September 29, 2016
"Tha' was a pretty good show." With her hand entwined with Locke's, Katarina adjusted the black leather jacket with her free hand. Wisp had helped Katarina fill her closet with more clothes to entertain the joy in pretty things and it was an added bonus to promote her husband's business. So what if her entire outfit - even down to the black, sheer polka dot tights - was already put together? The navy skirt was short and fun, and Katarina felt Locke's influence in all of it. "It's been 'while since we've seen 'notha Elvish play. I thin' I missed a lo' less this time 'round."
"You don't think it was too boring? I must admit that some of the plays they put on are...an acquired taste. I have only so much attention for watching blokes and birds in twigs and leaves prancing about a stage filled with fake trees and..." Locke waved at the air lazily with his free hand. "...whatever bloody else those plants are on stage. At least this one kept that to a minimum. " Locke chuckled, then twisted the black rose lapel pin around in his fingers. He'd worn a light brown sports coat with a dark floral printed pocket square, a burgundy tie, white button-up dress shirt, cornflower trousers whose hybrid fabric verged on either corduroy or denim, and brown brogues with no socks. He gave her hand and arm a light swing as they strolled down the sidewalk.
"Yeah, sometimes th' stage kin be sparse, bu'..." she shrugged, "I guess 'm nah a big critic o' thin's 'n th' stage. 'm generally pretty pleased an' happy. A ballet, though? Well, then I guess th' real critic 'n me could come ou', bu'... I think makin' somethin' up there is betta 'n nothin'." The crowd of the show was becoming a little more sparse, as the foot traffic from other busy streets mingled in. "We all hav' our own kind'a creative, yanno." She flipped up the collar on her leather jacket and gave him a saucy wink, "I mean really, who else could dress me up so good?"
"Well, I do have some outstanding minces," he said, pointing at his eyes with his index and middle fingers. He then pointed at hers, and then back at his, an unspoken "I'm watching you" gesture that soon dissolved into giggles. "It helps having a beautiful canvas upon which to drape my fabrics, savvy? In fact..." He slowed down, resting his free fingers on his chin, and peered at her with his head tilted to the side. "I suspect that you do not need anything to look beautiful."
She slowed down with him, coming to a gentle stop as he assessed her. She twirled a little, jutted out a hip with her hand on it, and mocked a few other poses she had seen his models do over the years. Laughing, she leaned forward so that she could whisper in his ear, "Well, ya would know tha', wouldn'cha?"
His eyes fluttered shut involuntarily at the soft breath and words that caressed his ears, even as a wide grin threatened to split his face in two. He whispered right back, "Abso-bloody-lutely. You have no idea how difficult-"
The sentence cut off with a grunt, as a short man with greasy brown hair and a red flannel lumberjack's shirt bumped into Locke. "Terribly sorry, mate," the ice elf said.
The man grumbled something at Locke in a voice that only his sharp hearing could pick up, and began walking away.
"I beg your pardon, mate?" Upon being questioned, the man stopped, turned around, and sneered at Locke.
"You heard me, dandelion eater."
When Locke got bumped, Katarina naturally took a step away from him to avoid a collision and to give him more space. She was about to ignore the man when Locke prompted a clearer response. She started to frown then, and looked between the two.
It was a phrase she had never encountered. It would have made her giggle if it weren't for the tone of his voice and the look on his face. She straightened a little, the heeled boots added to her already tall height so that she could stare down her nose at the stranger, "An's wha's tha' 'posed ta mean?"
"His kind cares more about the flowers and the trees than people. Humans."
Locke just rolled his eyes at that. "You do know that there are elves other than the ones in the forests, right?"
"You shut up!" The vehemence in the man's statement drove Locke to take a couple of steps back with Katarina. ?You're not better than me!"
"I didn't say I was."
"Your tone did!" The man pointed at Locke. "Your kind always thinks it's better than us!"
"Allrigh', allrigh', I think tha's 'bout 'nough. Now ya go 'n an' kindly take tha' nonsense elsewhere an' mind yer own." She folded her arms and smirked. Casually, she glanced around and noted a few eyes in the crowd were on them. The heat in the man?s voice rose the tempo of her heartbeat, and she was glad that her arms were crossed so that her adrenaline didn't show her her nerves. "Dun thin' ya wan' ta make a scene here wit' th' likes o' us."
