( wings. it's to be expected, because what else would feathers mean, but even so--a little jarring to see, a little jarring to experience, and the slight wince of his features is held at bay, trapped instead by another pass of smoke. he can't make assumptions because it's not relevant, here, but the reluctance simmers inside of him despite it; how much longer does he have left? two years, maybe less? and how much more would an angelic creature like this take from him, what would the resort do about it, is it tied to the fact that his summoning doesn't work here?

all questions that swim--and drown, once he takes up his glass, carefully swallowing the last of the liquor in it. )

I'm boring, and lack all measure of charm. ( there's no vitriol in his voice, like these are words he's heard before that have hurt him; rather, he's almost amused, as though saying it out loud relieves him of the burden of expectation. ) And I have no dignity left. If that doesn't bother you, then...

( then there's just the matter of everything else. snubbing out his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, he palms his lighter, the box, sliding it down into one of the pockets of his suit jacket; he pushes his weight up onto his feet, hands sliding to snag the button at the front of the jacket into its hole. once that's done, he offers a palmed gesture towards her tray.

a quiet lift of the brow--and then reluctantly, grimly, he reaches to take the vibrator in hand as well. )

Can I take that back to the kitchen for you? ( or is it safe to leave it here? he doesn't want her to get into trouble on his behalf. ) We'll have to find a room, unless you want to do it back there.

( given the things he's seen in this place, having sex in the back of a kitchen would be the most tame. )