Greg
"Well, I'll see what I can do about that," she laughed, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind them. In the dark of the cottage she pressed tight to him and kissed him hungrily.
For House
It was a gorgeous day. Lyric sat outside the dome with a fag pressed between her lips as she played her guitar. A little Amy, a little Stones, a little original stuff that she played that reminded her of home. She started a gentle tune, reminiscent of Led Zeppelin, that was a song she'd written for Daniel.
She looked up and spotted the good doctor coming up, leaning on his cane. She stilled her strings and plucked the smoke from her lips.
"Morning, bruv," she called, smiling at him. "I made coffee a bit ago. Still in the pot if you like."
She looked up and spotted the good doctor coming up, leaning on his cane. She stilled her strings and plucked the smoke from her lips.
"Morning, bruv," she called, smiling at him. "I made coffee a bit ago. Still in the pot if you like."
Harry
After the initial shock of arriving and the worry about Daniel dying without her, Lyric had smoked a spliff, gotten a good night's sleep, and moved on. After a few days she had settled into a routine. She started off her day with tea and a cigarette, then went into the main parlor to play guitar.
Today she'd come in from the cold, smelling of smoke, and grabbed her guitar. She perched on a chair and began to pick out a song she'd played a million times.
It was the coldest night of the year,
Snow-covered street lamps and Belvedere,
The moon was just a sliver,
The light was fading,
The war was on its way,
And we were waiting,
You asked me how long I'd stay by your side,
So I answered with only just one reply,
Till the casket drops,
Till my dying day,
Till my heartbeat stops,
Till my legs just break...
She caught motion and stopped playing, looking up at the smartly dressed man. Her own bleached hair was a bit disheveled and pinned up, her tattoos painting her bare arms from shoulder to wrist. Kohl lined her eyes thickly. She smiled at him and lifted her hand to wave.
"Morning, bruv. Kettle's still hot in the kitchen if you fancy a cuppa."
Today she'd come in from the cold, smelling of smoke, and grabbed her guitar. She perched on a chair and began to pick out a song she'd played a million times.
It was the coldest night of the year,
Snow-covered street lamps and Belvedere,
The moon was just a sliver,
The light was fading,
The war was on its way,
And we were waiting,
You asked me how long I'd stay by your side,
So I answered with only just one reply,
Till the casket drops,
Till my dying day,
Till my heartbeat stops,
Till my legs just break...
She caught motion and stopped playing, looking up at the smartly dressed man. Her own bleached hair was a bit disheveled and pinned up, her tattoos painting her bare arms from shoulder to wrist. Kohl lined her eyes thickly. She smiled at him and lifted her hand to wave.
"Morning, bruv. Kettle's still hot in the kitchen if you fancy a cuppa."