Name's Forest Lannister. You might have heard of me. Probably not. Either way, I'm twenty-six, stuck in Westfield [for now] and just passing the time until I leave this shit hole.
[For the SNA roleplay. Angel here.]
Testing her drink out again, she sighed in relief when she felt that it was no longer as hot, but still sizzling. Gripping the cup she met his eyes head on this time and smiled, "It's what makes me happy. It makes me feel peace and joy all at once, makes me feel warm and bubbly, even the songs I write that are on a more depressing note give me this energy not many other things can. So yes. It is what I want to do, I've sold a few songs you know," She commented, nodding.
Forest smiled at her, leaning a bit more over the table. “Oh? What’re their titles?” He gazed at her as he listened, asking for more information and absorbing it.
; ; Reyne, bby. I have to sleep.
We pause, yes?
I have no problems with this.
don’t stare too hard forest
That awkward moment Reyne calls me Forest.
I wasn’t staring that hard.
Can I just say…
I really love his hair.
Their eyes met only for a moment before she glanced away, "Weeeeellllll. When my mother was alive, she would always blast music from the speakers. Whenever we cleaned or made arts and crafts together I would always hear a song around the house, even during dinner she would have classical music playing. She said it kept her going, made her feel alive, and my dad well, he went with it. Anyway, as I got older, I found my own preferences and started writing my own songs. And here I am."
Forest nodded once more, slowly as she finished her story. It sounded cute, innocent even. Good reasons for getting into music, at least.
“And now here you are,” he said in reply. “Is that what you want to do?”
Giggling, Gemma replied, "Well that could definitely happen if you're not careful. I myself always go overboard with the sweets, to be honest. Good thing I try and stay active," Sighing, she shrugged. "I try to, it gets me out there at least, yeah? I'm still working on trying to sing somewhere steadily, I just think it's good to get some experience. I wish I could find somewhere that would want me, but. I'll just stick to my day job for now. Do you perform?"
Forest wasn’t foolish. Commenting on a woman’s weight was out of the question, positive or negative. Instead, he let out a chuckle at that. “I just try to avoid eating too many chocolates.”
He listened attentively, eyes seeking eye contact with her if possible. “It’s a good place to start,” he admitted with a nod. “I do, as a matter of fact.”
Leaning back a bit, his arms crossed over his chest. “Tell me…what got you into music?”
"Go ahead," She pointed towards the seat and smiled, but didn't let her gaze linger long. Thinking about how she did she mentally went over how she could be better in the long run. Taking a sip of her beverage she bit on her tongue when she found it a bit too hot, "So. What does your momma say about boxes of chocolates," Winking, she waved a hand. "Kidding, sorry! Ah," She picked at her banana nut muffin, "Come around often?"
Forest did as he had permission to do, pulling up a chair to sit beside her, his elbow leaning against the table as it had on the counter. He managed to suppress, just barely, mind you, a snort at the face she made. It was…cute.
Raising an eyebrow, he shrugged slightly. “She warns me that I’ll get fat.” He grinned after, joking over the fact that his mother truly had said that. “Oh, occasionally,” he answered. “Sing here often?”
Taking her cup of coffee and her muffin, she shrugged her brows with a smile and brushed past him. Glancing over her shoulder before she walked on she said, "Run, Forest, run? I'll go ahead and warn you that may be said a lot especially if I see you racing across this shop or anywhere else in this city." Getting a little table some feet away she settled down with a hum, pleased to have her treats.
Well, that wasn’t the worst he’d ever heard. Shrugging, he followed her at a slow pace, stopping before her table, but not sitting, not yet. “Lucky for me, I’m not into track.”
Glancing about, he asked, “May I have a seat?”