[P] dirty valentine

[Marisol]

A soft old song plays over the streets: jazz and rosewater and dark, dark chocolate. Mari’s tired enough and tipsy enough she can taste the notes in the back of her mouth. The night envelopes her Stygian figure with relative ease. A soft old song plays over the streets and sets her hair to standing and follows her as closely as the scent of sandalwood follows in her path - lingering on her skin, in the rough tangle of her hair, the slight frown on her dark lips. 

The stars are dim tonight, the streets gloomier than usual. It is absurdly easy to walk Terrastella unnoticed. No one bows their heads, no one meets her eyes, no one stops in her path to introduce themselves. It feels kind of like a blessing. The world is quiet and still and easy to swallow, easier than it has been in a long time. 

At least until she steps into the tavern.

Noise and heat explode around her. Bodies swarm the room, music floats through the air; the smell of fruit wine singes her nostrils; Marisol ices up, blinks those gray eyes wide in surprise, startled and disturbed by the volume of the crowd around her, frozen in place like a deer caught in lamplights. Her heartrate quickens in her chest. It’s so much more than she remembered - Gods know how long it’s been since she came to a place like this of her own accord - and part of her prickles like she’s been caught in a criminal act red-handed, but she forces herself not to back out from having fun for once.

With a stilted stride, she moves forward, deeper into the bar.

@Theodosia