Re: The lake: close to the water
The curved bow of the woman (weapon bent nearly in half with the pull of a strong arm, waiting to loose her) kept his attention the way a lot of things didn't, and maybe that was a betraying bastard of a hint that he wasn't quite so withdrawn and divided as he wanted to seem. But his eyes remained fixed on her until his voice sprung her upright again. He wasn't certain if sound of him'd launched the arrow of her obvious sickness away, but she held herself stiffly vertical again. And he knew that feeling.
They were reflections of each other. Mirrors in life if not in the slick of silver lake, matching night and stark pale. Like someone had upped the contrast until greys were removed and left only black and white. At least in appearance. The flare of sunset orange cherry was the only color to him, the next exhale still more of the white-on-black smoke.
The polite addition to her question wasn't needed because he was nodding before it was tacked on, hand with cinder beckoning her closer as he shifted his weight to dig a battered box out of his jacket pocket. It was a little worse for its journey, but there were pristine soldiers within. One went to his lips and he used his current to light the end of the new, a practiced motion that belied its frequency of use. Once they both flared, he returned his original to his lips and held the new one out to her, hand loose as storky fingers were delicate enough to be gentle in the exchange.