#grunt low

The words are like a slap - as much as hers had likely been to him.  It’s only a fair retaliation and while her face pales because she realizes she’s overstepped, she feels somewhat justified, though she cannot possibly explain it.  Trust, once severed, is a hard thing to re-forge, even among different people and different circumstances.  Friends were just as easily enemies, she had quickly found out, when she was turned upon by people she had certainly been friends with before.  The word itself makes her wary - though he’s done nothing to give her reason to doubt his sincerity.  Ashamed, she slides a hand down her own face, pausing to rub at her eyes.  

When she does speak again, her voice is much quieter, her tone much more timid than the one that drove him to respond in such a way, speaking more apology than any i’m sorry, though she begins with that all the same.  

//FAM IF YOU DON’T BELONG HERE I GUESS I BETTER START PACKIN’ MY SHIT, BC YOURE LIKE 100x COOLER THAN I AM

OUCH CHARLIE - THAT REALLY HURT || accepting

Fear creeps in at the sound of his voice, not of him, but of the pattern that he surely can see.  She sneaks out late, and when she doesn’t come back drunk, she comes back with a plethora of new injuries.  She is normally fairly adept at hiding them, but Bara always seemed to be awake when she showed up at three am covered in fresh bruises and alive with a fresh fire in her eyes.  She is fearful he suspects that she’s not just off picking fights or whatever it is the rest of the lesser grunts tend to do with their free time.  Maybe he knows there’s something else going on.  

UNDER MY UMBRELLA (ELLA EH EH EH) || not accepting

Two sheets to the wind, Charlie staggers into town, slipping through the main doors relatively unnoticed.  She’s just another nameless grunt who couldn’t sleep.  There seemed to be no shortage of that type around Po Town, that was for certain.  She makes it down the main road to her humble home and flops on the steps, too weary to make any attempt at getting herself through the front door and into bed.  Even at this late hour, she wouldn’t find comfort in sleep anyways, so she might as well not bother.  Bara’s voice cuts through the pitter patter of steady rain like a knife, and it seems to jar her momentarily, causing her eyes to widen until she can find him amidst the blurry shapes the vodka had provided her vision with.  His words take a moment to settle in, and then she looks up at the patio roof above her and realizes that the rain is angled just right to dodge the lip of the roof and land right on her.  The alcohol had numbed her to even the lightest raindrops and she finds herself perplexed that she had failed to notice the rain hitting her.

It occurs to her that she could just scoot back against the wall of the house underneath the roof and she’d be clear of the rain but honestly, she can’t be bothered.  

//I A M N O T.