The brush in hand pauses mid stroke, the ornate silver handle suddenly heavy. She levels him from behind her pale lashes, black eyes narrowing in on his impassive expression. There is an open ended question on whether his demands are a threat or not, and for all the energy in her Liz can only assume it's for dramatics that he would announce it to her rather than slip the paper onto her vanity. Carefully she sets her brush down, full attention being given to him through her mirror as she arches a brow at him in question. “ Really? What for? “ Her curiosity is genuine, while neither of them were perfect nor particularly well – they’d managed to work and make something between them. Shifting, she turns to face him, hands coming to rest on the edge of her seat as she leans forward, her expression morphing into something mildly sinister. “ Am I to understand that you want to resume fucking brainless cunts and scurrying to cover up your next fumble? Is that your reasoning or is there something else that entices you? “