Choked, dying noises ( coming from the man imprisoned between her ass and the bed ) diverted Sally’s gaze far away from the unfortunate trespasser, whose bad timing she resented far more than the fact that her newest puppet didn’t seem to be holding up so well. Her shoulders drooped, sadness coming back to her in the form of a perfectly red and defined little pout. She wanted him to live —— long enough for her to shape him to her liking: a much desired soul mate to be her loyal companion. And Liz Taylor, with her endless babbling about explanations and other crap Sally didn’t give two shits about, was currently stealing whatever little time the two had left together. Smeared lips curving into a quiet snarl, the junkie rose her head to lock eyes with the biggest shit-don’t-stink woman she would ever know.
“You don’t wanna listen to what I have to say. Not really, you’ve been shunning me out for decades.” As she spat in her direction, Sally took it upon herself to try and soothe the agonizing man; long fingers caressed the sharpness of his cheekbone, touching him just the right way. Like a lover would. “You always forget, I can see right through you.“
❝ –– OH, PLEASE. ❞ a scoff, riddled with the coarse cut of impatience, bubbles to life, the harsh rush of breath roughly ushered out from between rosy lips. fingers curl into loosely - held fists that come to rest softly upon the jutting handles of hips : her very demeanorchallenging sally’s stance. the facade of diligence crumbles the moment those words leave the blonde’s mouth in a spat ; shoulders lift in aggravationunfamiliar to liz’s posture.
❝ of all the years we’ve been here together, who has been there to listen to you ? certainly not the countess or donovan. ❞ & while her point may not ring completely true, the small pride held for the fountain of wisdom& advice she’s become to the hotel’s guests is wounded by such statements. but, for the time being, liz lets it go. ❝ –– what’s this really about, huh ? ❞
