Re: (After)life: Nel L & Lear L
Nel's self-control was entirely founded in her current interests. She would love to say she'd escaped all expectations of her—that she'd been a saint for the thirty years she'd been on earth, but it would be a dastardly lie. She'd consumed and been sacrificed to, and she'd felt terrible about precisely none of it. She'd convinced herself that she was doing it all on her own terms, and even hearing about her brothers' antics hadn't dissuaded her from that prevarication. It was only time that had seemingly tempered her appetites and made them rather more judicious.
"Hmm," she replied, the hum something that tickled her lips and provided him with little clarity for his query—did giving it up easily make lovers uninteresting? "I didn't say she remained a virgin, did I?" He inhaled. "I've only just arrived, which you know. I'll tell you if I encounter anything I like the look of. And, you? What's caught your fancy?" Her expression was comprised of knowing in small tells. "I can smell her on you, dearest." She could smell someone on him, and he'd need to do more than wash his skin for it to escape her notice.
She knew he would enjoy her declarations of reformation, and her nails continued their ministrations to the back of his neck. Then, as if she'd never touched him at all, she removed her hand and placed her elbow along the back of the sofa once more, cigarillo tapped out against the edge of the maligned coffeetable. Her temple was against her palm, fingers in fine blonde, and she smiled at him. This time, the smile was deliberate and somewhat entertained. "You underestimate my ability to blend with the rabble. That's kind of you," she informed him, and then she perused him with a slow lowering of lashes. She allowed the silence to drag. "That would hardly be appropriate," she ultimately said of utilizing him as an erotic subject, and she pushed herself off the couch and went to the box that still held her equipment.
She pulled out her old pentax. She owned other, more expensive models, but she was fond of this one. She walked back to the couch with determination and a lack of sway. Nel was narrow—no one would ever call her curvaceous—and she walked with a confidence and hip cant normally reserved for men. She kicked off the impressive heels she wore, and she came to perch on the arm of the sofa opposite him.