Re: Mat & Ren || Heading toward the Docks
Unsure if he knew exactly what he’d just signed up for, the shivery patrol of overhead stars halted in their silver, celestial duets. Watched, waited.
The glistering napalm of her glance (of course, none too visible in the unified conspiracy of night) narrows at this tall figure that had sifted out from some aphotic realm. Her eyes abrade him up and down, left and right for an inch of familiarity. Of which, at the moment, she’s incurably denied. Why is he speaking to her? She wonders, standing still as a gravestone, but then she remembers that she’s at a party and she’s no longer Satan’s niece. That she’s reformed. She’s nicer. Not a cactal, heart-shaped locket of untouchable sludge. The stars now continue their chemical songs.
“Do I do musicals?” There’s a trademark scoff, the words encapsulate with a mote of slurring as she prowls closer. It isn’t shocking that the subject of theatre came up at the party of a man who’s an actor. Her default is, simply, mischievous. Like a fay in the heathlands. “Mein herr,” she murmurs, “I was the lead in Cabaret. I filled a playhouse on the Upper East Side every single night for weeks. Do you do musicals?”
But also, “If you’re inviting me to go skinny dipping, you’ll have to wait until I’m done smoking.”