[color=4682b4][i]“Ah, fuck…”[/i][/color] She thought.

It wasn’t a good time. Or...a good anything. Right place, maybe, but Ines could tell Freya wasn’t quite feeling like herself. Even when she tried being humorous with her, the Oceanic undoubtedly wasn’t in a good spot. Still, Ines tried her best to put her at ease...the best a Darcsen with a resting scowl could do.

Her eyes raised more with every iteration of Freya’s response. Swimming. In your undergarments. Under artillery barrage. Ines could attest to a lot of feats of her own, sure, but they weren’t quite up to that scale. Bragging about swimming in filthy dock water wasn’t anything impressive. But...

[color=4682b4]“...i’ll take a bath, then.”[/color] Ines responded. Not really a point in it. She’d check up on her later, though, but for now it was clear that Freya wasn’t in a position to be chatting on the finer points of inebriated bathing.

That was gone, and out of the way. Jean, on the other hand, wasn’t too far over himself. And god, these two were awkward. Freya she never expected to be the inverse sort, but Jean she saw more of. He appreciated the company of himself more than any true manner of carousing, even when the opportunity presented itself. Though, Ines came to reason that it was unlikely that Jean had any manner of experience in little isles of comfort in what was otherwise a mad city where everyone was trying to kill you. 

Ines threw her drink back, finishing off her bottle, then proceeded to lean a bit over toward Jean. He was back in his seat, upright as he seemed to tirelessly jot down note after note, verse after verse. Some manner of poem, Ines could see, as she leaned over to peek. Intrusive, yes, but from what she could see, this was of particular intrigue. A poem was easily turned into tune, and there was a slight accompaniment of instrumentality throughout the tavern. While Ines leaned, her finger nodded in tune with the rhythm of the ambiance, finding iambic meter to the syllabilic counts to each of Jean’s verses.

[color=4682b4]“One...two…”[/color] Jean heard her counting over his shoulder. Before he knew it, she swiped up his paper, holding it far away from him.

[color=4682b4]“Three-and-four.”[/color]

[color=4682b4][center][i]“I found myself laid inside,”[/i][/center][/color]
[color=4682b4][center][i]“On a cold and empty hall.”[/i][/center][/color]

You would not believe the sight had you not been there, yet Ines could [i]sing.[/i] In volume great enough to fill her nearby surroundings, song took to the room in a pitch-perfect, cherubic encore, as if Ines had rehearsed the song hour by hour to the beat. And as she recited each verse of Jean’s poem through angelic songcraft, Jean saw something few had the pleasure to; Ines was smiling. Over that radiant cantation, Ines’ beautiful mezzo-soprano voice, Ines looked back upon him, and smiled. 

She slowly moved away from Jean, outwardly holding his poem in his opposite direction, yet, her eyes looked right on Jean. She hadn’t missed a single beat, and she wasn’t even reading what he wrote. Every verse was right, recited in sweet, harmonic lullaby, even moreso than what Jean seemed to intend from his piece. 

Jean knew that moment was coming; Reyna was about to be mentioned. It was almost like Ines knew what he was up for, like [i]she[/i] had to be the one to do Jean’s job of proposal for him, lest he forever lose the prospect for anxiety. That notion was terrifying. What would Reyna think of someone who could never approach her, yet yearned for her? Was Jean just a coward, after all, needing yet again for the arms of another to do what he could not? 

[color=4682b4][center][i]However, throughout the about-faced mood, [/i][/center][/color]
[color=4682b4][center][i]A glimmer shines through the bloody apolune [/i][/center][/color]
[color=4682b4][center][i]And whilst I recite her name in my mind, [/i][/center][/color]
[color=4682b4][center][i]All I can say is that this love is blind. [/i][/center][/color]
[color=4682b4][center][i]Is it love, or have I just fallen, [/i][/center][/color]
[color=4682b4][center][i]For the girl that walks above, [/i][/center][/color]
[color=4682b4][center][i]and I’m forever at the bottom.[/i][/center][/color]

And as she approached that dreaded meter, that dangling blade over Jean suddenly retracted. Ines paused, lowering the paper as her expression dropped to its’ dreary natural state. The paper flew, landing back upon Jean’s posterior, Ines reclaiming her seat next to Freya as she looked upon him.

[color=4682b4]“It’s not bad. Just needs a little bit of work, still.”[/color] She remarked. It may not have meant much, but with a girl like Ines, it was a true compliment. Yet, her gaze towards Jean meant one thing; She knew. She knew full well. And boy, oh boy, she was going to give him the experience now that she knew.

Still, Ines needed her bath. And that meant getting back up, going around, and finding wherever the hell this bath was...and that finally meant getting some new rags, and out of that god-forsaken constrictor around her chest...