dish wasn’t meant to shout…not in the way she might have made it if it were her own concoction. When she finally lowered the spoon, her eyes lifted toward him, and all she said at first was, “It’s beautiful.” Because it was. Then her mouth tilted into something wry, amused. “Though I confess…I kept waiting for it to kick back at me.”

She leaned back, shoulders loosening as though the taste of the dish itself had softened her edges. A small breath escaped her, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. Then, with a measured lightness, “Now tell me, why have you brought me here? Surely not just to play the role of taster?” Her voice carried no challenge, only true curiosity, a smile making it clear she was half-serious, half at ease in this rare stillness.

ballroom dialogue ;

There were few luxuries in Polly's life, not out of any moral obligation but simply that she rarely felt comfortable spending money on necessities. A dress, however simple, felt like an extravagant expense, and she'd spent the afternoon brushing it off, readjusting, and making sure it hung off her just so.

She couldn't help but give a quick twirl and ask V if it looked all right on her -- nor could she help the smile at the answer. If there was a deeper meaning to their words, it was missed entirely.

@coupdetats : send 📏 + height to compare them to bob's height .

P.hantom of the O.pera Starters ;

Polly lived on the ground all her life. She kept herself busy, following the same routine nearly every day. Up at four, baking by four-thirty, serve the first customers around six or seven, work through sunrise and go home after sundown. She only went out to run errands, and even then, she kept her eyes down, doing her best not to get in anyone's way.

V, however ... she wasn't sure anyone could get in their way unless they willed it. She'd never seen someone so resolute, a tower of a person unflappable and unmovable. And yet, Polly was too much herself not to feel guilt whenever anyone was kind to her, much less someone whose purpose dwarfed her very existence.

She'd brought pastries in the hope that it started to make up for the intrusion, but the bag sat forgotten beside her as she looked up for the first time since she could remember. All tiredness fell away, all that weight slipped from her shoulders at the sight of the stars.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "I'd forgotten..."

The sky stretched out before her, so much larger than she could have ever imagined, and for once her smallness wasn't a burden. Not when the world was so much grander than this city. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

In a few hours she'd have to go back to her life, small and forgettable, spent under artificial lights behind a shop counter.

But for now, there was the world. There was the sky.

love languages !

Harry smiles, sheepishly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s quite appreciative that someone gets it.

“That means a lot because not many people actually think I’m smart,” she admits, “they don’t understand my methods and think I’m just… silly or dumb. I’m not playing around, you know? Im just doing things my way.” The detective’s hands busy themselves with folding various garments, pieces they’ve failed to deal with for whatever reason. Perhaps too tired or too stressed, the usual stuff.

Send me 📏 (ruler) + your muses height and I'll compare them to mine! ( ACCEPTING! )

" i just spent so much time on a ladder trying to fix that tv to the wall, and you could've done it with bent feckin' knees... "