#namefallen01.

[scriose]

         ‘ doctor? doctor, yes? ’ sorry, lyra, he’s not addressing you by title  ---  he’s just making sure you are one ( this particular injury is severe enough to have his memory playing tricks ). he’s also dripping blood onto the foyer floor. ‘ what can you do with this? ’

@namefallen.  /  sc.

[sexistterm-blog]

@namefallen.  —  cont.

“oh don’t– do that.” it’s three empty wine bottles and half a romantic comedy until rebecca suddenly brings this up. out of thin air, too. lyra considers comparing this to a magician’s feat, but knows that there’s gotta be some kind of weight to rebecca’s words. the healer’s hands fall onto the satin pajama covered legs that currently rest upon lyra’s lap, palms running back and forth in an attempt to ease her. “i think… i think you’re swell. and honestly?” she leans in, reaches far enough to boop the other woman’s nose (though, let’s face it, she’s drunk and ends up tapping right below rebecca’s eye) and grins. “you buy… really good wine. it’s a good enough incentive to bother with you just a while longer.”

Rebecca bends her knees and digs her heels into couch past Lyra’s thighs. She scoots forward on her ass and tips her forehead gracelessly into her friend’s shoulder. She doesn’t pay the failed-boop any attention beyond a smile that fails to reach the eye. ( Shouldn’t drinking have made this better? )

         “You’re gonna hate me,” she says. “You’re gonna hate me, yeah, I’m gonna make that happen. You’ll hate me.”

[acrbic-blog]

there’s certainly a friendlier approach to this, but hey  ---  same cloth. he’s an asshole by blood.  ‘ you left your drink here, ’ he says, offering the sweating cup without breaking eye contact. ‘ on my fucking notebook. ’

@namefallen​,  sc.

[caustis-a-blog]

         ‘ i trust you to be honest with me, ’ he says. he trusts next to no one, so lyra could, if she were so inclined, take this as a profession of fondness. ‘ does this suit make me look fat? ’

@namefallen.  /  sc.