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Vaughn Davis (shebringscurses) wrote in bellumlogs,

Gloves. How unusual. Vaughn tightened the autumnal mulch of her borrowed eyes on him, collecting details from his toes to the tiptop of his hat's avian embellishment. Meticulously dragging the facts beneath her vultured wings for devouring later; he was roaming the halls, and it was quite late, he seemed confused, or just distracted.

The woman did not seem to mind that the epicenter of his focus was reigned on the hall itself and not her. Vaughn quite preferred to go unnoticed, to be of no concern, to slip between the cracks and carry on with her study. She seemed to be intently staring at his knees when the man turned to speak, and her attention was slow in rising. Notably undisturbed by the awareness that most people did not enjoy being so obviously contemplated, she made no expression to hide it. The chocolate script of an eyebrow hiked, almost patronizing in it's bemusement when he mentioned the elevator. Had nobody told this poor, new soul that the evil steel box could not be trusted? How rude of them!

She was attentive when he spoke, pale mouth curling into a slyfox smile. Such words! They danced like smoke & mirrors, and it was quite captivating, although a tad too unusual to be devious. He reminded her of a ringmaster more than a con artist, and Vaughn straightened from her slouched curl against the stairwell's entryway. "Jane.. they call me Jane."

She even had the gall to pluck the laced hem of her slip's skirt with two scissored fingers in a mild, but surprisingly unmocking, kind of curtsy.