10-06-2019, 02:20 AM
She had heard the books falling, yes, but she hadn't really considered someone else being in here. For some reason. Her typical sea-based paranoia (the kind that comes from expecting death from every angle) had taken a back seat to trying to parse the letters, even as they fidgeted, changing every time she blinked. When Crowley spoke, she seemed to jump, swinging her head to him in a lot of alarm, the world suddenly zooming back into focus. She let someone sneak up on her so easily - she needed to keep her guard up. These people seemed nice so far, but she had a generally ominous vibe about the place. As an ex-siren, she would know about luring people, after all.
Her head cocked, she stared at the slinky man expectantly. Why yes, Crowley, she might say, I am having troubles, could you teach me to read? But alas, her throat was empty. Especially bothersome was the fact she wanted to know what he was. She had seen some of the white seabirds in her life, and he reminded her of them, flapping sort of haphazardly, like he wasn't fully in control. Maybe those birds were just drunk, though - the sailors they hung around tended to be, as well.
She looked around her, looking at some of the messed up books, and looking at all of the total lack of other culprits that could have committed such a... crime? Such a misdemeanor. She decided to ignore his first question (yes, Crowley, I do have my share of woes) and go straight for the throat, like her mother taught her. He had said something very convenient for this, indeed.
"Books are rather difficult to pick up," she taunted him with his own voice, gesturing at a small pile of books, hoping that the identical tone in which she said his words would still convey her mocking intent. If not, he'd at least keep talking, and she oh so loved to learn things.
Her head cocked, she stared at the slinky man expectantly. Why yes, Crowley, she might say, I am having troubles, could you teach me to read? But alas, her throat was empty. Especially bothersome was the fact she wanted to know what he was. She had seen some of the white seabirds in her life, and he reminded her of them, flapping sort of haphazardly, like he wasn't fully in control. Maybe those birds were just drunk, though - the sailors they hung around tended to be, as well.
She looked around her, looking at some of the messed up books, and looking at all of the total lack of other culprits that could have committed such a... crime? Such a misdemeanor. She decided to ignore his first question (yes, Crowley, I do have my share of woes) and go straight for the throat, like her mother taught her. He had said something very convenient for this, indeed.
"Books are rather difficult to pick up," she taunted him with his own voice, gesturing at a small pile of books, hoping that the identical tone in which she said his words would still convey her mocking intent. If not, he'd at least keep talking, and she oh so loved to learn things.
tags - "speech"
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