(o) quiet are the earth's graves

lily from what i’ve tasted of desire i hold with those who favor fire She shamelessly giggles when he trips, unaware that she’s the one who caused the misstep. In fact, as he mentions New York, she gasps and nods enthusiastically, “Oh, yes!” escaping until he finishes with 2150. Her eyes go wide. 2150? But that’s… that’s almost four hundred years after her. “2150?” she repeats faintly, incredulous. There’s the distinct need to sit down, but alas, there’s nowhere to sit down, so she makes her legs keep moving. “We could be -” she almost finishes that sentence with ‘- be related’ but can’t bring herself to do it. He’s too nice and handsome and she doesn’t want to ruin anything by suggesting that she might be a distant, distant eight or ten times grandmother. “Nevermind. Ah, I’m an… entertainer. Former lady’s maid. It’s a whole story.” Brushing that aside for a moment, she’s painfully aware that they’ve reached houses again and becomes unusually shy, quiet and looking down at her feet. Absently, the redhead plucks a single flower from her small bouquet and offers it to Harper. “I’d like that. Sooner rather than later. Come to my place some time? It’s the house with the blue door and the yellow star. Can’t miss it.” She pauses. Well, maybe not. "Or we could meet at the VlamVloed?" They could have a drink then, sit in a darkish corner...