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Post by DON COYOTE on May 25, 2015 2:39:38 GMT
[googlefont="Esteban"] there's always music playing, somewhere. but this isn't his fucking music - he doesn't recognize the song and don wanders the unreasonably large house like a stoned ghost trying to shut it off. he finds plenty of scattered clothes and empty beer bottles, he finds his phone on the nightstand before he gives up, deciding his ears are probably still ringing and there are better things to occupy himself with. better people, better things. partly, he's only gotten into the habit of her because her name starts with a c and he barely needs to scroll, barely needs to make an effort. mostly because she's consistently hot and available. > get here
> xoCALLIE O'HARA this is shti im shit bye |
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Post by CALLIE O'HARA on May 25, 2015 2:52:01 GMT
[googlefont="Esteban"] the little pink plus has been sitting in the back of her head. the lush ignores it, she sleeps just fine on her high thread-count sheets, a little drool dries to her face and the text alert wakes her up. don has his own tone because callie is always, always, always hopeless. that being said, there's a notification from tinder just below the texts. when she gets dressed all the sudden the news pounds in her head like a hangover. when she opens his door there's a small stumble in her step. she's been here a time or two since she pissed on the test. somehow she's always... shrugged it off. she drank the first time but callie is still callie and the guilt from that really sat deep in her stomach - stomach that feels like it's already swelling, like she can already see the growing, firm curve when she looks in the mirror (she can't, she's dramatic). "xoxo!" she yells, her voice echoes off the walls. there's a tip-tap of her heels as she walks to a sectional. she crosses her legs when she sits down, frowns, and recrosses them. DON COYOTE |
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Post by DON COYOTE on May 26, 2015 2:03:19 GMT
[googlefont="Esteban"] callie is nothing if not reliable. (slow, she is slow though, he thinks. probably getting ready). don's already shirtless when she arrives, sidling in from the kitchen with a smile and a glass of straight rum. he pauses, raising his glass to point absently at the ceiling. "you hear that?" don swears a tinny ballad is leaking into the room somewhere, and he shakes his head, knocks back his drink with a grimace. "you want something?" his typically well-stocked bar is running low - he's never been picky. CALLIE O'HARA |
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Post by CALLIE O'HARA on May 26, 2015 2:14:39 GMT
[googlefont="Esteban"] okay, you should slide into it, right? you should dip your toes in and then your feet, ankles, shins, knees and all and then drown. but, like, that wouldn't be you, would it? callie doesn't try to listen hard but she purses her lips, rolls her eyes up to the ceiling and glances at it under her eyelashes. she shrugs, sure. she swears she could hear music everywhere, especially at a place like don's. especially with someone like don who is music - pounding and visceral and god the sex is just that great she can't help but to metamorphose it. in her true nature she jumps in and swallows water - "oh no, i really shouldn't. actually, uh," the 'uh' sounds ugly on her cute little tongue, in her cute little voice, coming out of her cute little mouth but it doesn't sound as ugly as "i'm pregnant." she uncrosses and recrosses her legs again. DON COYOTE |
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