Roger? Who the hell was Roger? Golden toothbrushes? Marlowe laughed half-heartedly, as one would sharing an inside joke. Good old Roger and his toothbrushes. "Yeah I'll check into it." She cranked a brow, eschewing further discussion of the subject. As soon a she got herself safely away from the situation with neck intact, she'd remember not to double the Oracle and her madcap life again. She thought of the joke about a robber breaking into a shitty home and donating half his nightly haul - 'you live like this?!'
No. Composing herself before her nerves and frustration showed on her face, she responded like he'd flattered her. "That's sweet, but I need to stop at the Bandaid Station. Some personal matters." There, take a hint you frostbitten troglodyte.
Reigning in the urge to snip at him to hurry a conclusion of this nightmarish exchange, the way his edges smoothed with the admittance that he didn't want to leave her yanked on her heartstrings. She hadn't heard of Knights caring for much of anything but the task, and the fulfillment of the barbarous instincts which drove them late in their service to the Queen. This man clearly did though, about a buttoned up monochromatic spaz. In the words of Carroll, curiouser and curiouser. Marlowe nodded confirmation to...whatever it was he asked after. She hadn't the slightest clue. He'd leapt from talk of the Menagerie to an intensity which lacked any leading queues. Jigsaw puzzles were fun only when you had an idea of the picture you were putting together.
Then, in her irritation, she went and fucked up. "Not with who?"
She should have known that. James would probably expect her to. She had to think fast. Improv, improv, yes and... Playing the question as a rhetorical dig, she moved sinuously against his tall frame, turning the blunder into the suggestion that no one but he showed up on her radar. With who? Who else would she possibly think about? The gamble was tremendous. With all her chips on the table and a dismal hand, she had to sell the ploy and keep him from asking clarifying questions she wouldn't be able to answer. "I don't want to talk about it," she purred, tightening her hand in the soft waves behind his head. "I need half an hour," she insisted, dragging his mouth to hers for a soft kiss. "Trust me." Her plea a warm whisper against his lips, she banked on the promise of more to ensure her escape. Men tended not to ask many annoying questions when they thought there was something in it for them. She almost felt badly about the mess the Oracle would have to clean, but it wouldn't be her mess, or her neck. Another kiss teased his lower lip, a slow drag that suggested want and restraint, for now. "Find me later. You remember the way."