Re: AHS: Sam A & Cris M
She'd make a halfway decent detective, Cris thought; with some training, she'd be better than that. She was sharp—sharper than he'd first thought, and that was on him—, mind like a sieve, mouth like a sailor who'd stubbed his toe, and he knew she wouldn't forget about the lack of explanation when it came to the woman in the sand, just like he wouldn't forget about the Grand Canyon, about her mysterious lessons learned from the hotel. Lined like candles down the center of a long table, they were conversations to be had later, as the car pulled back in and they came full circle.
Outside, in the cooling heat, jacket back on and hat replaced, Sam laughed before she threw her arms around him. Casualness kicked the bucket with the swallow of distance. Her lips pressed red to his cheek and Cris returned the embrace easily, arms low around her waist, as she tiptoed and leaned close. The scent of cloves was heady, all wound up with the sea in her hair.
The man smiled as the girl pulled back, back onto the flats of her feet in the dirt. Everything was on its head, the tail of the ouroboros spat out and winding back to the head. Cris didn't hug people he didn't know. He was polite, charming even, but he didn't open any doors for other people to look into. But it was all mixed up with Sam. He didn't mind the closeness or the knock of her hip.—She flipped his tie over his shoulder, and he moved just enough to steal the clove from between her fingers as she swept away, back toward the mountain range of tents that grew from the earth's crust just behind them.
"Chao, mami." Cris smiled as he took a drag from the kretek, just before squashing it out in the dead grass beneath his shoe. He fixed his tie as he turned in a mild haze of sweet smoke and went to find the door he'd come through.