cherchez la femme

Coming Home Pt 2 | Cybil & Candy

After her third glass of rose wine, Cybil was feeling ready to fall asleep holding on tight to a stranger. Of course, she couldn't-- at least not straight away. She had just finished pinning up the last lock of curled hair to complete the style, and was reaching back to loosen her corset when she heard the voice of a former floozy.

So....

"Following the trail of my own ignorance, I suppose," the reporter said with an apathetic shrug, "It’s been a while since my last romp through these sinister streets and narrow corridors and musty stairwells, you must pardon my confusion." Leon implored with little room for refusal - out of habit, he quickly chattered on.

"Ouh, but you should have known zhe fun was up here, mon ami. But I will let you go zhis time." She crossed a leg over the other, being sure to gently run her foot along his shin as she lowered it into place. 

"Though the latter is infinitely more mysterious and coy," consideration tilted Leon’s head in responding, "I was simply lost. Boring, right?" It was a question that didn’t need an answer, and forgoing any patience in waiting for one from dame at his side, the reporter turned to the bar to double verify his claim.

"Sometimes it is good to be plain, mon cher," she told, swirling the contents of her glass before taking a small sip. Her words could've been received as compliment, or some small form of support for his lack of mystique. 

"Naturally," Leon said, negotiation nonexistent as he stepped to the vixen’s side. As eager and willing as anyone in his field should be, no off-hand mention of biting would steer him from the thought of those lusted-after libations; especially not when the beck and call was presented with such easily met terms. A puff of breath and his match was gone, given to the dark in favor of the woman’s more trusty light.

"Tell me your name, cher." She snaked her arm around his, feeling his bicep with her delicate, slender fingers. Her nails were manicured, but unpainted, and the only piece of jewelry that decorated the hand was a small golden band that rested just above the second knuckle of her middle finger.

Dexter smirked at the woman before leaning back in his chair, “yes, I do believe I understand the premise of this game.” He looked between the chocolates, trying to see if he could tell which one was the cayenne pepper, but he couldn’t. They were identical.

"Zhe prize is.... anyzhing you want zhat I can give to you," she smiled, pulling her knees to her chest to sit upright. "Loser must get up to ask for milk from zhe barman. Oh, and what about my own reward? What will you be willing to give, cher?"

Caught as he was, the reporter turned on his heels to face the woman whose silken voice broke the silence surrounding him. His own way was lit by a match, soft flame illuminating the cut of his cheekbones, the sharp angle of his nose, the pathetical farce shading his eyes. Leon exhaled - slight exasperation due to his own inadequacy - then smiled.

She found his presentation endearing to a degree, and offered him a kind smile. “If the poor Briton would be so good as to be company for a while,” she reached up to set a curl of hair back in place as she spoke. “I may consider it.”

Stroll // Henry + Cybil

Having craved chilled sweets herself, Cybil decided to stop by Rita’s as well. She wasn’t there for much longer than the young Rockefeller, and was having a difficult time deciding on her dish. He was a handsome sight, which made her comfortable to break the ice.