Re: Roof. Beneath the angel statue.
In the way of children that haven't stopped believing in shit they can't see with their own eyes, she sensed something at her elbow, and she poked a chipped red fingernail at the space in the darkness. Something in her head believed in ghosts, and she ran with it, because why the fuck not? They were more likely than innocent virgins in red hoods.
She couldn't see him, but she could see the tux, and she leaned back against her angel and propped her feet on the stone in front of her. "Nice duds," she said, her harlot's mouth settling into a smirk that obviously spent a lot of time on those lips. She didn't sound particularly impressed, because money didn't say anything about a person, not anything Our Red cared about, anyway.
The flicker to her lap caused her to look down, and the white palm surfaced again in front of her face. Maybe it had something to do with proximity, but whatever, the tingles, those she could live with. "Careful. You'll turn a girl on, baby," she said, but there was enough husky tease in the words to indicate a lack of seriousness. Whether or not he would realize there was more to the girl in red than what was on the surface, that remained to be seen.