08-25-2020, 02:08 PM
[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]
[table][tr][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][/tr][/table]I just wanna taste it; Watermelon sugar high!
Paola is... not as fortunate when the storm strikes. She'd been dozing underneath a palm tree, hands folded behind her head, and she could have sworn the skies were clear when she went to sleep, but suddenly there's an insistent drip, drip, drip, followed by more, followed by too much and suddenly Paola is awake, staring groggily, irritated, at the dark skies. "Give me a break," she mutters, only faintly acknowledging that she's probably had more breaks than she deserves.
Scrambling onto her feet, Paola stretches under the downpour, pulling at each tensed muscle until it relaxes under the pressure. Satisfied, and wet, she wanders off for some shelter—not that she really minds the rain, but soggy clothes are not her most favorite thing in the world. The way they uncomfortably press against her skin should be illegal.
She finds the tavern, the closest establishment to where she had been having a nice nap, and quickly steps through the door, giving her curly hair a good shake and mischievously ignoring the side-eyed glares of the poor patrons who were decently sprayed with rainwater. Smirking, Paola heads further in, asking for a small shot of something from the barkeep and clutching the glass close to her, letting the liquid warm her up from the inside.
She begins to find a table for herself, somewhere she can put her feet up, when the sudden and rushed opening of the tavern doors cause her shoulders to jolt. She whips around, curious to see what's making the cacophony, but freezes when she recognizes Deniz... carrying Georgia.
"Here, have a drink," she says to a random patron, nearly shoving the glass into his hands and rushing off towards one of the vacant rooms of the tavern. When she comes back out, she's carrying a thick comforter over her shoulder, dragging it and laying it out in front of the fireplace and shooing away a handful of curious eyes in the process.
Georgia looks... not well. Paola takes a seat next to Deniz, almost lethargic, and for a moment just stares at her friend's body.
Something painful twinges somewhere deep in her chest, too deep for her to grab, too unknown for her to decipher, but there's a telltale tremble haunting her fingers as she reaches forward, perhaps aiming to brush some of her hair away—but then she stops and pulls back, suddenly afraid.
"What happened?" Paola doesn't look at anyone else but Georgia. Maybe if she wills it, if she wills it hard enough—she shakes her head, pensive, and pushes the thought to the back of her head. She doesn't know how to help but, gods be damned, she'll do anything in her power to. "Is there anything else we need? Should I get a glass of water? For when she wakes up?"
[table][tr][td]Scrambling onto her feet, Paola stretches under the downpour, pulling at each tensed muscle until it relaxes under the pressure. Satisfied, and wet, she wanders off for some shelter—not that she really minds the rain, but soggy clothes are not her most favorite thing in the world. The way they uncomfortably press against her skin should be illegal.
She finds the tavern, the closest establishment to where she had been having a nice nap, and quickly steps through the door, giving her curly hair a good shake and mischievously ignoring the side-eyed glares of the poor patrons who were decently sprayed with rainwater. Smirking, Paola heads further in, asking for a small shot of something from the barkeep and clutching the glass close to her, letting the liquid warm her up from the inside.
She begins to find a table for herself, somewhere she can put her feet up, when the sudden and rushed opening of the tavern doors cause her shoulders to jolt. She whips around, curious to see what's making the cacophony, but freezes when she recognizes Deniz... carrying Georgia.
"Here, have a drink," she says to a random patron, nearly shoving the glass into his hands and rushing off towards one of the vacant rooms of the tavern. When she comes back out, she's carrying a thick comforter over her shoulder, dragging it and laying it out in front of the fireplace and shooing away a handful of curious eyes in the process.
Georgia looks... not well. Paola takes a seat next to Deniz, almost lethargic, and for a moment just stares at her friend's body.
Something painful twinges somewhere deep in her chest, too deep for her to grab, too unknown for her to decipher, but there's a telltale tremble haunting her fingers as she reaches forward, perhaps aiming to brush some of her hair away—but then she stops and pulls back, suddenly afraid.
"What happened?" Paola doesn't look at anyone else but Georgia. Maybe if she wills it, if she wills it hard enough—she shakes her head, pensive, and pushes the thought to the back of her head. She doesn't know how to help but, gods be damned, she'll do anything in her power to. "Is there anything else we need? Should I get a glass of water? For when she wakes up?"
10 MOONS
[/td][td]BETA
[/td][td]TYPHOON
[/td][td]SHE/HER
[/td][td]© AUDACITY
[/td][/tr][/table] BABY'S GOT A FACE LIKE THUNDER: