Re: The Cat: Rae and Kratos
Rae wouldn't have been gratified to know her depths weren't lost on the man, as she expected the substance to be acknowledged without question. She carried reams and reams and a realm in her wake and she was contained but no one had forgotten exactly, what had poured through the town after the noise. She didn't fear him. He was excessively large, and excessively taciturn and he'd her language to command but she slid from faintly-accented English to Norse to Greek apparently without effort.
She hadn't contemplated his father. Her brow wrinkled a fraction. "I fear for your mother, more than anything. Painful," she said, with the manufactured distaste of one woman remarking on another. It was a boring observation, but it was one for humor and misdirection. Rae didn't want to talk of parentage any more than he did.
She'd had countless offers made across countless surfaces. There had been something of a wasteland of bodies in Mexico, once. He was bald, but he wasn't truthfully blunt. It wasn't a question, it wasn't even an articulated offer. Rae smiled. It was the curled, private smile of a woman entirely capable of satisfaction regardless of who she took it from.
"Do you want me?" she said. It was amused; there was a fractional note of demand leaned sweetly into it. Worship was worship. "Say it, darling. Proposition me."