#that is the most adorable thing I've ever heard in my life HHHGH I die

[gcrifin]

     Thick air, laden with that familiar draft scent. It pours from the bar like a dense, transparent fog, riddled with sweat and heat from mouthbreathers and homebrewed yeast. Fresh, of fair quality, but limited. But in the cloud ridden with hot breath and cigarette smoke is a sweet, almost dangerous scent that pulls the senses away from the familiarity and towards a daring abnormality. It is a clean corner; solitary, silent. Away from the bustle and drunken slurs of words and laughter. It is a place people dared not tread, as if claimed by a beast pretending to be chained to the wall by its neck. But there were no beasts, no monsters, that lured her sweet, sunshine smile like the saccharine ones clad in disdain .

    A barrel like a feather with a slosh of life against wood. Lulubelle feels the weight of the liquid against the curl of her arm around it. Entertained eyes peeking slyly over their shoulder enough to chuckle as patrons watch her stroll up like a babe to a doghouse. Disbelief, shakes of the head, some returning to merriment as though they can’t bear to watch her get torn apart. But there is no fear in the woman’s face. A joy like a naively painted expression of fingerprints carries her over with a carefree grace that doesn’t cease when the barrel hits the floor. Up on tip toes, a flick of the thighs, the table creeks only mildly beneath the weight of her form. Her inquiry flies free and she doesn’t so much as face him as he answers her. Dull rag to tankard, quickly but effectively, leaving it as spotless as the day it was crafted. A small gaze into the grainy tin face and she finds it a suitable spot on the table ── his table. Their table .

      ❝ Are you that full of rage, being there as you are ? ❞ honeyed like the smell that pulled her over. She doesn’t so much mock his words as she does relay them evenly kittenish and concerned. Green eyes turn ‘round and up to his face with a smile more befitting a fun-loving patron of a bar. The glint of dim bar lights leave much to be desired, just enough to shine in her eyes and brighten what little highlights dared cast on his face. More wandering eyes, soft whispers. Men grinning cheshire grins like their dreams of a violent fantasy would soon be a reality, as if they knew what she didn’t .

     Still, the griffin bears no remorse. No sense of crisis. She remains ignorant of all but the alcohol at her feet and the imposing figure at her back. Exposed, like prey unsuspecting. She doesn’t care. ❝ Oh, sir, you’re no fun. Sitting alone... but I do so admire your prudence . ❞ // the beast bears its sweet teeth //: @jyargal​ continued { ♕ }