She is not a short woman, but it's still clear he's taller than her. Currently, her child (if one could call it a child) is elsewhere. She's drinking something foul-smelling and sitting on a bar stool not too far from the fireplace, dressed as usual.
She's watching him, though, something like a spider watches anything else around it.
Her gaze is something it takes him a few moments to register. When he does, it's with a slight frown, not out of any hostility, but rather mild curiosity. (Anything, he thinks, to take his mind off the ballet for even a single moment.) Her garb is hardly typical (nor does it leave too much to the imagination), a stark contrast to the suit he's wearing, his tie loose around his neck.
He doesn't move from where he is, or yet bother straightening up, but he does offer her a nod in greeting.
It's hard to say how Morrigan might feel about ballet. On the one hand, there is the immense control that she'd likely admire. Then again, she might simply find it boring.
His nod is returned. While he mgiht be dressed typically for someone from his sort of world, most people from hers would find it quite queer. She slides off of the stool gracefully and then moves a bit closer, testing the waters.
For Thomas, first impressions have always included assessing the way a person moves - how much control they have over their body. His eyes flick up and down her frame once as she stands up, and he shifts now, pulling himself into a slightly more upright position, although he keeps his feet on the ottoman. (The program slides off of his chest and next to him on the armchair; he doesn't pay it any mind.)
(The flutter of feathers doesn't plague him as it does his Swan Queen. Still, he hears a rustle, and that is what causes his head to turn.)
Nina. The name flits through his head once, but he knows he hasn't seen this girl before. (Black dress. He almost laughs.
It fits her well.)
He's still staring in her direction when his thoughts drift off, fingers of one hand held over his lips. (The broken mirror in Nina's dressing room was an easy find, as were the bloodied shards. The details on what happened aren't clear yet; they'll have to wait for her to come back around to figure that out.)
It takes him a moment to notice her. When he does, it's with a bit of a double take. He's up in the blink of an eye, program hitting the floor as he crosses over to her, stopping just short. His eyes study her face, a moment passing before he says anything at all.
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She's watching him, though, something like a spider watches anything else around it.
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He doesn't move from where he is, or yet bother straightening up, but he does offer her a nod in greeting.
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His nod is returned. While he mgiht be dressed typically for someone from his sort of world, most people from hers would find it quite queer. She slides off of the stool gracefully and then moves a bit closer, testing the waters.
"Good evening."
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"Evening."
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At the corner of his eye--
Dark brown hair in a knot at her nape and a glass of champagne. (The dress, however, is black.)
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Nina. The name flits through his head once, but he knows he hasn't seen this girl before. (Black dress. He almost laughs.
It fits her well.)
He's still staring in her direction when his thoughts drift off, fingers of one hand held over his lips. (The broken mirror in Nina's dressing room was an easy find, as were the bloodied shards. The details on what happened aren't clear yet; they'll have to wait for her to come back around to figure that out.)
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A slow half turn to face him, another rustle of silk and satin. (Enough time for him to look away, to not be caught.)
"Yes?" she wonders softly.
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"Sorry," he says after a moment, smile flickering across his face like the tongues of a slow flame.
"Lost my train of thought."
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(The comment has been removed)
"How are you feeling?"
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