#farleytailoringco

It’s not like they were planning on finishing an entire bottle of whiskey between them. It just sort of, happened, and now they’re drunk and comfortable and, frankly, Daniyah does not give a damn.

She stares into space for a moment, then giggles, and flicks her gaze to Scarlett’s. Scarlett is a good drinking buddy. Not as good as Zuri, but Scarlett talks more, and it’s a different sort of fun. Dan rather likes it. It also means she can ask questions to her heart’s content, and Scarlett invariably answers.

So she does.

“So,” she says, and leans forward to drape over the table they’ve appropriated. “You and Stinky Papa, huh? How’d that happen, exactly?”

Because she’s quite certain there’s a story there - Scarlett chatters often enough for that to be obvious, even if the chatter is decidedly vague and more like haphazard drunken recollections - but she doesn’t know what it is, and goodness knows it’s bothering her. Daniyah’s nosy, what can she say.

There’s a small, terribly small part of her, that really does wonder if this is a good idea.

It is, obviously, because Daniyah and Ev have all the best ideas, but at the same time, Daniyah’s not completely stupid. Ev’s... well, he wasn’t fantastic when he knocked on her door, and frankly, neither was she. And they have been known to have some... less than stellar ideas. 

Then Ev giggles, again, and the thoughts fly from her head.

She sighs at the ceiling, and rolls to curl on her side, facing the couch where Ev has set up shop. Her fingers bounce idly on the pipe they’ve spent the last hour or so sharing; they’ve actually managed to exhaust most of Daniyah’s opium supply, which makes sense because it isn’t as though she had that much, but is still amusing. Or worrying. She can’t really tell which.

“What’s so amusing?” She fumbles for the matches. He’s bent over his journal, because he always is, and she cranes her neck to see. “Are you writing friendfiction? Am I in it? Oooh, is it dirty?”

Doing: Three habits that I have.

“Ah, well…bad ‘abits?  Drinkin’ o’ course.  Ah…fiddlin’ with my bead an’, dunno.  Pickin’ at m’scars, s’pose.”

Send ‘Shhh!’ to my muse to have them reveal a secret they’ve thought about your muse.

“Somethin’ secret ah’ve though’ about Scarlett?  Shit, ah’ve go’ no filter, there’s no’ much ah’ve no’ told ‘er.  Bu’, ah…s’pose it’d be tha’ she’s a lo’ stronger than she thinks she is.  An’ ‘m no’ as smart as she thinks ah am… ‘m jus’ really good at fakin’ it.  An’ she’s a much better person than she gives ‘erself credit for, regardless of ‘er past.”

Character Exercise

Give me a number, and I will describe the physical characteristics of my character expressing it. NO DIALOGUE. Descriptors only!

Calia sits in her seat, muscles rigid and lip twitching. Her fists clench and unclench, and it takes every ounce of strength to not shout out. Endless drumming of the fingertips against dark wood ensue, followed by impatient sighs and huffs -- she is clearly not approachable in this moment.

When she finally decides staying seated is not enough to sate her mood, she rises abruptly, making anyone in the room with her jump in turn. Long robes flow behind her like flames as she moves swiftly, teeth grinding and nostrils flared. She runs her hands through her hair, tangling and untangling the brown and blonde locks of hair, fidgeting constantly as to keep her mind occupied with something.

How should one handle her when she’s infuriated as such? You don’t. You can’t. She’s a Menethil, if you’re smart, you’ll let her have her time.

“Strangest?  Mate, ah’ve go’ a lo’ of strange memories from bein’ drunk.  Decidin’ it wus a good idea ta jump off a roof, meetin’ Terrick, drawin’ phallic objects on a stoned Kaldorei…alrigh’, tha’ wus more payback fer slicin’ up my arm.  Oh, ah know…

“Ah think ah almost adopted (or ‘elped a friend adopt) wot turned out ta be tha’ demon ‘unter - y’know, tha one tha’ wanted ta kill me? - on tha same nigh’.  She wus wanderin’ ‘round mumblin’ ‘bout targets.  Fell asleep on m’mate’s shoulder, woke up ‘fore we could carry ‘er ta an inn.”

✤ — a memory that involves romance/love

(Heh eheh eheh eh…)

It was their first Love is in the Air together, and Gin was nervous.  Something she never was.  Gin was the epitome of smooth when it came to women and men…which is why Tobias had fired her as his wingman.  But she wanted this one to be perfect.

“…I can’ cook.  Toby, ‘elp me.”

“Relax, Ginny…she’ll love it either way.”

“No, but…it’s on fire.  Tha deer is fine bu’ everythin’ else is ruined.  Why can ah only cook wot ah kill, Toby, ‘ELP.”

Tobias chuckled, walking over to calm his friend as she started to panic, toying with the bead woven into her hair.  “Ginny, it’s fine.  You go get cleaned up, yeah?  I’ll salvage what I can, and you go pick up Charlize.”

She was relieved, embracing her friend in a tight hug before she dashed off to clean herself up, putting on the few civilian clothes she actually owned, taming her curls enough to pull them back into a bun.

“Really should start straightenin’ these,” she muttered before heading out the door, only to find Charli already standing there.

“Charli!  Said ah’d come get ya, love!”

“I couldn’t wait.”  Oh that smile was enough to make Gin’s knees weak.

“C’mon in, then.”  Was Tobias still in the small kitchen?  “Ah…wait…wait righ’ ‘ere, be righ’ back.”  She dashed into the kitchen, quietly ushering Tobias out the back door before reappearing, smiling at Charli.

“Dinner is, ah…served.”

“Relax, Ginny,” Charli pressed a light kiss to Gin’s cheek as she passed.  “It’ll be perfect.”