As the woman's face darkens into something dangerous rather than just sharply unimpressed, Finch is almost surprised they reached this point this quickly. He cocks his head just slightly, examining her. He doesn't want to call her bluff, has no doubt that she's just as dangerous as her posture and demeanor would indicate, and playing with matches is a very different activity than getting lit one fire. Contrary to popular belief, the spindly thief does have a sense of self-preservation and knows when he's reached the very end of someone's rope. His evening companion, with her narrowing face strained with intensity, seems to be reaching the end of her goodwill towards her nagging conversation partner.
His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly as he reads the look on her face, absorbing it with a level of open curiosity that may read as anachronistic to his previous carelessness. As warning as the look in her eye is, he recognizes it as well, knows it for the beginning of a game of chicken and if he backs out now, it may be worse than merely walking away from the bar with empty pockets. The two have entered into some new space now, beyond trading casual blows and Finch trying to get a rise out of her for the sake of proving he can, and Finch's cheerful, carefree energy subsides into something more focused, more intense. Something close to curiosity and cunning settles in his eyes, and his grin settles from his handsome smile into a foxlike half-smirk. Finch is a thief, not a pickpocket, and the silent, stalking energy needed for that profession settles into his shoulders.
"Alright," He concedes, lifting a careful shoulder in a measured shrug. His curiosity that drove him to start nagging had firmly crossed into dedicated interest, and though his body does not lean any closer, it seems the scope of his world focuses on her. Finch would not backflip (literally) to impress her, nor would he prod for the sole reaction of getting a rise, but he would not back down from her challenge, either. His dark, glittering eyes continued to bear into hers, unyielding. "So, I can't impress you, nor can I surprise you. What can I do, then?" It's as much a challenge as her words were, and he half-expects her to tell him to fuck off and leave her alone. But now, his words are edged with a glittering edge of curiosity and the flash of dagger-metal where a concealed knife may hit the light. It's not a threat -- not anywhere close, he's not stupid -- but certainly a change from his light, teasing words from earlier. He speaks as a thief looking for an opening, not a tipsy conman at a bar.
His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly as he reads the look on her face, absorbing it with a level of open curiosity that may read as anachronistic to his previous carelessness. As warning as the look in her eye is, he recognizes it as well, knows it for the beginning of a game of chicken and if he backs out now, it may be worse than merely walking away from the bar with empty pockets. The two have entered into some new space now, beyond trading casual blows and Finch trying to get a rise out of her for the sake of proving he can, and Finch's cheerful, carefree energy subsides into something more focused, more intense. Something close to curiosity and cunning settles in his eyes, and his grin settles from his handsome smile into a foxlike half-smirk. Finch is a thief, not a pickpocket, and the silent, stalking energy needed for that profession settles into his shoulders.
"Alright," He concedes, lifting a careful shoulder in a measured shrug. His curiosity that drove him to start nagging had firmly crossed into dedicated interest, and though his body does not lean any closer, it seems the scope of his world focuses on her. Finch would not backflip (literally) to impress her, nor would he prod for the sole reaction of getting a rise, but he would not back down from her challenge, either. His dark, glittering eyes continued to bear into hers, unyielding. "So, I can't impress you, nor can I surprise you. What can I do, then?" It's as much a challenge as her words were, and he half-expects her to tell him to fuck off and leave her alone. But now, his words are edged with a glittering edge of curiosity and the flash of dagger-metal where a concealed knife may hit the light. It's not a threat -- not anywhere close, he's not stupid -- but certainly a change from his light, teasing words from earlier. He speaks as a thief looking for an opening, not a tipsy conman at a bar.
