(no subject)
There's a nymph perched comfortably up on one of the booth dividers, rather calmly (and relatively palely, all things considered) decked out in suitably flimsy - and jangly - Mardi Gras finery. The gauzy swathes of skirts are smoothed neatly over her lap and one knee is tugged up so that she can rest her book against it.
She smiles down at her bells in the manner that one might an old friend every so often, idly dinging one with a finger between an occasional turn of a pages.
She's getting rather used to this holiday.
She smiles down at her bells in the manner that one might an old friend every so often, idly dinging one with a finger between an occasional turn of a pages.
She's getting rather used to this holiday.