Don't underestimate me. The moment you do, you won't find me here. Remember that.
[ Even if he lets a weak point show, that's the last thing C.C. wants. This man, who may have endeared himself enough to her to earn her loyalty, becoming a liability to her plan was not good. Just as much as she didn't need guilt on her conscience if something went south because of her. A long life yields a long list of things she's grown numb to... but there's beginning to be a warmth once more, a sense of purpose.
C.C. speaks a language of actions over words. Actions are written in history, words can be muddled with ill-intent or misunderstanding. He's close, enough for her to nearly commit his scent to memory and note the small intricacies of his face. ]
You don't have to worry. It'd be an insult to die less than how I should. No one will claim that from me.
[ There's confidence there as he separates them and moves on out. He promises pizza and she'll expect it – so seeing him on the move even as far as thirst-trapping in grey sweats. She'll take her stuffed Cheese into her arms, watching her half-lidded eyes. ]
You really are calm about this. I expected you to throw a fit. Perhaps you truly do trust me. A flattering thought, that is.
[ He lists the pizza with little cause for change, it's good as it is. She'll make note to grab a bottle of Tabasco for kick when he returns but she shakes her head. He's good to leave, and once he does she's up and moving onto the next part of her plan for the night: that shower.
She earned it, but when she finds the old porcelain tub... hm. Maybe a bath was more suitable. It sounds nice, hot water and maybe some bubbles? C.C. wasn't shy about it – by the time he returns she did little to mask where she was. A trail of her remaining clothes lead into the bathroom and he'd find C.C. with her green strands pulled up high into a bun and the bubbles rising past her collarbone, where she soaks and awaits for an old robin to fly back into her company... ]
no subject
[ Even if he lets a weak point show, that's the last thing C.C. wants. This man, who may have endeared himself enough to her to earn her loyalty, becoming a liability to her plan was not good. Just as much as she didn't need guilt on her conscience if something went south because of her. A long life yields a long list of things she's grown numb to... but there's beginning to be a warmth once more, a sense of purpose.
C.C. speaks a language of actions over words. Actions are written in history, words can be muddled with ill-intent or misunderstanding. He's close, enough for her to nearly commit his scent to memory and note the small intricacies of his face. ]
You don't have to worry. It'd be an insult to die less than how I should. No one will claim that from me.
[ There's confidence there as he separates them and moves on out. He promises pizza and she'll expect it – so seeing him on the move even as far as thirst-trapping in grey sweats. She'll take her stuffed Cheese into her arms, watching her half-lidded eyes. ]
You really are calm about this. I expected you to throw a fit. Perhaps you truly do trust me. A flattering thought, that is.
[ He lists the pizza with little cause for change, it's good as it is. She'll make note to grab a bottle of Tabasco for kick when he returns but she shakes her head. He's good to leave, and once he does she's up and moving onto the next part of her plan for the night: that shower.
She earned it, but when she finds the old porcelain tub... hm. Maybe a bath was more suitable. It sounds nice, hot water and maybe some bubbles? C.C. wasn't shy about it – by the time he returns she did little to mask where she was. A trail of her remaining clothes lead into the bathroom and he'd find C.C. with her green strands pulled up high into a bun and the bubbles rising past her collarbone, where she soaks and awaits for an old robin to fly back into her company... ]