Her arms crossed unholy, skeptical and waiting in a manner that didn't predict pleasure over her infamy. There were so many interesting retellings that he could have heard, after all. Perhaps how she'd kept her writing songbird beneath lock and key? Or how she'd pushed Little Red down the stairs, head over heels?
I heard that you were lingering in the hallways like vanilla hookah smoke...
That sounded about right.
and praying for someone to come and save you...
An eyebrow skewed in rough determination, turned off and appalled by the realization of this lie.
"I see."
Rolling the Bic's little, metal death wheel beneath her thumb, she lit his cigarette in a nonchalant flourish, exhaling her own smoke tediously, "It's a good thing you're here, then.."