The Nightingale
She/her
Twenty four
November 11
Slateport
Heterosexual
Assistant
executive
Defiance in her flesh, her blood, her bones; written on her soul
hyacinth hall
POSTED ON Aug 12, 2019 4:05:19 GMT
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Isra observes what transpires with a still silence. Her mind is alert enough to process everything but she does not yet have much of a capacity for socialization. A blond escapes the scene leaving a pastry in her hand and she mutters a sleepy thank you while she tries to rub the sleep out of her eyes with the other. The room quickly becomes more crowded, one such individual far too energetic for her own liking and another standing close by gets her attention. [break][break] Everything suddenly smells like baking and salt water and tea and it's like being at home in the kitchen over night back in Slateport when she was a child. The salty air drifting in while the chef made her desert. Isra feels like a child again for a moment and perhaps that's why she looks up at the dark haired man from the beach with soft half awake eyes, splitting the pastry in half and offering it to him. There's no real purpose to the gesture it just seems like a good idea. In Isra's terms it is a silent thank you for the sudden memory rush. [break][break] "Thank you." she says to the other two, making a point to politely nod towards the pink haired girl offering the pastries before she wonders off in search of the kitchen, kettle and tea. A pick me up or wake me up, however you see it is just what she needs. [break][break][break] @poufkin, @kingsley
i'm no sweet dream but i'm a hell of a knife [attr="class","israbox"] [newclass=".israimg"]position: absolute; z-index: 10;[/newclass][newclass=".isras2g"]position: relative; z-index: 5;[/newclass][newclass=".israbox"]position: absolute; z-index: -10;[/newclass][newclass=".israchats b"]color: #6d956d;[/newclass][newclass=".israchats i"]color: #5a8ca0;[/newclass]
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