05-12-2018, 09:34 PM
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drinking to forget was perhaps a less than healthy habit, but anyone who looked at the blonde wouldn't dare argue that she ought to have to remember very much. her body is marred with scars that she doesn't try to hide, and every now and then, a haunted sort of look creeps into the young woman's dusty eyes. she wears these scars for the world to see not out of pride, there's nothing to be proud about decades of torture, but because it removes the shock value quickly. if she hid them, then just flashed them one day, people would do a double take. they'd be shocked, horrified, at the evidence of whips and knives, guns and stones. if they see it upon first meeting, see that she doesn't care about them, it normalizes it in a way. uneducated and illiterate as she may be at times, she was smart in her decision making.
she walks into the bar, and people don't gawk. a few, ones who might not have seen her up close or might be newer, they stare for a few seconds. their eyes linger on the way the marks cover her, but they see how she wears her hair up, how she wears a loose black camisole that dips low on the back to show the worst of the scarring, and they see how she doesn't hide it. this isn't something forbidden to look at, it's public domain, and they promptly loose interest, like always. hips swaying with each step, arms swinging at her sides, she's thin but still feminine, still powerful. you don't get scars like those and remain unable to throw a solid punch.
the barkeep gets to her quickly, produces some fruity orange drink in a strange tall glass. something that tastes good generally results in a drink like this - colorful, funny glass, with some sort of sweet or fruity taste and, every now and then, a pretty little umbrella on it. she smiles when she see's the umbrella on this one, and makes a move that you might not initially expect of someone who looks like they'd been beaten half to death on a dozen occasions. she licks the toothpick clean, then sticks it into the base of her ponytail, wearing it like a party hat and smiling just a bit at it, not quite caring if the action seemed childish to any onlookers. she wasn't out trying to make new friends, sex and romance weren't really her things, and frankly, she couldn't give a shit if anyone wanted to judge her. one thing, one very predominant thing about bianca's personality, something that always stood out, was that, while she served gryffingate, she sought to please only herself off the clock. so she painted, though she sucked at it. she took things apart with no intention to put them back together. and she put little umbrella's in her hair because it made her smile.
her eyes roamed the bar, which wasn't crowded but did have enough people that meant she'd have to sit near someone. and, though she could be sociable most days, she wasn't very big on small talk. she didn't need to sit down and have someone rope her into niceties that would bore her to death. her eyes did land on someone who was, generally, fairly interesting: their sovereign. taking a sip of her drink, she drew her wrist to her mouth to wipe her upper lip and perched herself on the edge of the booth across from him, offering him a polite smile. "is it okay if i sit on your imaginary friend's lap?" she inquired, tone light and joking, but still warm as her eyes traced the older man's features, hoping he wouldn't mind company as much as she tended to.
( this is a mess, don't feel like you have to match mate! [member=403]Frederick[/member] )
drinking to forget was perhaps a less than healthy habit, but anyone who looked at the blonde wouldn't dare argue that she ought to have to remember very much. her body is marred with scars that she doesn't try to hide, and every now and then, a haunted sort of look creeps into the young woman's dusty eyes. she wears these scars for the world to see not out of pride, there's nothing to be proud about decades of torture, but because it removes the shock value quickly. if she hid them, then just flashed them one day, people would do a double take. they'd be shocked, horrified, at the evidence of whips and knives, guns and stones. if they see it upon first meeting, see that she doesn't care about them, it normalizes it in a way. uneducated and illiterate as she may be at times, she was smart in her decision making.
she walks into the bar, and people don't gawk. a few, ones who might not have seen her up close or might be newer, they stare for a few seconds. their eyes linger on the way the marks cover her, but they see how she wears her hair up, how she wears a loose black camisole that dips low on the back to show the worst of the scarring, and they see how she doesn't hide it. this isn't something forbidden to look at, it's public domain, and they promptly loose interest, like always. hips swaying with each step, arms swinging at her sides, she's thin but still feminine, still powerful. you don't get scars like those and remain unable to throw a solid punch.
the barkeep gets to her quickly, produces some fruity orange drink in a strange tall glass. something that tastes good generally results in a drink like this - colorful, funny glass, with some sort of sweet or fruity taste and, every now and then, a pretty little umbrella on it. she smiles when she see's the umbrella on this one, and makes a move that you might not initially expect of someone who looks like they'd been beaten half to death on a dozen occasions. she licks the toothpick clean, then sticks it into the base of her ponytail, wearing it like a party hat and smiling just a bit at it, not quite caring if the action seemed childish to any onlookers. she wasn't out trying to make new friends, sex and romance weren't really her things, and frankly, she couldn't give a shit if anyone wanted to judge her. one thing, one very predominant thing about bianca's personality, something that always stood out, was that, while she served gryffingate, she sought to please only herself off the clock. so she painted, though she sucked at it. she took things apart with no intention to put them back together. and she put little umbrella's in her hair because it made her smile.
her eyes roamed the bar, which wasn't crowded but did have enough people that meant she'd have to sit near someone. and, though she could be sociable most days, she wasn't very big on small talk. she didn't need to sit down and have someone rope her into niceties that would bore her to death. her eyes did land on someone who was, generally, fairly interesting: their sovereign. taking a sip of her drink, she drew her wrist to her mouth to wipe her upper lip and perched herself on the edge of the booth across from him, offering him a polite smile. "is it okay if i sit on your imaginary friend's lap?" she inquired, tone light and joking, but still warm as her eyes traced the older man's features, hoping he wouldn't mind company as much as she tended to.
( this is a mess, don't feel like you have to match mate! [member=403]Frederick[/member] )