Re: The Thief/The Flibbertigibbet
Lili had seen every smile a man had the wherewithal to flash in her direction. All of them, every single one. He wore charming like the director had called it out with only a split-second for his face to slide into it, but h gave it his all. Lili never liked half-assed acting, it always looked half-thought, like the star on show was thinking about their career instead of the script. She gave him his commitment, and looked at the furl of petticoats splayed with their guts on show like a spread pair of fans. She'd never shaken her ass behind ostrich feathers. They were expensive and the cheap kind shed something awful.
"Well how about that," she said from the door-jam. Lili's voice was as soft and sweet as her vowels were full. A little breathy, but she looked from him to the petticoats and back again with the kind of slow smile a director didn't know how to direct at all. "I didn't know men wearing petticoats had come into fashion." She tipped her head, looked at him with the buzzy smile of being entirely unbothered by him rifling through someone else's drawers. They were someone else's, hers were scattered across the bed in the sleeping car.
She looked idly behind her shoulder and let the door slide back into its jam. "Neither. I'm looking for my shoe."