( has he become nervous because of her? is she being too much? this wonât cross her mind for a split second. noânot with all that mystery gin making her insides fuzzy! )
the corner of her ruby-red lips twitches into a teeny smile when she catches the man cut himself off mid-sentence. his comment about her eyes renders her bashful. she lowers her lashes. coy.
âŠheâs a man of god! surely she should soften her tone.
when itâs her cue to introduce herself, sheâs quick to set her sofia on the beer-stained counter. amotherly gesture. i mean, who doesnât bring their baby to the bar? she couldnât leave the poor thing home all alone! as if she doesnât have a school of ugly, crack-faced babies at home. Â that would make her a bad mother. sheâs a good mother! sheâs good!
a creak from the ripped, artificial leather bar stool sounds beneath her as she fixes herself. straightens her back all proper and gives her head a little toss to flick long, dark tresses over her shoulder. she juts her hand out for a shake. the glass in her other hand is idle, tilting, just a millimeter away from pouring its contents right out onto her white nightgown. the doll on the counter tips over. all dead-like and what not. makes you wonder just how much she really cares about the thing.
âcatalina merinoââ fast, almost rehearsed. her eyes are lit up like the sun, their brilliance burning holes into his with some sort of misplaced hope.
âthe lord doesnât mind if you drink, reverend jonas?â
She fluttered, he liked it, liked watching her more than anything else around. Likeâa butterfly, as they do, behind some morning grazing of the sunrise after skimming itâs way across flowers, heavy, weighed down with dew, melancholy, over having to say goodbye to the eveningâs twilight...
Jesus, what was in this fuckinâ booze?
He took a peek with only one eyeball and the other shut tight: focus.
Jonas wondered, while staring at his glass, as if the liquid shlopping inside would have any real reason to explain itself. It didnât. He wouldnât bother the bartender with another stare. Hardly felt worth bothering him for a refill.
YET, First, when the doll fell, though it be idly-- he felt obliged to assist, delicately reached over to use only two very careful fingertips, setting it back up right. Threatened to tumble, of course it would, but he was committed at this point... Delicately led it to righthood. Good. There it goes.
He pulled back, steadying both hands in a psuedo-NINJA-esque way: ready to predict a tumble before it occurred... it didnât.. and he suddenly felt self-conscious for toying with someone elseâs-- toy??-- BABY!
ââM sorry, I saw her stumble,â oh God now he was in on it too. When in Rome!? But at least he had a reason to regard her, and-- Mm;  Sheâs lovely. In the way the eye of a storm is: heâd swear her hair was still caught in the whirlwind of this tumbleweed heâd come in on, but there was a certain peace about her... Bliss? Script, like him? âItâsâa pleasure to meet you, Catalina...â ignorance? Contentment with said lot? Beautiful. Enviable.
âJesus had wine, Sister, those of us still here amongst sin need somethinâ a little strongerââ and he winked, fully accepting of any rancor OR! CORRECTNESS! that could be associated with such idealisms. âYou mentioned Johnny by a church,â competition? was this place even worth casing? âWould you call this town HOLY?â A loaded question, maybe, made ever more sense if it was... âThe Lordâs been speaking while Iâm so near, can hear him whisperinâ likeâa Lark in a meadow; but what could this place need...?â
discoholicmusic
stormborns
dailybridgerton
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
titsay
romaincrisis
