Talking to a door takes some getting used to. But at least it opens?
Verity's washed her face, and is looking... well, not happy, but she's not actively crying anymore. She's curled up on the couch with a lot of yarn in reds and grays, doing something that's neither knitting nor crochet that's turning it into a rather lovely stripey blanket.
There's a fresh pot of coffee and, yes, she's got tissues at hand.
She glances up when he comes inside, not quite meeting his gaze but acknowledging that she knows he's there. A foot pokes out from under her project and nudges some of the yarn she isn't using into the basket on the floor. An invitation to sit, perhaps?
She'll never order anyone's head off, promise
Verity's washed her face, and is looking... well, not happy, but she's not actively crying anymore. She's curled up on the couch with a lot of yarn in reds and grays, doing something that's neither knitting nor crochet that's turning it into a rather lovely stripey blanket.
There's a fresh pot of coffee and, yes, she's got tissues at hand.
She glances up when he comes inside, not quite meeting his gaze but acknowledging that she knows he's there. A foot pokes out from under her project and nudges some of the yarn she isn't using into the basket on the floor. An invitation to sit, perhaps?
"I'm sorry I ruined things with your friend."
((So many pretty colors!))