Re: Edge of a rooftop; defying gravity/scaring himself
"So's your skin." Fiyero almost regretted the words when they came out of his mouth in that automatic trickle. He had grown used to speaking without thinking, without needing to think. The conversations he tended to have didn't require thought. In fact, thought would just weigh them down. Charm, some wit, a knack for back-and-forth, that was all you needed. He should've realized she wasn't like that. But, then again, she'd said his hair was interesting and he did think her skin was interesting, so it could be a fair exchange. "It suits you." It was a compliment.
Green fingers, thin as vines, tugged that pointed hat down, and Fiyero only smiled, fair brows knitting as she told him there was no room to dance, but, contradictorily, that she could dance here. You know, if she wanted to. Defiance was bright on her face, which wasn't pretty in the traditional sense. But, when everyone was pretty, no one was. It was, to use her word, interesting. Different. Especially with her sharp chin lifted in the air. Fiyero watched her climb to her feet. "I thought you said there was no room," he teased her, but not interrupting. He'd waited until she was done. He was polite like that.