Re: Cass & Alex: the (bad) diner
She'd little anticipation he knew who she was. He wouldn't, he couldn't. The girl Cass was had been locked in glass, in amber, frozen like an insect who had alighted on the wrong branch. That was she, permanently fixed in place, fated to watch what might be, go by. He smiled. He had an unthreatening one, some people did, you know. They threatened in the curl of their cheek, tucked between tongue and teeth. Alex, the boy who died, he didn't threaten. Perhaps that was why he did.
Cass's posture was perfect. It was years of education and schooling she'd little care for, and her shoulders in poly-blue were poker-straight. She eased a breath in all smoke and ash and she exhaled slight bewilderment as to what he remembered. She didn't, you see. She remembered everything and nothing, tangled together like wire, barbed if you touched it and she nodded, an inclination of chin, a shadow of her hair falling across one eye.
"Yes. I suppose so. Yes." She sounded uncertain; she was.