( Natasha definitely blends in better brand new than Jack does, despite having been here for months at this point. Maybe it's because he's wearing the closest approximation to a hoodie one could find at the Medieval Times gift shop. Maybe it's because of the prosthetic limb he's sporting from the knee down on his right leg. Maybe it's because he looks like he hasn't slept in years, with dark tired circles under his eyes.
Or maybe it's because he has all the grace of a sack filled with cats and hammers; his good foot catches on the ruffled skirt of a table, and he stumbles, all but throwing a glass full of red wine at her. He's cringing before he even stabilizes, before a drop even lands. Eyes squeezed shut, like blocking out the sight will somehow keep it from actually manifesting into reality. Pure social awkwardness incarnate. )
Holy fucking shit- I am so sorry. I'm dead inside. Oh my god.
𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑡
Or maybe it's because he has all the grace of a sack filled with cats and hammers; his good foot catches on the ruffled skirt of a table, and he stumbles, all but throwing a glass full of red wine at her. He's cringing before he even stabilizes, before a drop even lands. Eyes squeezed shut, like blocking out the sight will somehow keep it from actually manifesting into reality. Pure social awkwardness incarnate. )
Holy fucking shit- I am so sorry. I'm dead inside. Oh my god.