Oh, how she adored when people dished the haps on their vampiric romances. Who doesn’t thrill in a peachy, undead love story? She gluts on what details he offers, slim and surface-level, minor as they are. Her eyes are all aglow, cartoonishly swollen with glee and interest. See? She wasn’t always winter’s daughter, moonstoned and icy. Claudia hoarded these shimmering factoids in the treasure box of her mind. A smile slipped predominantly up into one side of her face, “Well,” she said, “Oh, la la…”
She was, however, disappointed that he didn’t seem to remember the other Ariel that people may or may not know, of the Disney variety. “Actually,” she said, “There is the little mermaid Ariel, but we both know she doesn’t matter, though she is a redhead, but definitely not a hot Italian. Ariel is a beautiful boy. Violent, too. He’s quite a catch. Lucky you.” Inwardly, she congratulated herself for rhyming. A job well done, really.
Dirty hands? Well, she could do dirty hands. She unfolded from her lean on the counter and straightened up, crossed her arms. She wasn’t being defensive in her body language, peering at him from over her non-prescription dork glasses. It seemed she was just shifting position, that this was a natural pose for her. “I can do dirty. I can do slippery, too. Maybe not so much sticky. But dirty, I can work with that. When do I start this new, fruitful venture?”