Isis was good with faces. She was even better with names. Voices were hit or miss, but there were some people whose voices were distinctive enough, or who spoke in a manner that stood out enough, for her to remember them. For her to recognise them even in a crowded club. Tobin King was one of those people. A very specific mixture of deliberate charm and earned authority. It made her pause on her way out the door, passing him as he spoke to a bouncer. Isis turned her head to catch his gaze with her own. A graceful smile fluttered onto her features; a wordless greeting; an invitation if he chose to view it as such. It was no more than a fleeting moment - then she was moving on. It was enough. If he wanted to take her up on the invitation, he’d do something about it. If not, she was perfectly content spending the night on the couch with Chinese food and bad horror movies. @mversefunhouse
