|
Oh gods, she’d encouraged him.
Instead of getting the hint and leaving her be, the mangy stranger’s ears went forward at her barbed suggestion. No! she cried internally, exasperated by his amusement. Her wit, to be fair, was sparkling, but she had purposely been less-than-subtle about her feelings on the matter of company. However, it seemed that the old man was denser than she had thought or more persistent than she had given him credit for, because he still wasn’t going anywhere.
And that wasn’t the worst of it: the bastard had the audacity to break into a grin. She wanted to shudder at the sight of his smile, for unsurprisingly she found it less than warm. There was a wolfish quality to it that didn’t sit well with her…though to be fair, most smiles boded ill with her these days anyway. Silently, she vowed to make it her personal mission to wipe the smirk off of his smug face—even if that meant more cutting repartee.
But he beat her to the punch with his next comment. As it turned out, Prince Charming did know how to make a girl’s stomach swoop. On a scale of butterflies to nausea, the symptoms definitely pointed towards the latter, but she got the feeling that either way was just all right with him. Pointedly ignoring the hungry up and down gaze, she coughed delicately and considered her next move. Perhaps if he hadn't taken the hint before, she would try speaking to him in a language he'd understand.
“To admit that would be unladylike,” she returned, eyes downcast demurely. “But…” Her gaze shot upwards and locked on the long, thin face. “…perhaps it would be truthful. A moral dilemma, indeed.” She flashed him a wicked grin of her own, the expression gone before it had fully materialized on her face. “I find it ever so difficult to navigate between the virtues sometimes,” the crone fretted, her tone a low whine. The stallion stepped closer, and she steeled herself to stand still. “And so sometimes I think,” she went on, raising her head to catch his eye, “…why not just do away with them altogether?” The tangled tail lashed against her side suggestively, and she took her own step towards the origin of the stench. The twig that he had reached for slipped from her mane.
“Mais!” she interjected lightly, regarding the tangled copper hair that now hung sickeningly close to her, “I confess I am not so forgiving as you, monsieur. I like my men well-groomed,” she informed him, stepping forwards again so that their bodies would be roughly parallel should he not shy. Next to him, he dwarfed her. She tried not to think about it. “Not that it can’t be remedied,” Sheba remarked, stretching her horn towards a knot in the belly fur, as if wielding a comb. “May I?”
"speech"
OOC: yes Sheba, let's just take it from 0 to 100 why don't we? also switching tables so hopefully the dialogue is easier to read!
| |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
