[Her nasal cavities are still burning, her makeup is running down her face, and she feels like she's spit up half the pool, and Bakura is still staring at her. Atem doesn't feel particularly ashamed of her linen's state; a fine weave means translucence, it's not a secret what her tits look like, and she and Bakura have bathed together plenty, but for some reason, that stare feels like sun on skin that's been out of the shade too long already. It puts heat under her flesh the same way wine does, and Ankhsunatem sinks down into the pond to douse it, all the way down to her chin. The cool water does exactly what she was hoping it would do when she left the party; this is better, this is good.
The pout, though, goes nowhere, as immovable as Atem's need to have the last word. Her eyes flick over to Bakura, sullenly noting the effortlessness, the power in her build. Unfair, that Bakura can have both. That she can be born a woman, and go where she likes, and have that kind of strength, as well as the clever nimbleness that let her get through tombs when they were small.]
My sense of humor's fine. It's your jokes that are bad!
[She's put out, but not truly angry. The water's relaxing. Now that her head's not under the surface, she feels safe in it, held by it, her dress floating around her like an underwater plant.]
no subject
The pout, though, goes nowhere, as immovable as Atem's need to have the last word. Her eyes flick over to Bakura, sullenly noting the effortlessness, the power in her build. Unfair, that Bakura can have both. That she can be born a woman, and go where she likes, and have that kind of strength, as well as the clever nimbleness that let her get through tombs when they were small.]
My sense of humor's fine. It's your jokes that are bad!
[She's put out, but not truly angry. The water's relaxing. Now that her head's not under the surface, she feels safe in it, held by it, her dress floating around her like an underwater plant.]