Re: The Lieutenant/The Daughter
Life was a play. Everyone had a role. His, even if he didn't know it, was to be the gentlemanly hero of mysterious origin. That could change. Sometimes his role might just be to be as a man was. But, Frances knew her part by heart. She'd been versed in it since she was old enough to understand. Everything was about appearances. ...Or, that was the way of it. It didn't mean she liked it or believed it. But, still, for most people, she donned her mask of innocence and smiled and bobbed her head and let them see in her whatever it was they wanted to see. She wouldn't have disagreed with the soldier though. She was tired of lies too. Sometimes, she just wanted to be who she was, even if she wasn't the perfect daughter, girl, woman, anything.
"Too much trouble." She thought about it. "And it's bloody difficult in a skirt like this." A smile floated on the surface of her voice, but she wasn't reading her lines from the script. That one was just the truth. She palmed the flashlight, only letting her gaze trickle upward once to catch the man's face in the dark. It was a silhouette of itself in monochrome. He wasn't handsome, she decided, but there was something about him that made her want to look. "It wasn't mine."
Frances cocked her head. Her ponytail spilled over a bare shoulder and down the length of her arm. She might've answered Mr. Nameless, but the box opened and... it was blood? She waited for the man to do something about it. With it. But, he was a momentary statue. The urge to grab it from him was there, but she didn't follow through. Instead, she floated the flashlight up toward his face. "Is it blood?" What on earth could he do with that?