Kitty doesn’t move to leave him, nor does she lean in further-- this was her chosen spot, after all. So, she simply settles instead, as though she’s decided that comfort is something she can figure out later. His hand at her back earns a faint shift of attention from her, not alarmed, just . . . aware. It's not the first time a man has placed his hands on her curves and she's certain it won't be the last-- awareness was an instinct she had cultivated a long time ago.
And yet he still refers to himself as a gentleman.
The statement drifts in her mind and Kitty can not help but to hum, smiling softly in answer. The reaction is less amused than prior, leaning more into her inner analytics.Her gaze lingers on his face for a moment longer than necessary before she exhales softly through her nose, giving a sound that suggests she’s still deciding what she thinks of him.
❛ Mm. . . ❜ she hums, voice light, almost absent-minded, like she’s thinking more than she’s speaking. ❛ You don't think we are moving a little fast for a conversation that’s supposed to involve words? ❜
There’s no real complaint in her inquiry. If anything, there’s a faint curiosity underneath, like she’s watching him rather than resisting him. Her fingers shift idly against his chest, not clinging, not pushing away either, just there in a way that feels more like observation than affection.
Men were always trying to forgo conversation for something more physical, at least in her experience. It was rare she ever indulged them fully-- she was a woman of standards and dignity, after all. But what fully separates Dio from other men, then? Maybe his sincerity, if one could call it that.
❛ Alright, then. I have a suggestion, ❜ she adds after a beat, her posture straightening. Her palms clap onto his chest, patting him in a brief, double tap as if she's found the solution to the problem.
❛ I want to know you. You want to know me. So, just ask. Anything. And I'll answer you, honestly. I promise. ❜
The words are simple, but they don’t feel like a request. More like a structure she’s placing between them, something she can use. If she's to do anything, she'd like to have a larger base of information to work with first.
Her brow lifts, complexion intrigued and seemingly waiting. Her tail does another flick behind her and a scalloped ear twitches, seemingly anxious for his reply. But before he can answer, she's already adding to onto herself.
❛ Tell you what, let’s cut the formalities, mm? ❜ She adds at last, tone gentling in a different way now. ❛ Miss Kitty is for marquees. ❜
Her eyes flick back to his, steady again.
❛ You can call me Kitty. Or whatever else you'd like to call me. ❜
It's not a request or a demand. It's a question in its own manner, seeing how he wishes to truly perceive her.
A beat passes before she exhales again, more lightly this time, settling back into the rhythm she’s chosen.
❛ I'll even ask a question first, since you asked the last one. ❜ Her head tilts again, like she needs to think her question over. She doesn't. But she can act as though she needs the extra time to formulate herself properly. ❛ Are you always certain of people? Are first impressions important to you? ❜
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