( there's a startled laugh at his clarification, and with it, her feathers stick out of one side of her glossy black wig like a bird flying straight out of the brush. )
Is it really so easy to understand what we want here, when it seems like it's under duress—
( but his gesture... but that's really just so embarrassing. it does — catch her clear off guard when he points out her wardrobe malfunction with some small, noticeable gesture that curls the smoke in the air like a question mark. one stark white wing flutters like a live thing trapped under the fall of her hair. she, comically, claps a hand right over it, unruly feathers poking out between her fingers as she hunches sideways on her stool to duck out from his line of sight. )
E—excuse me...
( though it's nothing she should hide, per se, which makes the warmth at the tips of her ears and the accompanying mortification make her want to cringe right out of her mortal body. she has no recognition on this side of whatever galaxy — right? no sense in thinking a scandal will get published on a tabloid... but there's always after the reveal to think about, if somehow word got out that the songstress robin had been kidnapped and made to play in a... sex casino.
maybe she's still thinking about pr damage, even as she's hunched over and fixing her hair and looking more rattled than put-together with the broken bird wings flapping sadly along the bare plane of her back.
moreso when she's offering a conversation in the exact same position, turned away from him, less because she's shy and more because she must be having some trouble with her wig and wings. shame her intention doesn't matter. it's how it looks that does. )
... Forgive me. What I meant by strategy might have been presumption of what I thought you wanted.
You just seem like you really don't want to use it...
( thank you miss obvious. but the next question comes out... with a hint of careful consideration from the other side of the bar stool. )
... but would that change with a willing participant?
no subject
Is it really so easy to understand what we want here, when it seems like it's under duress—
( but his gesture... but that's really just so embarrassing. it does — catch her clear off guard when he points out her wardrobe malfunction with some small, noticeable gesture that curls the smoke in the air like a question mark. one stark white wing flutters like a live thing trapped under the fall of her hair. she, comically, claps a hand right over it, unruly feathers poking out between her fingers as she hunches sideways on her stool to duck out from his line of sight. )
E—excuse me...
( though it's nothing she should hide, per se, which makes the warmth at the tips of her ears and the accompanying mortification make her want to cringe right out of her mortal body. she has no recognition on this side of whatever galaxy — right? no sense in thinking a scandal will get published on a tabloid... but there's always after the reveal to think about, if somehow word got out that the songstress robin had been kidnapped and made to play in a... sex casino.
maybe she's still thinking about pr damage, even as she's hunched over and fixing her hair and looking more rattled than put-together with the broken bird wings flapping sadly along the bare plane of her back.
moreso when she's offering a conversation in the exact same position, turned away from him, less because she's shy and more because she must be having some trouble with her wig and wings. shame her intention doesn't matter. it's how it looks that does. )
... Forgive me. What I meant by strategy might have been presumption of what I thought you wanted.
You just seem like you really don't want to use it...
( thank you miss obvious. but the next question comes out... with a hint of careful consideration from the other side of the bar stool. )
... but would that change with a willing participant?