daisily: (Default)
DAISY BUCHANAN ([personal profile] daisily) wrote in [personal profile] trenchknives 2014-03-28 04:41 am (UTC)

[She startles for a moment, her shoulders tightening, her pale brows drawing together in a state of distress, giving a little anxious cough. The sharpness of his cursing ruins the slow, rhythmic cadence of his voice, even as much as it is layered in compliments and flattery. That sort of language reminds her, far too uncomfortably, of brutal men and the inevitable violence they bring.

She smiles all the same, but her good humor is somewhat spoiled, her fingers even possibly betraying a slight tremble as she takes a long breath from her cigarette. To say that her enjoyment of the entire evening hinges on his one curse would be an exaggeration, however, it does not brighten her image of him any further.]


Thank you.

[There is a decided edge of false politeness to her tone, a light wariness, clearing her throat with distinct uncertainty as to how to proceed—whether he will realize his blunder, or whether he will continue on blithely, as a true drunkard would. The curtains are very heavy, thick velvet and entirely opaque, and it is just barely too hot in their little booth. She fumbles, crossing one leg over the other, and when her thigh brushes against his knee beneath the table, it is entirely accidental.]

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