fem!oc x whiskey
- ❝But why on earth would Iris want to kill me, Mr. Blanc? Tell me that.❞
- ❝Simple: Jealousy. Anyone with eyes can see how Miss Allen looks at Miss Whiskey, Mr. Bron.❞
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER SEVEN Living Room, Miles' Island — 21:37 p.m.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
—— IRIS WAS LAID OUT OVER THE COUCH in the living room, her head on a silk pillow and one leg over the back, opening and closing her eyes to see the chandelier over her head. She could see Whiskey a few feet away from her in the corner of her eye, the girl doing yoga positions with a bottle of vodka in her hand. Iris supposed that would be a real relaxing activity, but she just didn’t have the energy to partake in it right now. The amount of alcohol flowing through her veins right now could probably drown out all her blood, her fingers feeling tingly and skin looking as if it was made of crystals, shining in the light over her. It was better than the world being all in black and white, she guessed.
For the twentieth time since dinner, interrupting Iris’ peace in the music, Duke’s phone pinged with yet another google alert, causing the override system to spring upwards, the glass pane disappearing from over the Mona Lisa. She furrowed her eyebrows, pulling the pillow out from under her head and covered her face with it, groaning with frustration.
“You know, you could just power it down,” Lionel told Duke after watching Iris practically scream silently into a pillow next to him.
“Ah, it’s my Google Alerts,” Duke replied, as if that made a difference. “Got them for all you guys. Whiskey, sports I like, general interests.”
