“That’s so cute,” he laughs, the sound almost a bit too much to come from someone so dainty, echoing throughout the empty hall. “Well what type of girl would you date, were you to go for one?” he pauses on a book, another, another. He takes each out, flips to a page, gazes with fondness before putting them away. He does this as if it’s his duty, finding what he needs with ease. He’s been here a hundred and one times. “I like the president’s wife. I could eat her up,” he licks his lips. “I jest,” his tone suggests otherwise.
“You’re so charming Blackmore. I can see why Funny took to you,” he takes the book back, flips to one of the pages. “You’re obedient, and quiet. Just like him,” he grins the devil’s grin. “He’s obedient to his own agenda of course, while you are to him. However, I’m sure if he had a sterner figure in his life, and he were younger, he’d be just as much a dog as you are. To be a dog isn’t a bad thing, of course. They’re cute, well fed, and people keep them around for a reason,” he looks down upon the page, shuts the book immediately after.
“Do you often lose control of yourself?” he takes Blackmore’s hand in his own, places the book in it once again. Their fingers are so starkly different–thin and firm against thin, and what Diego is certain are soft as well. “Consider this yours then. Another for the collection. Now you can say you own one more than you did a moment ago,” he seems pleased with himself. “’Only he knew that to be left alone is not always to be foresaken,’” he still holds onto the edge of the book, finally lets go of it on the last syllable. “A very you line. A very you book. I think you’d like it.”
"I - I HAVEN'T THOUGHT so deeply on such a subject," he blushed, scratching his cheek. He watches the OTHER'S actions silently, blinking at the suggestion. He hadn't looked MUCH at the PRESIDENT'S wife - his eyes were always, as one would assume, on the PRESIDENT. He felt ashamed for not really noticing her. At the complement, his teeth chatter, his legs unable to bounce in nervousness.
A DOG? WAS that what he truly was? It was a bit degrading, but it really did describe him. Subject to a man's whims to maim and murder. Cute, not so much. He did not dress to be cute. His HAIRSTYLE, though... something he's had since he was a kid. His eyes close, and he tries to will the BLUSH on his cheeks away. The sudden closing of the book makes him jump, just a little.
"I --" HE WAS about to answer, but the other put his hand upon his. His long, spindly fingers, soft in texture, were laid upon. He listened to the other silently once more before feverishly nodding, a surprised look crossing his face. SOMETHING THE PRESIDENT HAD OWNED! He would never sell such a prime piece of liteature. He'd wear it down to it's last strings binding it together.
"THANK YOU SO much," he breathes out, suddenly CLUTCHING the book to his BREAST. His eyes were wide like a child's.
