gold obsidian hues blink over those of mismatched, her stare following his. response to such animalistic behaviour would’ve been to seek forth more, and though her fingers twitched for such, she sought not to do anything more than follow his movements, a brow arching upwards at such mannerisms. there’s little need to talk when enduring such tendencies, yet she cannot help but tilt her head just a hair to the right as he came to respond to her, his words seeping into her flesh, bringing forth another rolling set of shivers. ‘ no reason to be shy with me, darling. i’m the last person you should be shy with. ’ it’s not as if she yearns for such teasing commentary, but it’s certainly a plus, her stare lingering on his at the way he seemed to toy with her.
‘ you make it sound as if you’re the most fucked up being there is, ’ a step forward taunted limited space, aware that the wolfish grin crossing mien was for only the charming bastard who reeled her in with such words, and not another, ‘ but you’re not. ’ another foot nearer and she’d force her fingers not to touch at his suit, lush petals returning to a placid state. ‘ tell me something, anything, can’t imagine it’s as terrible and fucked up as you think it is. you tell me that and i’ll give you something better, promise. ’
There’s a certain amount of assumed familiarity that he finds curious in the way that she speaks to him, like her statements made in that borderline unnervingly attractive voice are things he should already know. Perhaps it’s designed to set him off-kilter, or perhaps it’s just some kind of flirtation with a monster, but Richie is slowly becoming more and more engrossed either way. His inexperience in certain things has long made him susceptible to the allure of a beautiful woman, and he’s less ashamed than his desires can overcome. He’s sure there’s more to it. There’s always more to it with people who talk like him, like bringing up inappropriate topics to strangers is commonplace. He knows what they’d call her isn’t to dissimilar from what they call him.
“You’re the last person I thought I’d encounter.” Thus far, anyway. Something scratches at his inner ear, and he cants his head to the side, a phantom tick that doesn’t come as a surprise.
So this is a game. Richie is good at games, or at least he likes to think he is. He assesses her again from behind the unnecessary lenses of his glasses, ignoring the smudge, and ignoring the dust, and ignoring all else aside from her features. Lovely, malicious, something beneath the surface that gnaws and writhes. He does believe he knows the feeling. Ignoring her approach for the most part --- he worries little about potential bodily harm she could do to him --- Richard clasps his hands behind his back and stands his ground.
“If you had to guess, what would you say your soul tastes like?”
The question isn’t innocent, but he makes it sound like it is. Something normal to ask with that ravenous hunger flickering over his otherwise neutral features, set only with the slightest of smirks at either corner of his mouth. “I have my guesses. Peach and a hint of something floral, like lavender or baby’s breath, and violence. You seem violent. Have you ever tasted that? Have you ever had it fill your mouth?” He takes a step closer as he speaks, bowing his head down again, standing his full height just a bit too much for him to make his point. He isn’t close enough to touch, but he’s close enough to hint at it. That was mostly her doing, though.
“I had a dream once. Do you want to know what it was?”
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