[Alucard's soft laughter helps lighten something in her, just a bit. Punches down through the cloying dark of the last few weeks spent in that fucking pit. She slants him a little grin, still weak around the edges, before detaching her hands from him so she can rub at her wet eyes. Self-consciousness threatens to sink in, but she pushes it to the far reaches of herself; it helps that both their faces are currently damp with tears.]
There's always a boob joke in there somewhere.
[She says, whilst thinking his suggestion over. Her heart threatens to catch around it for a moment; her shitty cramped rooms above the Surly Wench contain the ghost of Harrow everywhere, still wreathed with her bone wards like some nasty mausoleum. The place holds memories-- but the cut of those memories often feels hollow and sad. It’s small and enclosed and dark in those rooms—which is kinda the opposite of what she needs right now. He has a point.]
Yeah. [She says, eventually.] Yeah, I think I'd like that.
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There's always a boob joke in there somewhere.
[She says, whilst thinking his suggestion over. Her heart threatens to catch around it for a moment; her shitty cramped rooms above the Surly Wench contain the ghost of Harrow everywhere, still wreathed with her bone wards like some nasty mausoleum. The place holds memories-- but the cut of those memories often feels hollow and sad. It’s small and enclosed and dark in those rooms—which is kinda the opposite of what she needs right now. He has a point.]
Yeah. [She says, eventually.] Yeah, I think I'd like that.