(Untitled)
A girl in false skins could sit at the Bar all day and no-one would know the difference. She could sit and brood in her silent hate; imagining a scene of pale fingers tangled in red curls, silver hair trailing around a beautiful face as they kissed. She could just sit. Sit and let the self-pity overtake her.
Just for now.
Just for now.
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Now there is something she recognizes - breathes deeply, eyes closing to pleased slits - something completely familiar about it, curling red and sugar-sweet.
A slow slide of that dark gaze, lips curving into something of a (wicked) pleasant smile.
"Looks like you could use something yourself, dear."
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"Gram said never to talk to strangers." There's a hint of quiet mocking in the voice, the brash boldness that might have been there if only Kaye could summon the energy.
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Easily, an amused twist to her smile - voice low and slow, honeyed.
She sits as well and perhaps it's darker where she is, long legs and an elegant tilt of her head - silence and shadows and people who don't quite fit their shapes. And still she offers no name. Just breathes in steam and clawingdesperatehate, simply lovely.
"But you've seen stranger, I'm sure."
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No way, not this time.
This false sense of control, was in fact, what got Kaye into more trouble than anything else. She stays where she should walk away. Speaks when she should be quiet.
"She was right. Leads to heartbreak." A short laugh. "So which one are you. Desire or Pain, or some other being who can make me quiver in my boots?"
Kaye was quivering. From anger more than fear. A false high thrumming through her veins, pixie senses twitching.
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