[vi only notices once instance of this - and she's of two minds about it. firstly - don't do that - but she's projecting a bit because of her own recent experience with theft the previous month, and there's enough chance that the reckoning doesn't care if jinx picks a pocket or two that she doesn't say anything in the moment. plus she sees pickpocketing all the time here and in willful machine, and does she stop it every time she sees it? no.
secondly, she suppresses a small smile, because, as expected: she's good.
vi is keenly aware of how this must look. how fancy it must all seem. and to her, it's still fancy somewhat, but not compared to other things she's seen in cellar door and other places. it hadn't been her plan - her original plan, she supposed, would have been to hole up in some shitty place in ...probably prufrock, where many other hunters congregate, or even dracmouth - but that plan hadn't had the chance to properly form once she'd found mostly kindness (and some fond? accusatory? shouting) from other sleepers - once alayne had offered to take her in like it was nothing - not even an imposition or an obligation, but as if it were something she actually wanted to do.
getting used to that, as a rule, had been ...weird. hard. also easy?
violet's room on the third floor is in a state. her huge bed is made for the first time in forever, and that's only because she hadn't been sleeping in it. she hadn't been sleeping much at all. clothing's piled haphazardly on her floor, one chair is completely overtaken with laundry, and the other with sketches. (the only with laundry looks as if she's sat on the dirty clothes rather than move them - they're a bit flat).
a pair of beat up cast iron gauntlets hang from a carefully placed hook in the wall, above a a string of lights with paper stars suspended from it. ten paper stars arranged together in various clusters.
three empty plates are stacked on her desk, each one bearing crumbs, but the topmost one still has cookies on it. several notebooks are stacked beside that, along with some little pieces of sea-themed statuary and an overflow of small paper stars and the paper with which to make them - more notebooks on the floor beside her bed, and two on the bed itself.
all three windows are open, and there's a bird that's decided to sit in one of the red-leafed branches of the huge white tree poking its way through the floor and back out again. it pays none of them any mind.]
Well, this is me. Mine. Yours? Put your stuff wherever. [she will move that pile of laundry from the chair to the floor just now.] I have a bathroom. [it takes her a moment to add the rest - as she's still unused to having this at all:] just ...mine. There's a shower and a tub.
[sometimes it sounds awful when she points these things out - having a bed, having windows, real food at eat, a change of clothes. she can now add 'a bathroom' to that awkward list.]
no subject
secondly, she suppresses a small smile, because, as expected: she's good.
vi is keenly aware of how this must look. how fancy it must all seem. and to her, it's still fancy somewhat, but not compared to other things she's seen in cellar door and other places. it hadn't been her plan - her original plan, she supposed, would have been to hole up in some shitty place in ...probably prufrock, where many other hunters congregate, or even dracmouth - but that plan hadn't had the chance to properly form once she'd found mostly kindness (and some fond? accusatory? shouting) from other sleepers - once alayne had offered to take her in like it was nothing - not even an imposition or an obligation, but as if it were something she actually wanted to do.
getting used to that, as a rule, had been ...weird. hard. also easy?
violet's room on the third floor is in a state. her huge bed is made for the first time in forever, and that's only because she hadn't been sleeping in it. she hadn't been sleeping much at all. clothing's piled haphazardly on her floor, one chair is completely overtaken with laundry, and the other with sketches. (the only with laundry looks as if she's sat on the dirty clothes rather than move them - they're a bit flat).
a pair of beat up cast iron gauntlets hang from a carefully placed hook in the wall, above a a string of lights with paper stars suspended from it. ten paper stars arranged together in various clusters.
three empty plates are stacked on her desk, each one bearing crumbs, but the topmost one still has cookies on it. several notebooks are stacked beside that, along with some little pieces of sea-themed statuary and an overflow of small paper stars and the paper with which to make them - more notebooks on the floor beside her bed, and two on the bed itself.
all three windows are open, and there's a bird that's decided to sit in one of the red-leafed branches of the huge white tree poking its way through the floor and back out again. it pays none of them any mind.]
Well, this is me. Mine. Yours? Put your stuff wherever. [she will move that pile of laundry from the chair to the floor just now.] I have a bathroom. [it takes her a moment to add the rest - as she's still unused to having this at all:] just ...mine. There's a shower and a tub.
[sometimes it sounds awful when she points these things out - having a bed, having windows, real food at eat, a change of clothes. she can now add 'a bathroom' to that awkward list.]