Rumour has it that the world is getting smaller every day, but the way Ninon sees it people are just getting bigger as the little worlds that they live in begin to overlap and new and more interesting ways with each new generation. This is preferable for two reasons; firstly, that change and progress are fascinating and much moreso on that personal level, and secondly that if the world were actually getting smaller she'd have a good deal more trouble finding places to resettle.
The last time Ninon had much to do in London was a good forty years ago- and it's better that way, if she spaces these things out. The little ways she avoids becoming an inconveniently familiar face keep her always in motion, and it's how she prefers to be-
-like now, untangling her velvet jacket from the cafe's doorhandle and apologizing profusely to the couple trailing in behind her, carrying a small square box (with a ribbon!) under one arm and darting to Nico's table with a light-footedness that just looks oddly placed with her solidly-heeled ankle boots
( ... )
Nico's always wondered a little about Ninon, but attributed it to her own tendency to see strangeness where there is none; her family has long grown accustomed to giving each other sideways glances about the youngest and most tempestuous of them. Nico rises in order to willingly surrender to the theatrics of air-kisses, smiling brightly.
"Hello, darling! You look good. Bohemian." Little does she know... but sometimes Nico says things like that, things so on the nose it might make you wonder what she knows. It's part of the gifts she hasn't awoken yet, and the way they struggle to the surface even while tightly bound.
"I got us the best table in the place; I had to fight a couple people for it, very bloody," Nico says, gesturing at their table and returning to her seat at it.
Ninon isn't so much out of this world as just slightly, benevolently above it; she's always been like that (for as long as anyone remembers-), baby-faced and bright, and some people have found it more charming than others. She's got a blithe way about her that sidesteps questions and suggests there doesn't need to be an explanation because there are plenty of silly people in the world and she just happens to be one of them. If nothing else, it makes her lively company.
The compliment gets a twirl, on that note - her jacket flares out and so does her necklace, her dress doesn't - and she sinks down in a motion that takes up so much more space than she needs, enthusing, "My hero," with a hand flung to her heart. "You look very good for fighting all the battles- London must like you." Like the city has a heart beating as hard as Ninon's. "I like you, I have something for you-"
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Rumour has it that the world is getting smaller every day, but the way Ninon sees it people are just getting bigger as the little worlds that they live in begin to overlap and new and more interesting ways with each new generation. This is preferable for two reasons; firstly, that change and progress are fascinating and much moreso on that personal level, and secondly that if the world were actually getting smaller she'd have a good deal more trouble finding places to resettle.
The last time Ninon had much to do in London was a good forty years ago- and it's better that way, if she spaces these things out. The little ways she avoids becoming an inconveniently familiar face keep her always in motion, and it's how she prefers to be-
-like now, untangling her velvet jacket from the cafe's doorhandle and apologizing profusely to the couple trailing in behind her, carrying a small square box (with a ribbon!) under one arm and darting to Nico's table with a light-footedness that just looks oddly placed with her solidly-heeled ankle boots ( ... )
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Nico's always wondered a little about Ninon, but attributed it to her own tendency to see strangeness where there is none; her family has long grown accustomed to giving each other sideways glances about the youngest and most tempestuous of them. Nico rises in order to willingly surrender to the theatrics of air-kisses, smiling brightly.
"Hello, darling! You look good. Bohemian." Little does she know... but sometimes Nico says things like that, things so on the nose it might make you wonder what she knows. It's part of the gifts she hasn't awoken yet, and the way they struggle to the surface even while tightly bound.
"I got us the best table in the place; I had to fight a couple people for it, very bloody," Nico says, gesturing at their table and returning to her seat at it.
Reply
Ninon isn't so much out of this world as just slightly, benevolently above it; she's always been like that (for as long as anyone remembers-), baby-faced and bright, and some people have found it more charming than others. She's got a blithe way about her that sidesteps questions and suggests there doesn't need to be an explanation because there are plenty of silly people in the world and she just happens to be one of them. If nothing else, it makes her lively company.
The compliment gets a twirl, on that note - her jacket flares out and so does her necklace, her dress doesn't - and she sinks down in a motion that takes up so much more space than she needs, enthusing, "My hero," with a hand flung to her heart. "You look very good for fighting all the battles- London must like you." Like the city has a heart beating as hard as Ninon's. "I like you, I have something for you-"
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Nicoline sits with her elbows (improper!) on the table top, her chin in one hand, eyes wide. She leans forward, attentive.
"Is it diamonds?"
(She's kidding. Her dad gets her diamonds! Instead of paying attention to her.)
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