There he goes again, only met with a downwards turn of her lips, that scowl that has her eyes rolling. He’s on all the wrong edges, someone meant to be ground beneath a heel, to grovel for forgiveness because he didn’t know how to hold his own spine upright. “I don’t even know WHAT THAT MEANS.” Faye’s used her looks for everything, hasn’t she? A magic key, it opens what she needs when hunting down a mark, placing a bet, getting out of stickier situations, but it was just a thing that was there, that existed and… honestly. She couldn’t bare it when it was all someone saw of her, when she could do so much more than that, it was as if she could conquer the world, and her nerves grated to dust beneath the fact that most would never see the accomplishment for what it was.
"If you SHUT UP you just might still have a chance.”
It’s the most honest she’s been all day, it bursts like disgust from her mouth. Faye’s never cared for the simpering and tripping up of a man, leaning in closer with, hands at her hips, as if she isn’t wearing stolen designer, sunglasses now whipped from their perch against the bridge of her nose. “I SHOULD SCARE YOU. Because I can do awful, awful things with my hands, and not the kind you’re likely imagining right now. But I also happen to like fast cars and good ambition, and if you know a good jazz bar and can pick a good whiskey, you might be able to save this, and yourself, and secure yourself a date. But act fast. I don’t like to wait around forever.”
He stares at Faye, trying to think of something, anything to salvage this. He’s going to be beating himself up forever if he fucks this opportunity up. “I know--- I know a place.” Harry finally manages to get the words out, and it’s like he’s being held at gunpoint rather than asking someone out on a date. He almost adds: Dad used to love it, but he figures he’s talked enough about his dead dad for now. He inhales deeply, trying to drop the nervous schoolboy demeanor, but it’s much easier said than done.
“I would like it--- um, very much, if you would join me.” If Harry had been wearing a tie, he’d be nervously fidgeting with it right now. Since he isn’t, he buries his hands deep in his pockets; as if Faye’s patience with him is a ticking time bomb that’s about to run out. “I would like it if you would join me, because you’re one of the most beautiful women that I’ve ever met.” He actually manages to get through that sentence without wincing at his own awkwardness or stammering. Maybe there is hope for him yet.
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