[A scene doesn't require two people to enjoy; Charlie's enjoyed plenty of shows of his own making, other participants unwilling and genuinely blustering through a cockeyed scenario. He's no expert conductor, simply an opportunist who knows what button to push.

In his singular enjoyment, he's never developed any skill for playacting.

Just play.

Even when there's another participant - as Kiritsubo squirms in his grasp and puffs her cheeks with cute indignant anger - he doesn't adopt a different affect. Charlie is always Charlie. An aggressor, a transgressor, a brat. He leers down at the tiny creature, brows raised in a faux display of being caught in a devious act.

The expression does little to dampen his sinister glee, a shrug his only promise when she propositions him to dry her clothing. He wraps the tiny dress in his pinky and ring finger, tucking it into his palm beneath where his capture is held stuck.]

Yeah, I see that. But I don't think it's all my fault...

[Completely bared, it's even easier to run a finger down her side to nestle it between her thighs. Charlie delights in easy victories; his tongue toys with his bottom incisor. What would a nibble feel like-? A curiosity delayed, not denied, much like the urge that had initiated their little game.

He nudges her mound with the tip of his finger, twisting it to rub the pad into her pussy. A small sheen coats his death-pale skin, slicking over a wider swath as he begins to brush his finger up and down her cunt, quick little motions. Gentle, too - teasing rather than coddling.]

Why should I dry you off when you're the one makin' the mess?