it’s not often that remy comes to the blue parrot lounge to dry her tears. sometimes the MAGNITUDE of it all just…hits her full on. and it’s almost too much to handle. that she really was…dead. that nathaniel had finally managed to kill her, and that she was going to be wandering the cortez, confused and alone for the rest of time. it was a lot to process, sometimes. she sniffles slightly, looking down into the soda in front of her. ❛ you’re a very kind woman, liz. ❜ she says softly, moving one small hand to cover the other woman’s on top of the bar giving her a small, teary smile.
her complexion softens with a smile, rosy in its reassurance, as the younger girl ( younger in looks, not necessarily in age) rests her palm atop liz’s & that quiet, hoarse voice reaches her ears. her opposite, free hand, in turn, comes to repose over remy’s own, a slight squeeze given in an effort to offer further comfort. while the compliment is appreciated, remy’s wellbeing takes the position in the forefront of her mind, of her concerns. a click of tongue is substituted for a show of thanks, beam widening. ❛ ––– you know i’m alwayshere for you, honey. ❜
It’s been weeks without a word from Queenie, and a member of her council going missing isn’t something Cordelia can just ignore. So of course she went looking, leaving Zoe in charge of the girls, ending her search at the Cortez. She walks carefully towards the front desk, shoes silently tapping against the carpet. “Excuse me.” Brown eyes rest on the other’s features, she does not hesitate when she speaks, a polite smile traces her lips, though the fact she can sense something is off makes this small peace offering rather… Fragile. “I’m sorry-” She says it as if the room is filled with people, as if just standing in front of the other is taking the stranger away from more important work. “A student of mine had a room here a few days ago, I was wondering if she checked out?”
CHECKED OUT was an understatement. almost immediately, the other’s face is placed, & consequently recognized as cordelia goode: the supreme of the coven to which the witch in question belonged. & with this realization comes the unfamiliar prickle of nervousness. iris & her hardly stopped to think about the fact that someone was bound to come looking for queenie, & now, that stumble of a misstep was coming back to bite her in the ass. but any culpability that may alter features from nonchalant & complacent is quickly dissolved, in favor of an expression that doesn’t outright spellguilty. smoldering cigarette is lifted to lips, drag taken purposely slow, in an effort to aide the facade being painted, brows lifting lazily. ❛ ––– name? ❜
Donovan headed into the bar, pissed at himself. This was the second time the Countess had left him to go hunting just to hunt. He didn’t see the need to go, though he could feel the Countess slipping farther and farther away from him. Liz had told him to just go with it, you know how she gets, she’d reminded him (as if he’d needed reminding). Now here he was– alone– on a Saturday night. Again. With a huff, he sat down, looking up at Liz as she poured him his favorite drink.
“Go ahead. Say I told you so.”
at the heavy steps sounding on the staircase, the newly - lit cigarette within her grasp is given a quick drag, & then promptly moved to between clenched teeth. she recognizes those downtrodden footfalls anywhere, & she has a peculiar feeling that he needs a drink. novel is set aside for the time being, & as the approaching boy aims for a seat in the lounge, liz is up & pouring a drink. the shaker’s stream soon trickles to a slowstop & the full glass is set down in front of the brooding other with a tink. a hint of smugness twinges lips into the slightest of cynical smiles, smoke coming to rest in its previous position, as she concedes to fulfill donovan’s request, ❛ ––– i told you so. ❜
Liz should have been afraid, very afraid… quaking in her goddamn boots instead of wasting her breath and spitting in the wind. Thoughts of rage were quieted by the sound of obscenely high heels as they came near Sally’s little play ground — muffled by the blood-stained carpet and forgotten dresses she’d been accumulating over time. The nerve of this woman, thinking she had what it took to tell right from wrong… last time she checked, it was Cleopatra the one six-feeting guests here and there — making laundry chutes work extra hours. Bruised knees rose from the split mattress and landed on top the man’s chest, one of her hands clutching the harmless end of her needle, like it would a sword, and pointing it directly at Taylor’s chest. This was her man —— a prize she wouldn’t let anyone else have.
“Watch it, sunshine. You wanna talk about companionship? Go summon your boy candy —— see if he’ll explain how things work for us corpses.”
the sharppoint of a needle halts heels in the midst of their traipsing, but it does little to deter her from her task. hands come to grip lightly on splayed, chiffon hips, brows now lifted in a challenge( the passing comment about tristan thoroughly ignored). sally doesn’t frighten her in the least, but her cooperation is necessary in order for the hotel, revamped & renovated, to triumph. & so, liz opts for a different approach ; one that, hopefully, will find success. defensive posture is loosened, stilettos taking a step back, with palms coming to spread its digits in a slow show of surrender. while she does her best to soften the hard lines of vexation painting her features, traces of it remain evident in the corners of a glossed mouth & the furrow wrinkling her forehead. voice’s timbre quiets, less harsh than before, ❛ –– why don’t you explain it to me yourself? ❜
