'I love how he talks as if he's not playing,' Cecilia's purr felt like the taste of sour milk. 'Be like: 'I'm not playing either.''
Cecilia's telepathy didn't use language exactly, but feelings for direction, and Jean didn't know where her interest in talking to Kieran ended and his began. Little thoughts swirled, his or hers?: What book was that? Was it from the Imperial Library, or Kieran's own? Jean swallowed watching Kieran smile at him over the rim of his drink. Kieran sounded like he could play The Grand Game if he really wanted to. Around them, musicians whispered in the ears of ladies, and painters slipped notes to lords. Jean felt like he should be doing something with his hands, but he didn't have a wine goblet, so he clasped them together. Cecilia slapped ahold of his awkwardness, and with a startled motion, his arm stretched behind Kieran's seatback, and Jean felt tense as he leaned arrogantly back and opened his chest to the roomful of deceit. He leaned back as Cecilia molded him into the position his sister might take to gloat on a finished scheme. His arm was around Kieran's seatback and the empty seatback on his other side, and his feet were spread shamelessly to own an expanse of floor.
Despite Cecilia's puppet-stringing, she couldn't make him laugh alongside Morrigan's boy. Jean felt dread creep up his spine as he watched his arm shamelessly flirt with the wood of Kieran's chairback, his thumb rubbing loving circle's into it. He thought about his thumb on Kieran's shoulder, touching it like the chairback's end, and then, Cecilia tickled the thought and he found it hard to look at Kieran. The raven-masked man seemed like the sort of man Cecilia wanted him to be. Jean wished he could be Kieran - and not this imposter. Surely Kieran would frown, then, would get up and leave, smelling Cecilia's hand on her pawn. While one hand brimmed with coquetry, Jean's other hand's knuckles were clamped white, and inside his mind, Cecilia was beating back the little spiders of fears with her roll of tart confidence.
His eyes came back to Kieran when she was through. They locked onto his eyes. Jean's cares were all missing at this point. Some nerve in his head was pinched out. He leaned in, twisting his body beside Kieran to face him more. While he still didn't smile, his lips were no longer so fiercely pressed together between when he listened and when he spoke.
Cecilia's telepathy didn't use language exactly, but feelings for direction, and Jean didn't know where her interest in talking to Kieran ended and his began. Little thoughts swirled, his or hers?: What book was that? Was it from the Imperial Library, or Kieran's own? Jean swallowed watching Kieran smile at him over the rim of his drink. Kieran sounded like he could play The Grand Game if he really wanted to. Around them, musicians whispered in the ears of ladies, and painters slipped notes to lords. Jean felt like he should be doing something with his hands, but he didn't have a wine goblet, so he clasped them together. Cecilia slapped ahold of his awkwardness, and with a startled motion, his arm stretched behind Kieran's seatback, and Jean felt tense as he leaned arrogantly back and opened his chest to the roomful of deceit. He leaned back as Cecilia molded him into the position his sister might take to gloat on a finished scheme. His arm was around Kieran's seatback and the empty seatback on his other side, and his feet were spread shamelessly to own an expanse of floor.
Despite Cecilia's puppet-stringing, she couldn't make him laugh alongside Morrigan's boy. Jean felt dread creep up his spine as he watched his arm shamelessly flirt with the wood of Kieran's chairback, his thumb rubbing loving circle's into it. He thought about his thumb on Kieran's shoulder, touching it like the chairback's end, and then, Cecilia tickled the thought and he found it hard to look at Kieran. The raven-masked man seemed like the sort of man Cecilia wanted him to be. Jean wished he could be Kieran - and not this imposter. Surely Kieran would frown, then, would get up and leave, smelling Cecilia's hand on her pawn. While one hand brimmed with coquetry, Jean's other hand's knuckles were clamped white, and inside his mind, Cecilia was beating back the little spiders of fears with her roll of tart confidence.
His eyes came back to Kieran when she was through. They locked onto his eyes. Jean's cares were all missing at this point. Some nerve in his head was pinched out. He leaned in, twisting his body beside Kieran to face him more. While he still didn't smile, his lips were no longer so fiercely pressed together between when he listened and when he spoke.
I'm afraid... I've not been watching all the people... squirm and one-up, like you,he said, and then, Jean's gaze drifted down to Kieran's book.
I'm so curious - What are you reading? I never see anyone else reading at these parties.
11-14-2023, 05:45 PM
