your bright eyes are gonna kill me for sure
"Your daughter's wedding?" you repeat, cocking a playful brow. "Just how old are you, madam, t'have a married daughter?" There's no real barb in the question: her age hardly matters to you. She's a grown-ass woman in every way, and that's really what you care about.
You grab another flower crown from a passing merchant and plop it on her head, enjoying the way the colors contrast with her dark hair. You're too distracted by her to notice the god at first, but when you do your nose wrinkles instinctively, your unease with and distaste for gods quick to rise. "Thought there was only one'a 'em," you remark, watching as the indescribably attractive deity flounces into the woods (and trying desperately not to notice the tenting in your pants at the sight).
Her kiss on your cheek doesn't help matters, but booze is a welcome distraction at all times. "Lead th'way."
You grab another flower crown from a passing merchant and plop it on her head, enjoying the way the colors contrast with her dark hair. You're too distracted by her to notice the god at first, but when you do your nose wrinkles instinctively, your unease with and distaste for gods quick to rise. "Thought there was only one'a 'em," you remark, watching as the indescribably attractive deity flounces into the woods (and trying desperately not to notice the tenting in your pants at the sight).
Her kiss on your cheek doesn't help matters, but booze is a welcome distraction at all times. "Lead th'way."
ZEPHYR
