04-20-2014, 04:36 PM
The victory of conquest filled Dane's smile. He felt as though he'd smiled so long now that his cheeks would hurt once they returned to their pensive position. Next came the appropriate trading of names and numbers. "Tomorrow, then?"
Unless she was busy elsewhere. Dane hoped not. His blood pumped warm now, and more than several days of waiting would only serve to stew the imagination rather than cool the instinct.
He returned to the previous posture, posed with one arm rested along the edge of the plastic seats. Conversation dwiddled on around them, but so far the mood was thinly veiled patience. The darkness that stretched behind only reminded him of their isolation. One of Mockingbird's events took care and planning, but the score chimed the familiar whistle in the back of his mind nonetheless. A composition all the more highlighted by Thalia's question.
"I doodle,"
he corrected gently, thinking of the mockingbird cards painstakingly hand painted left across the continent. "I've always had the urge to keep my hands busy. Even in my boyhood. I'm a better singer than I am artist, but I do enjoy painting, sometimes. You would likely not find my work in that regard appetizing, most don't."
His eyes were drawn to the red on Thalia's hair.
"Unfair, perhaps, but art is usually the most lovely to the artist that created it."
He swiveled his gaze toward Katya to ascertain her likely useless opinion, but a curious frown overtook him instead. A long limb, like the knobby bend of a branch, swung swiftly past the window over her head. Outside. Like seeing a spider move out of the corner of one's eye. Dane found himself looking upward as though he wondered whether something was on the roof.
Unless she was busy elsewhere. Dane hoped not. His blood pumped warm now, and more than several days of waiting would only serve to stew the imagination rather than cool the instinct.
He returned to the previous posture, posed with one arm rested along the edge of the plastic seats. Conversation dwiddled on around them, but so far the mood was thinly veiled patience. The darkness that stretched behind only reminded him of their isolation. One of Mockingbird's events took care and planning, but the score chimed the familiar whistle in the back of his mind nonetheless. A composition all the more highlighted by Thalia's question.
"I doodle,"
he corrected gently, thinking of the mockingbird cards painstakingly hand painted left across the continent. "I've always had the urge to keep my hands busy. Even in my boyhood. I'm a better singer than I am artist, but I do enjoy painting, sometimes. You would likely not find my work in that regard appetizing, most don't."
His eyes were drawn to the red on Thalia's hair.
"Unfair, perhaps, but art is usually the most lovely to the artist that created it."
He swiveled his gaze toward Katya to ascertain her likely useless opinion, but a curious frown overtook him instead. A long limb, like the knobby bend of a branch, swung swiftly past the window over her head. Outside. Like seeing a spider move out of the corner of one's eye. Dane found himself looking upward as though he wondered whether something was on the roof.