“Now that sounds like a useful magic,” she says, wiggling her fingers slightly as if she could go and create booze. She absolutely cannot, of course, or she wouldn’t be drinking piss in a tiny little tavern in Halo. Hell, she probably wouldn’t be drinking there in general if given the option, but there were not a lot of great options in Halo in general. He smirks at her attempt for information, and she only smiles back. “You would be bad at seedy things if you didn’t keep them hidden.” she replies with a quirk of her head.
There is something flirtatious in her behavior, not quite the same as the easy and casual flirting that has passed between them already, though it is subtle. It is the sort of flirtation that is used for a purpose, and though she suspects he’s smart enough to know this, it doesn’t necessarily make it less effective. Not if he’s looking for a reason to trust her, to be able to tell her. He leans in, his breath warm against her ear as he speaks. As he leans back, he’ll see a wicked, mischievous smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes. It is still very much her smile, but there’s something darker and intrigued behind it now. They are still very much her eyes, but there’s something on fire in them now.
“Darling, I am the drama,” she says, as if causing a bit of chaos is second nature to her (and perhaps in some ways it is, though never before on a large scale). “And why do you think I like bars so much? I mean, the booze is good…” The words she does not speak are obvious enough. You go to bars to hear, to see, to learn. You go to bars because, when you are by yourself, it is the quickest and easiest way to gather information. She picks up her vodka and takes another sip.
There is something flirtatious in her behavior, not quite the same as the easy and casual flirting that has passed between them already, though it is subtle. It is the sort of flirtation that is used for a purpose, and though she suspects he’s smart enough to know this, it doesn’t necessarily make it less effective. Not if he’s looking for a reason to trust her, to be able to tell her. He leans in, his breath warm against her ear as he speaks. As he leans back, he’ll see a wicked, mischievous smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes. It is still very much her smile, but there’s something darker and intrigued behind it now. They are still very much her eyes, but there’s something on fire in them now.
“Darling, I am the drama,” she says, as if causing a bit of chaos is second nature to her (and perhaps in some ways it is, though never before on a large scale). “And why do you think I like bars so much? I mean, the booze is good…” The words she does not speak are obvious enough. You go to bars to hear, to see, to learn. You go to bars because, when you are by yourself, it is the quickest and easiest way to gather information. She picks up her vodka and takes another sip.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
