He watches her as she moves around him, standing there like she's been drawn, all hair poking from beneath that hat, and lips he's kissed a thousand times. It doesn't much make sense, and even less so that she's asking that question. Or could it be some joke? Surely it has to be.
"Costello's---" he starts, all full of confusion. He can only assume they're the men he wandered in on. But this, this show and flair, all gun and oddly well lit (and it really is oddly well lit). If he stopped to think about it, he might notice that a little more, that everything is almost a little too perfect, like a movie. Some grand lighting rig or hooked up smoke machines hidden just out of sight.
He keeps looking at her, at the way she stands, at what she wears, and oh does he remember that. It's then it seems to start to settle a little more. But it doesn't make it any less confusing.
"My stocking seams were straight, my lipstick was combat ready, and I was packing cleavage that could fell an ox at twenty feet." He speaks the words aloud, remembering something. Something from a book.
no subject
"Costello's---" he starts, all full of confusion. He can only assume they're the men he wandered in on. But this, this show and flair, all gun and oddly well lit (and it really is oddly well lit). If he stopped to think about it, he might notice that a little more, that everything is almost a little too perfect, like a movie. Some grand lighting rig or hooked up smoke machines hidden just out of sight.
He keeps looking at her, at the way she stands, at what she wears, and oh does he remember that. It's then it seems to start to settle a little more. But it doesn't make it any less confusing.
"My stocking seams were straight, my lipstick was combat ready, and I was packing cleavage that could fell an ox at twenty feet." He speaks the words aloud, remembering something. Something from a book.
His frown only etches deeper into his brow.
"Melody?"