Re: Cass & Mat: the Quiet Home
“Well, yeah.” she flares a little, a vampiric peep of fang by way of curled lip here, a channel slivering up her brow like a duet of devils’ horns, there. Sarcastically, mind you. And though it’s likely invisible to medication-bleary, doll-like eyes such as the lovely Cassie’s, underneath Mat’s ridiculous couture sunglasses and their impossible gloom-tint, she’s narrow. “Contrary to what might be popular belief, I’m a pussy for promises.” and for people she actually likes, and she likes Cassie. Congratulations. Why wouldn’t she? How could she not? The girl is Dracula’s bride, an anesthetized Lucy Westenra, in need of springing from a manor window in Whitby before she becomes the Bloofer Lady.
Unsurprisingly, what has followed the funereal black Chanel and her needle-thin high heels, is a trail of cigarette smoke. Her slender arms are crossed, drawing in the last of it. “So what’s the hot goss with this shithole?” she asks, with some dismissive, fluttering gesture of her frail wrist. “Is this where they stick all the people they think need their magic-dulling, bullshit meds?”