lives-this-life For Tams, from Rijadh: "I am the one who won't walk away."
"I thought y' said you weren' a songwriter. Weren' gonna help me none with this." Tams smirked and waggled the pen at the raven-haired man that lounged next to her, skin aglow with hearth fire. He looked thoroughly out of place here, amidst thick blankets and furs -- his bronzed skin an affront to the almost lavender-hued brush of eternal winter just outside the cozy little residence he'd secured for them.
The hot springs had proven quite relaxing thus far, but she couldn't help but wonder how much more at home he'd have looked somewhere warm, where the sky painted an inky canvas over sand swept dunes.
Maybe one day.
"Just try it, sweet flower. I do believe you'll find it fits..." He tempted, holding out the half-smoked joint to her. It's familiar sweet and spicy scent tickled her nose, and she finally relented, absently plucking it up to take a lazy drag.
She'd been at this for some time, sitting cross-legged there on the furry rug with her guitar in her lap and the journal she'd been given so many many months ago from Cole spread out in front of her. The lyrics were a messy tangle; her writing wasn't exactly a thing of beauty. But she could read it, and that's what mattered as she worked.
Hm.
She launched into the refrain upon exhale -- her voice was a pleasant soprano. Good for a few silver, but her real talent lay with the notes she strung together with deft fingers - the careworn guitar came alive with her attention, filling the small space with warm notes and a melody half-haunted.
"I'm th' one who won' walk away..." She crooned and then trailed off. With a slight incline of her head she seemed to admit that it did, in fact, fit. Rijadh only smiled - dark and thoroughly pleased with himself. It made her chuckle, warm and happy.
"Why those words, though?"
That smile grew a touch more enigmatic and he reached for her, pulling her hand from the strings so he might brush a kiss along her knuckles.
