The feeling of her eyes burn on Finch like a sizzling candle wick on wetted fingers, and it's bad news for her that the thief has always enjoyed playing with fire. Her words, clearly intended to be biting and to strike in a personal place, bounce harmlessly against his thick charmer's skin. One does not grow to be nearly as slippery as Finch by allowing every tossed insult to burrow down into shaking self-worth. This sharp-edged woman could wield her words as a blade but did not know where Finch's soft spots were; he was just an irritant in a bar to her, a flickering accouterment within this seedy place, and that which could hurt him was buried so deep under layers of false, cocky charm that not even this jagged-edged stranger, with his glinting fangs and dark-set eyes, can peel them back.
At least he hopes.
"They sure do," He grins, not missing a beat, batting his eyelashes to boot. If someone passes their finger over a candle quickly enough, they evade a burn. Finch dances his hand above the candle, as he has all his life, fingers covered in long-healed burns. He cannot keep away from the flame. He does, however, lean back against the bar, lengthening the distance between them. Slightly more out of stabbing distance. Just because he likes to flirt with danger doesn't mean he wishes for a knife in the gut -- he's had enough of that for one lifetime.
He raises an eyebrow, looks into the eye of the storm. "So. You're not easily impressed. I respect that. What does impress you?" His smile doesn't falter.
At least he hopes.
"They sure do," He grins, not missing a beat, batting his eyelashes to boot. If someone passes their finger over a candle quickly enough, they evade a burn. Finch dances his hand above the candle, as he has all his life, fingers covered in long-healed burns. He cannot keep away from the flame. He does, however, lean back against the bar, lengthening the distance between them. Slightly more out of stabbing distance. Just because he likes to flirt with danger doesn't mean he wishes for a knife in the gut -- he's had enough of that for one lifetime.
He raises an eyebrow, looks into the eye of the storm. "So. You're not easily impressed. I respect that. What does impress you?" His smile doesn't falter.
