#leo fower

alright, lets hear those crackships

“so a chicken walks into a bar... or it crosses the road? i don’t know but there’s definitely a chicken. and so...” one hand is gesturing wildly around her as she attempts to tell a story, or a joke, or something. magda is sat on top of the bar’s countertop in the brass monkey, baby blue slip dress simultaneously riding halfway up her thigh while it’s straps slide down her arms. it’s autumn, and it’s cold, but it’s really warm in the crowded bar, so she’s instead inclined to believe that the goosebumps on her skin are a result of the cocktail of drugs in her stomach. there is a nice little group of people standing around her as she swings her legs and talks, and she feels a little like jesus or one of those greek thinkers that made their living talking shit to crowds of people. before she can finish with her chicken tale, she sees leo, and now both of her arms are waving in the air. “oh my dear leo! i thought i would never see you again! i would stand by my window, wondering, when will my dear husband return from war?” please note that magda has no idea why she has suddenly become a character in a world war ii movie but she doesn’t usually question the mechanics of her brain. “drinks on me!” she yells to her supposed husband, angling her body backwards to reach behind the bar for a champagne bottle. “this occasion calls for champagne! not every day that a soldier graces our presence after returning from the trenches of europe. USA! USA! USA!” @leofcwlers​