Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room
She was woman in the leg and the arm, pale expanse of skin that made him a little more comfortable than the ears and the tail and the teeth but she was all annoyed woman with that push at his shoulder and the man laughed, a huff of warm breath beneath the cotton because a little thing like her wouldn’t move him much if he didn’t want to go. The shoulder she’d gone shoving at was solid, that was hours working where men just got on and did things and she’d know that right then. Her voice made it plain he’d ruffled her fur and that mattered a little but not a lot, not until the claws came out. She was just plain huffy, and that was woman’s reaction, nothing cat as far as he knew. “You tell me then, all about keeping the cats I’ll never have,” he encouraged her.
She didn’t look much like the law. If they made them that way maybe the gunslinger would get acquainted and be polite about it but he knew the law and how it came calling well enough to know they never would. Out in the world, when they weren’t in the belly of a ship, maybe his face had a reason to stay covered up but there was nothing springing to mind when the smoke billowed above the heads of so many sitting around like furious chimneys. Her fingers glided across the fabric, pressure along the line of his chin and he leaned a little closer over the cushions until the warm breadth of space that had been between them was a little further closed up until you couldn’t squeak a mouse through it.
“Who are they?” he asked, slow with her hand up against his face like those claws were too close for anything but care, “You have a name all picked out, I’ll use it.”