Re: Mat & Ren || Heading toward the Docks
“Don’t bother,” she thoughtfully recommends, in place of namesakes. Simmering close, closer, closest, right there. Until finally near enough to outline, is Lady Macbeth embodied. The swale of glistering emerald scales on that dress sparking from pirouettes of moonshine, looking almost unnervingly sentient, as if she skinned a mercreature to envelope herself in slippery nuance. She isn’t usually the type for witchy overshare, either. But, she’s also not accustomed to fatefully stumbling upon other supernatural kinfolk. Consequently, like any good diabolical anti-hero, she’s preparing her forthcoming monologue of immoral plans with his company. “You won’t remember what happens tonight, anyway.” she forebodes, beaming. “Ready for a splash?”
For you see, he’s just been selected as an unwilling volunteer for practicing the rusty sport of her concilium tonight, eventually. What good fortune! She discards the cigarette into shadows, where it palpitates, dying. Hacks her height to essentially a speck in comparison to this looming lakeside stranger by nudging off those expensive highheels. She politely places down the cocktail glass. Like some diaphanous naiad bridal carried out of a sailor’s horror story, she smiles, pearly and even and (peculiarly) sincere. “Since this is a party skinny dip, we could always do the half-decent rule. In case they have to extract us out of this bog, like bad teeth. Every time I’ve died, it’s always been in La Perla anyway,” she shrugs, intrepidly.
Turning around, she shifts her hair out of the way of the cold, silver tongue of the back zipper, opens her arms balletically, saying “Undo me.”