Re: Balcony
His attention drew itself to the movements she made with no particular emphasis behind it but the friction of something moving and his gaze following along after it. It lingered on the bared neck, and it slid casually across the thin dress and it drifted back around to the child's toy of a landscape that lay beyond. Russ watched her, and he listened to the note of some substance or another that tangled itself up in her words, and he laughed, a brief, lazy sound that sounded like indulgence.
"I ain't hiding," he said, and he waved a hand in her direction, all smoke and glowing cigarette end, "Most people ain't mad keen to get a faceful of smoke. Why don't you go to parties, beautiful?" It was a languid thing, Russ's interest - it was briefly caught, but not substantially so and the diminutive had a vague note to it, as if there were no weight placed on it but an easiness with affectionate nicknames doled out for free.