The Proposition
cont from here w/ @mpxmarcel ft Chinsun & MarcelÂ
Slowly letting her fingers glide around the wide brim of the martini glass, chin resting on the back of her other hand, elbow propped against the bar, Chinsun stares off idly as her mind continues to chew over the problems of the day. There was something to be said about being a woman no man could lie to... it made dating very, very difficult. Letting a gentle sigh pass rouged lips, her bare narrow shoulders lift, before settling back again and a little tension leaves her body. Maybe men werenât any good, if they couldnât lie.Â
As a daughter of the goddess of justice and truth Chinsun usually took a great delight in being able to read people, spot the good from the not so good but as sheâd sat across from her date in Noonaâs low lit restaurant area, with wine and soft music, sheâd found the truths tumbling from her dateâs lips a little too truthful.Â
âI donât think I want to date a woman who is paid more then meâ, âmy ex-girlfriend and I still have sexâ or âI really want a woman who reminds me of my mother...â by that point Chinsun had given up, sent him on his way and relocated to the bar. Now here she was, nursing a martini in a little black dress with no where to go. Sensing movement by her side, she lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip as she watches a handsome man pay his bill. âDate not go well?âÂ
âYou knew all this time?â She replies jokingly, it probably looked like a car crash from the outside, it wasnât much different from being inside either. Yet as the man smoothly moves ever closer, her eyebrows lift a little and a cool voice murmurs in her ear, quite surprisingly. Even with her sphere of truth he was salaciously charming and presumptively suggestive, that doesnât happen all that often. With him moving back, Chinsun continues to glance over him, trying to gain what she could, but this was a very guarded individual. Not to mention perhaps a little drunk. That always did throw off her ability, no one is ever really themselves when drunk, and this man feels as if he is a regular pretender.Â
âWhatâs your name?â She coos back playfully, setting a hand on her knee as she leans a little closer, slowly swirling what was left of her martini and olive in the other.Â













