Re: AHS: Sam A & Cris M
The shift-focus of her eyes, the spider-walk of her fingers as they wound around askance silk, a dragon's tongue in diluted pink, he saw it as if it bled onto him through the shared heat of their nearness. His hand didn't snap back from the contact. He simply let his hand rest another second and withdrew it to fling his tie over his shoulder as she gave him her Capurcita Roja smile, like she'd been the wolf all along, and, my, what big teeth she had. He didn't do much else in that miniaturized moment, as close as they were, but watch her lips as she spoke, before sitting back.
The barber's totem of the tents situated into a semblance of sense at the word 'freakshow,' though it didn't help Cris figure out the canon for the setting any more than the quick-bake of the Florida sun. He could see how she'd be good for caricatures. She caught small things quick, and weren't caricatures the grotesque exaggeration of detail?
Not that he got much further with that thought. The unexpected pressure of her foot sent a jolt through him, not unlike the drop of mint through cloying cloves and smoke, and he wrapped his hand around her sandy heel, fingers tapping ankle bone. "Ay--" Fuego was the red on her lips and he gave her his own grin as he tugged her foot up and set it safely on his thigh where he could keep an eye on it.
When Sam produced the anachronism of the phone, Cris' first reaction was to act like he'd seen nothing off, the second being to (very subtly) check to see if anyone else had noticed. But they were all busy.--The image she showed him on the narrow screen made him crane closer.
"Yours?" It was, but he was impressed, inasmuch as a kid from the Bronx could be. It was good. He was no art aficionado, but it looked almost real, in soap-dull colors and oil. If the imagery was cause for concern, the man betrayed none. He reclined again, the butt of her heel still biting into his thigh. Two fingers gestured to the phone. "You wanna do me like that, mami?"
He smiled, something a little more like that night in the chair, restrained only by the cinch of the ring on his finger.