( amazing how easily she can tell that she did something wrong, even when the impression's made in bas-relief, with no real form or substance to base it on. she doesn't need to sense emotion to see it anyway, from his large gulp of burning top-shelf liquor, or the way he grips his glass for that single instant, forming some bloodless white line across the meat of his palm before he sets it down.
all easier things to read. but not nearly as easy as chivalry can die when this young man goes through at least four out of the seven stages of grief with one shake of his head.
she... thinks for a moment, standing there, awkwardly quiet and a little guilty as aki commits through his array of vices in record time and holds a cigarette box for her to decline with a soft no, thank you. he's so transactional about it. she's had business dealings with agencies that had more emotion. his poker face is rather impressive if the other little tells didn't give him away. )
I... don't really intend to slack off on the clock. ( she offers earnestly, coming to a decision after a moment of regarding his hunched over form. she probably means it by the way she's collecting other empty glasses to pile on top of the tray she now sets on the counter, heavy enough to wonder if she's really got the arm strength to bring it back with her to the kitchen.
when she eventually goes back anyway. because she slides into the bar stool next to aki after she finishes tidying up, her feather trail of skirt flaring behind her like she's coming to perch. she's looking at... the vibrator... and then to him and then back again, in that order. like she's deliberating with him how best to dispatch a poisonous snake. ) But part of my job description is to entertain guests, I guess.
Three hours, is it?
( or so she surmises, from the countdown she might've glanced at his wrist. )
no subject
( amazing how easily she can tell that she did something wrong, even when the impression's made in bas-relief, with no real form or substance to base it on. she doesn't need to sense emotion to see it anyway, from his large gulp of burning top-shelf liquor, or the way he grips his glass for that single instant, forming some bloodless white line across the meat of his palm before he sets it down.
all easier things to read. but not nearly as easy as chivalry can die when this young man goes through at least four out of the seven stages of grief with one shake of his head.
she... thinks for a moment, standing there, awkwardly quiet and a little guilty as aki commits through his array of vices in record time and holds a cigarette box for her to decline with a soft no, thank you. he's so transactional about it. she's had business dealings with agencies that had more emotion. his poker face is rather impressive if the other little tells didn't give him away. )
I... don't really intend to slack off on the clock. ( she offers earnestly, coming to a decision after a moment of regarding his hunched over form. she probably means it by the way she's collecting other empty glasses to pile on top of the tray she now sets on the counter, heavy enough to wonder if she's really got the arm strength to bring it back with her to the kitchen.
when she eventually goes back anyway. because she slides into the bar stool next to aki after she finishes tidying up, her feather trail of skirt flaring behind her like she's coming to perch. she's looking at... the vibrator... and then to him and then back again, in that order. like she's deliberating with him how best to dispatch a poisonous snake. ) But part of my job description is to entertain guests, I guess.
Three hours, is it?
( or so she surmises, from the countdown she might've glanced at his wrist. )
Plenty of time to come up with a new strategy.
( ... )