And they lived comfortably ever after, boob in hand
"And thank the gods for that," Quentin beams with all the gratitude of a flower to the dawn. "There should be far more fucking than analyzing in the world, in my humble opinion." Though he says it, there's not a humble bone or thought that belongs to him, but it feels right in the same way an atheist still proclaims bless you! following a sneeze. That Quentin happens to be analyzing fucking is a truth he doesn't bother to register, much like a shoplifter.
"Is that what that does?" His gaze narrows a touch on Danta's fresh teeth, and it's all he can do to keep from reaching out to run his finger over them. "Here I thought that was just an illusion, and a fine way of saying how glamorous you all are." The tails and horns he'd known about, and nods in emphatic agreement with Danta's assessment of the possible troubles otherwise, sometimes welcome, sometimes less so. "Oh, don't I know it! Once met a fellow who had just the one right in the center of his forehead, like a unicorn. He was a favorite at the bar for drinking games." Ring-toss on legs.
Instead of laughter, a knowing sort of twinkle finds his eye as Quentin finishes off his drink on the heels of Danta's astute quote. "Quite. No one wants anything bland." Not to eat. Not to read. Not to fuck. Which, is exactly why he's in the business he's in.
"Do you think?" he considers of Danta's input with a tilt to his head. Angles, and all. "Yes, maybe I am rushing the climax." Of the book, or otherwise. "More tension is needed," he agrees with a deep nod, and from behind them a woman who looks remarkably like Danta with tits and longer hair sashays forth. There's more to her than just the lady lumps and length—curves where they matter, a presence of sin, a mouth that draws the eye as it pops open with a stray breath—but she may as well be his near-identical sister for all the other noticeable traits to her.
She, Dianta, let's call her, reaches out with a hand towards Gary. The touch is light on his shoulder, her body already curling around behind him to the other side, causing him to turn one way and then the other which leaves her positively grinning, fangs and all. Her tail slaps him smartly on the ass, causing the startled man's hips to tuck in a bit, right into her awaiting palm which slides down to take him from Vivian. This, of course, earns a bit of an upset scoff from Vivian, who glances pointedly to Quentin, who only shrugs, the motion of his shoulders suggesting she do the very same, roll with it. The illusion falters a bit where it comes into contact with Gary's rousing erection, stuttering beneath the muddled concentration of someone more than one martini deep.
"Is that what that does?" His gaze narrows a touch on Danta's fresh teeth, and it's all he can do to keep from reaching out to run his finger over them. "Here I thought that was just an illusion, and a fine way of saying how glamorous you all are." The tails and horns he'd known about, and nods in emphatic agreement with Danta's assessment of the possible troubles otherwise, sometimes welcome, sometimes less so. "Oh, don't I know it! Once met a fellow who had just the one right in the center of his forehead, like a unicorn. He was a favorite at the bar for drinking games." Ring-toss on legs.
Instead of laughter, a knowing sort of twinkle finds his eye as Quentin finishes off his drink on the heels of Danta's astute quote. "Quite. No one wants anything bland." Not to eat. Not to read. Not to fuck. Which, is exactly why he's in the business he's in.
"Do you think?" he considers of Danta's input with a tilt to his head. Angles, and all. "Yes, maybe I am rushing the climax." Of the book, or otherwise. "More tension is needed," he agrees with a deep nod, and from behind them a woman who looks remarkably like Danta with tits and longer hair sashays forth. There's more to her than just the lady lumps and length—curves where they matter, a presence of sin, a mouth that draws the eye as it pops open with a stray breath—but she may as well be his near-identical sister for all the other noticeable traits to her.
She, Dianta, let's call her, reaches out with a hand towards Gary. The touch is light on his shoulder, her body already curling around behind him to the other side, causing him to turn one way and then the other which leaves her positively grinning, fangs and all. Her tail slaps him smartly on the ass, causing the startled man's hips to tuck in a bit, right into her awaiting palm which slides down to take him from Vivian. This, of course, earns a bit of an upset scoff from Vivian, who glances pointedly to Quentin, who only shrugs, the motion of his shoulders suggesting she do the very same, roll with it. The illusion falters a bit where it comes into contact with Gary's rousing erection, stuttering beneath the muddled concentration of someone more than one martini deep.
Quentin
