"Black works." She grunts, fishing a hand deep into her wash barrel for whatever shirt her fingers catch first. She gathers one, two, three— each of them awful in their own way, each of them soaked— and throws them over one arm.
Carolina stomps through the grass after him.
"Oh?" Dubious. "And what exactly makes a 'decent' goth?"
no subject
"Black works." She grunts, fishing a hand deep into her wash barrel for whatever shirt her fingers catch first. She gathers one, two, three— each of them awful in their own way, each of them soaked— and throws them over one arm.
Carolina stomps through the grass after him.
"Oh?" Dubious. "And what exactly makes a 'decent' goth?"