Inbox - Fade Rift

[nonvenomous]

Book/crystal/correspondence/action/whatever you desire.

Comments

[unshut]

Up go those eyebrows, quirking briefly toward her hairline and then— settling, as easy as her cheek at the edge of the door or her hand curled light about its latch. Her mild observation as he'd picked through her trunk.

Yes. Well.

"That's fine."

And for the best, really.

[nonvenomous]

Having essentially delivered a fistfull of verbal pocket sand, Richard looks away, briefly, to assure himself that there’s nobody else stepping out at the same time to have overheard this declaration. There isn’t.

He looks back to her, eyes bright, critical, and says, “Mm,” because he is less convinced that it is fine.

Imagine being a spy and not dumping Charisma. He turns to go in earnest -- he has important letters to slowly open and read three or four times without processing what they say.

[unshut]

There is something there on the tip of her tongue - an impulse, the itch of a face down card from a deck she hasn't counted carefully.

(It's very easy to win with her own; she's had it for long so that the wear on the backs is as telling as its faces.)

But whatever it is she holds just a beat too long, and then the opportunity has evaporated. So she trades it for the far more definitive "Good night, Richard," and decides she is satisfied with it. When it is perfectly polite to do so, she withdraws. The door is snipped shut.

The room, with its scattered assortment of things is regarded.

"Mm, he says," she repeats for its benefit.