synanthrope | (no subject)

(no subject)

Quiet week, isn't it?

[Saya will never be the first to say no curses but she's thinking it]

I remember something, from long ago. An invasion. Around this time of year. I remember locking the Warehouse.

It was a long time ago, but I was only twenty-six.

I'm sorry the warm weather didn't last longer.

[That's how one uses I'm sorry, right?]

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[ He's enjoying it. ]

I won't.

[Her eyes flicker up, light brown]

I think I'm satisfied that you're not going to die, then.

Feel like celebrating?

It depends on the celebration you had in mind. I don't particularly eat cake.

No, no cake.

[She puts her hands flat on the table next to him and first one knee, then the other so she's straddling his lap.]

Something a bit more like this?

[ There's a lick of his lips, one hand coming up to slide over her side. ]

Yeah, that sounds good.

[She puts her hands on his shoulders and brings her mouth to his, hungrily. She's not wearing rings but this close her necklaces slip and press against his chest, cold.

When they separate, her hands go to the hem of her shirt and she tugs it up, but doesn't take it off.]

I suppose I'm over dressed.

[ The cold doesn't bother him. It's not a bullet, it's not sharp nails or a needle -- it's a necklace, and he's got a beautiful woman on his lap. At least she moves a little more easily like this, or so it seems. ]

Well, you could leave it on, but it'd be a shame to ruin it.

[ It looks expensive, after all. Besides, he'd like to touch some skin. ]

[She does move more easily; it's not as strange, her motions when she does this, maybe because it's tapping more into her human half, or maybe because there is no spider equivalent to this kind of behavior.

She tugs her shirt over her head. Her bra is black against her very pale skin, and her necklaces fall between her breasts]

Better?

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