[ P ] she's everything ive been prayin'

I'm starvin darlin'

It was risky coming back to Sussex after all these years. But with all the focus shifted toward the war finding work was difficult. At-least work that wasn't centered in the middle of their shit storm. Even if they were willing to overlook her sparkling record, she didn’t fancy being disposable fodder. She navigated the maze of back alleys until she came up to the tavern. It looked about like she remembered it, maybe a touch shabbier…
The dim interior of the tavern greeted her with its familiar smells of mildewed piss and cheap booze. Worn termite-chewed floorboards creaked under her steps and for a moment she thought it might collapse under her weight. She sniffed sharply and sauntered over to the bar, pretending not to notice the prying looks of its other patrons. "Mead if ya got it," Melinoe said, nodding to the barkeep who then slid over a bowl of something yellow with a clarity like pond water.
She lapped lazily at the sickly sweet drink and let her eyes wander. Wasn't long before she spotted a few pretty faces among the usual drunkards and cutthroats. Her eyes lingered on a lovely little brunette, pondering whether to go introduce herself. However, her attention was abruptly diverted as someone shoved her, something she half-expected to be on purpose in the Drunken Seagull. Melinoe whipped around, "You wanna watch where the fuck you're goin'?" She snarled loudly, her demeanor shifting drastically when she got a look at them; A pretty thing with peppery fur and eyes much like her own cept violet instead of brown. "Oh... my bad darlin'." She mustered a toothy smile, eyeing the woman up shamelessly. "Bump into me all you want." Gods above, she was huge and wild-lookin', like some sort of barbarian queen from a foreign land.
Mel found herself a little slack-jawed just looking at her. Took every ounce of her self-control not to drop down and propose right there... as if she didn't remember what happened the last time. At times she had as much tact as a debt collector. "I'm seat have a Mel." She said in a daze and then sharply corrected herself. “Mel. I’m Mel—have a seat.”

let me put my lips to somethin'...

Comfort: a run down shit hole that reeked of booze, whores, and the occasional blood every once in a while. It was where she found herself most days, if not sprawled out on the warm sands of the beach. That was where she came from, as a matter of fact. She had a habit of soaking up the salted water and calling that a bath. It wasn't perfect, but the blood stains and sweat always seemed to vanish after. It took her quite some time to make her way to the tavern, giving her thick coat plenty of time to dry and spiff up her appearance. She didn't much care for the attention drawn to her, however. It only ever ended in someone being kicked out of the bar, and herself fuming.

Mismatched hues washed over the seats and tables, looking for freyja or even rue to be in here. But, it would seem she was alone this time around. All too easily did she plow her way through the drunkards that were scattered about in her path to the bar. Not many put up the fight when she made her way around the bar, she only received looks of unnecessary submissions and heard the faint whispers that likely warned whoever was closest to steer clear of her. Ever so right would they be. The behemoth made her presence known in here ever since the brawl, and she basked in it, devouring the fear and hate that over spilled from those that dared not breathe in her direction. A bit much? Possibly. But who was going to tell her she was just a big, mean, bitch in here? No one, and until that happened, she would carry that crown she earned, ever so obnoxiously on her head.

There was one body, however, that just as large hers, but painted much darker and was tattered and torn all over. Most importantly- they were in her way, in her seat. Like a steady current, she moved right in to them. Zero concern or chance for the stranger to get out of her way. "You wanna watch where the fuck you're goin'?" were words that fell upon deaf ears as she came up to lean on the bar, a drink already being slung her way. She lowered her skull to inhale the sweet, fermented sting that poked at her nose. Then, she lapped up her beverage to start her night off. Savoring the flavors that trickled along her tongue and throat, she looked up to the barkeep, another drink already made ready for her. This one didn't last as long, and this time the barkeep was staring. A worried, but subtle sign of warning was plastered across her face- a "dont do it again" look was what she pleaded to Andraste with. Harks fell back to the woman still speakin, while eyes remained trained on the bartender, and her ribbon swiped across the last drops of her drink on her lips. With an inhale, she shrugged to the barkeep, unapologetic in her looks she offered for a brief moment. she stood upright now, no longer leaning on the bar. Her eyes were forward, still payijg little attention to the woman speaking. Mel, you see, this is my seat, and you were-nay, still are- too close to it. a snarl reverberated up her chest as she would pivot her appendages, spinning a full 180 as her jowls parted. Her weight was thrown forward as she came to face the titaness speaking too much for her. Hind legs propelled her forward, aiming for the side of her neck as she barreled into the woman. Front appendages worked to wrap around her, bringing them closer in a bear hug-like grip as pearly whites saught to leave another scar upon this stranger's body. Behind her, a spitting and sputtering barkeep. And around her were drunken cheers and complaints, and then eventually chaos would erupt around them.

table ; bunny art ; ashon

I'm starvin darlin'

tw - language
Getting absolutely throttled by a massive barbarian lady was not on her agenda today but it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise either. Honestly, she zoned out a little while the woman was speaking, captivated by the way she took up space—how her presence commanded the room. She started using her brain again about the time that gorgeous barbarian body tackled her to the ground and started beating the shit out of her. The air left her lungs and had she been anyone else, no doubt they wouldn’t have gotten back up.
Searing pain radiated through her as teeth found purchase on her flesh. It went to display just how powerful the woman was. However, Melinoe was no stranger to violence. Her life as a seasoned fighter had left her with a collection of scars. They weren't just for show but a testament to what she'd endured. Everything from job-related injuries to beatings from rival gangs and, yes, even the occasional drunken bar fight.
The pain made her instincts kick into action. She thrashed, utilizing her powerful legs to kick into her adversary's belly. It was a reflexive response, a bid for freedom from the strong grip of those teeth. The fight was on, and gorgeous or not, she wasn't about to let something like that slide.

let me put my lips to somethin'...