01-26-2023, 02:38 PM
When it seemed the show was not about to begin just because Visha had taken her seat, she began to peer instead at the milling people. The shadows and soft lights robbed some of the details she would have liked to observe in order to replay the memories at her leisure. Everything seemed just a little hazy, like a dream. But the subtle pump of music sent little vibrations through her chair, as did the footsteps of anyone who drew too near. She was almost preternaturally aware of the bodies around her. Scent, too, fizzed vibrantly on her tongue. Perfume and aftershave and soap, but also skin and sweat and something else she’d never been sure what to name.
Everyone at Paragon was a sensation like that. She’d been a teenager before she realised it was not just a normal way of processing the world around her. As an adult she barely thought about her own oddities though.
“I wish they would all hurry up,” she confided impatiently, for hardly anyone was actually in their seats. She leaned a little across to him as she said it, voice conspiratorial. Silvery hair tickled over her shoulders, and her cheeks plumped into a mischievous smile. "Though it's interesting watching the people. I never reckoned there were so many different kinds."
She would have said more about what she saw, but for the fact he held out a glass. A gleeful smile accepted the gesture the moment she noticed it. Visha wished she had watched him pour; it seemed like it would have been a good thing to remember for later, for he had the kind of gallant and princely air that would make for a very pleasant daydream. “You had a spare glass,” she teased. She did not much care for whom it had originally been intended, and she supposed he didn’t much care either, since he gave it to her instead.
The simple interaction was utterly novel to her. Beyond Ephraim himself, no one at Paragon enjoyed proximity to her, even when she was covered up toes to throat with her hands pressed between her knees. Visha was used to qualifying and adjusting her every movement to make other people comfortable, something she frequently used to her advantage of course, but at home the glass would have been slid along a table and left for her to collect. As she plucked it from him directly she felt an overwhelming urge to brush against his fingers, but she wouldn't feel much of anything through the leather gloves. With the dulled sensation she was also worried about accidentally snapping the stem. She was stronger than she looked.
Prize in hand, the coyness of her attention shifted from the glamour of the club to her incidental companion. With a little coaxing she wondered what else he might be prepared to give up. The curiosity was perfectly open.
“Have you been here before?”
Everyone at Paragon was a sensation like that. She’d been a teenager before she realised it was not just a normal way of processing the world around her. As an adult she barely thought about her own oddities though.
“I wish they would all hurry up,” she confided impatiently, for hardly anyone was actually in their seats. She leaned a little across to him as she said it, voice conspiratorial. Silvery hair tickled over her shoulders, and her cheeks plumped into a mischievous smile. "Though it's interesting watching the people. I never reckoned there were so many different kinds."
She would have said more about what she saw, but for the fact he held out a glass. A gleeful smile accepted the gesture the moment she noticed it. Visha wished she had watched him pour; it seemed like it would have been a good thing to remember for later, for he had the kind of gallant and princely air that would make for a very pleasant daydream. “You had a spare glass,” she teased. She did not much care for whom it had originally been intended, and she supposed he didn’t much care either, since he gave it to her instead.
The simple interaction was utterly novel to her. Beyond Ephraim himself, no one at Paragon enjoyed proximity to her, even when she was covered up toes to throat with her hands pressed between her knees. Visha was used to qualifying and adjusting her every movement to make other people comfortable, something she frequently used to her advantage of course, but at home the glass would have been slid along a table and left for her to collect. As she plucked it from him directly she felt an overwhelming urge to brush against his fingers, but she wouldn't feel much of anything through the leather gloves. With the dulled sensation she was also worried about accidentally snapping the stem. She was stronger than she looked.
Prize in hand, the coyness of her attention shifted from the glamour of the club to her incidental companion. With a little coaxing she wondered what else he might be prepared to give up. The curiosity was perfectly open.
“Have you been here before?”