That's My Purse! I Don't Know You! (For Devastated)

[CyanDimitrik]

Katsumi had started to sink back down onto the lounge chair, only to pause with a glance to the variously-strewn drunks still incapacitated. This might not be the best place to stick around. If they popped back up and got violently hangover-sick, that would totally skunk the mood. And if they decided for a round two, she might have to touch them to fend them off. Ick.

While debating the next move, Belinda speaks. Her gaze quickly cuts to her again, eyes widened with a tiny, genuine smile. She'd heard of her and watched her wrestle? That's good! That's.. moving in the right direction. More of that. She needs more of it. Higher elevation, success, and maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to have something to point at that validates everything.

"For reals?"

The question came out more earnest than she meant. Her gaze crashes to the sand quickly in an effort to recover, and she clears her throat. "Yeah, I mean, obviously. It's rare enough to catch me in a situation I'm not in control of, get me?," she scoffs.

"Anyway! Let's walk while I play. Don't want these dorks waking up and giving us more problems. You got a base?," she asks. And with the question presented, her fingers flutter over the strings to issue a quick, aimless melody in preparation. A hurried flourish to build up presence - and then the telltale, slower three strums to begin the chords and chorus of Layla as done in acoustic.

Katsumi begins walking, expecting Belinda to take the lead or provide some kind of bearing. But it felt wrong to just stand still while strumming, especially as the music got rolling. It's interspersed with soft palm-beats against the guitar's body for stand-in percussion, unbothered and natural - practically mindless in the effort.