Re: The Thief/The Flibbertigibbet
Lili had never been one of many. She had been one alone for further back than anyone had written down anywhere and one alone was one alone even when all those ones out there teemed together like rats. It was tailor-made for Hollywood where they cut and cropped the past as carefully as the tabloid editors stitched together news stories of idols and sweethearts until even the men who liked men had a girl on their arm and bells in their future. She'd never had a Bubbe, even on screen and she'd never flirted with the idea of wanting one. A girl could find caretakers, easier than sneezing and if she had money, could discard them like old tissues when she was done.
Lili wasn't coy, she played it plenty on a wide screen. Maybe he was a liar, maybe he wasn't. He was rummaging through other people's things like an old hand at thievery and confidence trickster wasn't far off. They just stole trust, instead. She didn't have any to pluck. "Right," she agreed, watching the passage of the bracelet from hand to pocket with wide-eyed lack of avarice. She didn't like baubles, Lili liked the kind of jewel that had appreciation value and heft. She didn't tinkle when she walked, she swayed and she liked the kind of shine that glinted a quiet million bucks. "I don't think a good liar adds spice. Too much flavor and a scam looks suspicious." She fished one arm right the way down to the bottom and came up with a whole lot of nothing.
She watched him proceed right down the line of boxes, picking out what he rustled through. "Sounds real mean," Lili said, as sweetly candid as she'd been in the door. "Taking only the things away they'll miss. Why do you do it?" She asked like it was a given thing he'd answer, and turned her head toward the contents of her trunk as if looking it over for the first time.
"Marabou. It sheds," she said with the kind of fondness most reserved for small pets that was all warm honey and smile, and she poured the light of her own attention toward him. "If you're planning on going through it, you won't find a thing in there that means anything. I have that in my compartment. There's not a scrap of sentiment, Petticoat Man. You have to rifle the real stuff for that. I can't find my damned shoe," she said, finally.