Re: The Mean-Eyed Cat: Cat/Steve
Cat did know a thing or two about being a thing. Not that the woman in the catsuit had been a thing, but the people of Jersey sure didn't think of the cat burglar that regularly swung overhead as a person with feelings and flaws. She was a catsuit and a rumor, something to be drooled over, but she wasn't her. So, yeah, she got it.
Cat mocked him affectionately. She and Steve seldom saw eye to eye, but she cared about the man. She was loyal to him, and she would do anything he asked of her. There was something old there, and she knew he was a 100, but she was pretty sure he didn't out-age her too badly in true, living years. Anyway, she watched as he tucked the joint between his lips, and she downed the last drink he poured her. "You know me, handsome. I always say what I think," she told him. "And thank you for the dance." Cat did like to dance, and it didn't happen often these days.
She watched as he leaned his hip into the bar, and she reached out and cupped his jaw. "Goodnight," she told him, and her hand slipped away. Then, with a soft sway of narrow and masculine hips, she left him to his thoughts and his sobriety.