( sifting through the clothes, it's disorienting to think suddenly about all the things that have to happen, and the order that they should have to happen in — what does grabbing a room even entail if you don't have a fucking credit card. what is this place. where does she even begin to begin—
with socks. with: holding a dress against herself, a little experimental, glancing at jem from underneath her lashes in a way that's more to do with angle than intent, caution still written in the tension she holds in her shoulders. get a room. soak, that— does sound good, actually. soak in, now, as much information as she can glean from the person who's probably going to have a hard time getting rid of her now that she's got someone to latch onto and ask questions. borrow things from. try to understand.
the ribbon tattoo around her thigh is the same as it was the first time jem saw it, not the last, unaltered; it disappears underneath one of jem's own dresses as she turns this way and that, feeling the shift of fabric on her skin. )
Do you just...decide?
( on a room, she means. hard to leave something to claim a place when she's arrived with less than the clothes on her back; dumped on the side of the road at home, she could find someone with a phone, call guilfoyle, have a fucking apartment by the end of the day. she's always thought of herself as so self-sufficient—
she'll manage. she'll figure it out. what the fuck else is she going to do. )
no subject
with socks. with: holding a dress against herself, a little experimental, glancing at jem from underneath her lashes in a way that's more to do with angle than intent, caution still written in the tension she holds in her shoulders. get a room. soak, that— does sound good, actually. soak in, now, as much information as she can glean from the person who's probably going to have a hard time getting rid of her now that she's got someone to latch onto and ask questions. borrow things from. try to understand.
the ribbon tattoo around her thigh is the same as it was the first time jem saw it, not the last, unaltered; it disappears underneath one of jem's own dresses as she turns this way and that, feeling the shift of fabric on her skin. )
Do you just...decide?
( on a room, she means. hard to leave something to claim a place when she's arrived with less than the clothes on her back; dumped on the side of the road at home, she could find someone with a phone, call guilfoyle, have a fucking apartment by the end of the day. she's always thought of herself as so self-sufficient—
she'll manage. she'll figure it out. what the fuck else is she going to do. )