Re: (After)life: Nel L & Lear L & Fen L
"Conversion sounds like something that requires change. The women I'm talking about don't require changing. They merely require someone with experience to, as it were, show them the ropes," Nel explained, her smile a negligble thing—a thing deliberately trifling. "I can't say I much enjoy hatesex. I have to find something interesting in those whom I sleep with, but to each their own, dearest." She sounded mildy entertained, the nuance winding itself around sinous fondness and lingering there entirely unconcerned with detection. She'd always loved her siblings, and she saw no reason to hide it from either them or herself. She was no believer in love being a weakness—not in all instances, anyway.
Lear talked of the girl cleaning herself up, and Nel was mildly interested. Lear sounded terribly unimpressed, but Nel knew there was something to be said for choices made. Lear had chosen this girl, and so it was. "I have no intention of 'getting in' with anyone. This town is like a book to read, and I enjoy reading when there's nothing else to be done. But I don't run after anyone, Jorgi," she said, the use of the nickname deliberate—evocation of things long left behind and in their youth. "I haven't changed that much." Nel had always been a rather slow burn—she waited, and she watched, and she simmered over heat that was much too high for such a slow boil.
The camera, then, was prepped, and Nel was not surpised when Lear's hand dropped to the belt on his slacks. "Hmmm," was her reaction, her gaze still lost behind the lens. It was a game—of sorts. But, then, her attention was caught by the approach of someone.
Lear, too, noticed, and he asked who interrupted. Nel, awakened now—in a matter of speaking—thanks to Lear's arrival, did not need to inquire. Her smile was a slow blooming flower that was surely of the poisonous variety, and she lowered her camera and let it rest peacefully between her fingers.
The door opened, and the sound of boots heralded the arrival of the dark-haired man. Nel turned as he spoke—the newcomer. Her smile didn't shift, widen, or grow, but it remained all the same as she crossed the space to where the man stood and spoke. A hand rose to his bristly cheek and—as if it was her right-she kissed him once, warmly, upon the lips, and then she looked back to Lear, who she suspected had likely already moved from his perch. "It seems everyone's come home." Home was—of course—an ironic choice of words, as they'd never had a true home, the three of them.