americanvvitch | (Reply)

the terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue

I feel it in my blood
In the fire and the flood
The beast that can't be killed
Even now you mark my steps
Lovely bitter water
All the days of our delights are poison in my veins
I know I shouldn't love you
I know

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americanvvitch

A threat it might have been from anyone other than Alastor, but part of their deal had been to deposit her safely in New Orleans, and even if it had not, Lotte felt less threatened by him than ever in this form.

"Color me troubled, then, but I'd say I've done stranger things than this and come out relatively unscathed, tonight alone."

Alastor didn't need her permission, to use magic or to smoke, and she didn't bother protesting, since it wouldn't have stopped him and she didn't rightly care.

"Not at all." She'd breathed in much worse over the past five years.

Lotte rose from the bed to wring out the rag over the sink, draping it over the edge to dry out. Her hands were still red with burns, but the blackness that had stretched out over her wrists during the ordeal seemed to have protected them from the physical worst of it, if not the feeling.

She rummaged in another cabinet before pulling out a little vial of water, pouring it over her hands to help them heal, glancing over her shoulder to find Alastor staring at her as he took a long drag from the cigarette. His words sunk in like the water into her skin, and she scanned the little cabin.... stuffed to the brim with everything she'd ever scraped together to make her so-called home.

Oh, but she wouldn't miss it. The closer the idea of New Orleans became, the more restless she was to get out of here... while the getting was good, so to speak.

"Feels strange, to imagine living somewhere else... not that I'd ever miss this place."

There was a bit of rustling around as she rummaged through cabinets to find the sole duffel bag she'd come here with, setting it on the table and moving around to the hutch that contained most of her books and ingredients for spells, picking and choosing what she couldn't replace. Her hands came upon another of the little browns vials that she'd given Alastor blood in, during their first meeting, and she plucked it up and turned, wriggling it in her fingers in his line of sight.

"Will you be needing any more blood as a pick me up?" Lotte grinned. "What did you ever use it for, anyway?"