Re: Gotham: Sam & Russ
Sam had known who she was writing to for fucking months, yeah? There was nothing there that wasn't her. Through aging down and up, and he hadn't noticed the change. Maybe it wasn't so pronounced written down. Who knew? "Ain't ever been accused of what? Being sweet? Yeah, I can totes see that." The tease came with a grin.
He leaned back and looked over the table, and she mirrored the look with inky blue eyes and curiosity. "What? Is the fucking table going to do a trick? Or are you trying to figure us out? I-"
The burgers came, and she stopped and asked for another beer. She wanted a stick between her fingers, cigarettes, a blunt, a paintbrush, but she had none, so it would have to be another fucking beer.
"I," she began, picking up the train of thought like she hadn't dropped it long enough to drench the burger in ketchup and do the same with the fries. Her plate was a tableau of red, and she considered painting something that wasn't water, and then she popped a fry in her mouth as she continued. "I have to work shit out. You have to work shit out. That's just life, baby. You don't say shit you mean, and I have more problems than calories in this burger." Which she pointed at with the fry. "Daniel and me, we talked anon after this hotel thing forever, yeah? He still hasn't told me it was him, even now, and I don't even know why. We never fucked or anything. Not then, anyway." She shrugged. "I think it's safer or something, being anonymous. Like, liberating, and no preconceived shit. You're just whatever you say in that moment, but that isn't real life, you know?"
She took another fry and popped it in her mouth; the burger looked way too fucking big to even lift to her lips, too heavy to lift and take a bite from. "My painting, it talks for me. I don't talk about it," she said, trying to explain.