((closed RP for Sam and the Master))
(It's like an old picture in black and white from some noir film, a beautiful woman smoking a cigarette, the man across from her sipping something expensive from a highball glass. They're talking, words he doesn't quite understand, and there's laughter in their tones, an almost lightness. He recognizes her, it'
(
Read more... )
Una glanced around out of habit, seeing no-one. That the door was ajar was unusual, and this time when she knocked, she didn't wait for him to answer, instead pushing the door open the rest of the way and taking a step inside.
Reply
His eyes wandered slowly up to where she was standing. There was something playing at the corners of his mouth, but it seemed keen on keeping hidden.
Reply
She took out her lighter and a cigarette and lit one. Crossed the room slowly, one foot deliberately placed in front of the other, and stopped a few paces away, hand on hip. She looked curiously at the object in his hand but, unable to tell what exactly it was, chose not to comment on it just yet.
Reply
"Had a good day," he said ambiguously, as though 'pleased' discribed such a natural state for him. His glass raised in her direction. "Drink?"
Reply
"Don't mind if I do." A thoughtful drag on her cigarette. "A good day? Really? Sufficiently distinct from the rest?"
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
"Interesting choice of words," she observed. She moved a little closer; he could reach out and touch her now without having to lean very far forward in the chair. "Why so violent? I could just as easily coax information from you. Or tease it. Or persuade." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Tearing is your specialty, darling."
Reply
What they would get her was a safety she might not have had coming in a few hours previous. His head had been pounding all day, something that might have been deducible from the uncommon disarray on his workbench and several trashed components in a corner. There were some accidental burns in places that were not currently showing, but they would probably help to distract in the end.
The one thing that worked against him was the bruise developing on his cheek from that unexpected roundhouse. He had been resting the mangled side of his face in one hand (and ducked his head down to pour the drink), but she would see it eventually and the added pressure was beginning to hurt. So he dropped the hand and waited to see what she made of it.
Reply
She shifted glass and cigarette into her left hand and with her right, reached out to brush his bruised cheek with her fingertips, as if to confirm for herself that it was real. "I suppose a brawl is some kind of a diversion," she observed. "Did you bring this on yourself, or were you the victim of a random, purposeless assault?" Her tone rich with irony.
Reply
That left them considerably closer.
Reply
Reply
It was at that moment that his highball glass slipped -was dropped- from his fingers and tumbled to the floor, leaving one hand free. He placed it against her stomach and pushed in the direction of the wall.
Reply
Reply
Especially not on the day when the brink had moved that much closer.
Reply
Leave a comment