"Fine, fine. But you won't always be able to pretend you're better. Things are gonna change." He pointed at each of them in turn, starting with Locke. "You're gonna pay, and then you're gonna pay. Traitor." He hissed the last word, and then hustled away from the growing crowd. Locke's eyes were stormy as he stared daggers into the back of the retreating harasser.
"Tha' was a pretty good show." With her hand entwined with Locke's, Katarina adjusted the black leather jacket with her free hand. Wisp had helped Katarina fill her closet with more clothes to entertain the joy in pretty things and it was an added bonus to promote her husband's business. So what if her entire outfit - even down to the black, sheer polka dot tights - was already put together? The navy skirt was short and fun, and Katarina felt Locke's influence in all of it. "It's been 'while since we've seen 'notha Elvish play. I thin' I missed a lo' less this time 'round."
"You don't think it was too boring? I must admit that some of the plays they put on are...an acquired taste. I have only so much attention for watching blokes and birds in twigs and leaves prancing about a stage filled with fake trees and..." Locke waved at the air lazily with his free hand. "...whatever bloody else those plants are on stage. At least this one kept that to a minimum. " Locke chuckled, then twisted the black rose lapel pin around in his fingers. He'd worn a light brown sports coat with a dark floral printed pocket square, a burgundy tie, white button-up dress shirt, cornflower trousers whose hybrid fabric verged on either corduroy or denim, and brown brogues with no socks. He gave her hand and arm a light swing as they strolled down the sidewalk.
"Yeah, sometimes th' stage kin be sparse, bu'..." she shrugged, "I guess 'm nah a big critic o' thin's 'n th' stage. 'm generally pretty pleased an' happy. A ballet, though? Well, then I guess th' real critic 'n me could come ou', bu'... I think makin' somethin' up there is betta 'n nothin'." The crowd of the show was becoming a little more sparse, as the foot traffic from other busy streets mingled in. "We all hav' our own kind'a creative, yanno." She flipped up the collar on her leather jacket and gave him a saucy wink, "I mean really, who else could dress me up so good?"
"Well, I do have some outstanding minces," he said, pointing at his eyes with his index and middle fingers. He then pointed at hers, and then back at his, an unspoken "I'm watching you" gesture that soon dissolved into giggles. "It helps having a beautiful canvas upon which to drape my fabrics, savvy? In fact..." He slowed down, resting his free fingers on his chin, and peered at her with his head tilted to the side. "I suspect that you do not need anything to look beautiful."
She slowed down with him, coming to a gentle stop as he assessed her. She twirled a little, jutted out a hip with her hand on it, and mocked a few other poses she had seen his models do over the years. Laughing, she leaned forward so that she could whisper in his ear, "Well, ya would know tha', wouldn'cha?"
His eyes fluttered shut involuntarily at the soft breath and words that caressed his ears, even as a wide grin threatened to split his face in two. He whispered right back, "Abso-bloody-lutely. You have no idea how difficult-"
The sentence cut off with a grunt, as a short man with greasy brown hair and a red flannel lumberjack's shirt bumped into Locke. "Terribly sorry, mate," the ice elf said.
The man grumbled something at Locke in a voice that only his sharp hearing could pick up, and began walking away.
"I beg your pardon, mate?" Upon being questioned, the man stopped, turned around, and sneered at Locke.
"You heard me, dandelion eater."
When Locke got bumped, Katarina naturally took a step away from him to avoid a collision and to give him more space. She was about to ignore the man when Locke prompted a clearer response. She started to frown then, and looked between the two.
It was a phrase she had never encountered. It would have made her giggle if it weren't for the tone of his voice and the look on his face. She straightened a little, the heeled boots added to her already tall height so that she could stare down her nose at the stranger, "An's wha's tha' 'posed ta mean?"
"His kind cares more about the flowers and the trees than people. Humans."
Locke just rolled his eyes at that. "You do know that there are elves other than the ones in the forests, right?"
"You shut up!" The vehemence in the man's statement drove Locke to take a couple of steps back with Katarina. ?You're not better than me!"
"I didn't say I was."
"Your tone did!" The man pointed at Locke. "Your kind always thinks it's better than us!"
"Allrigh', allrigh', I think tha's 'bout 'nough. Now ya go 'n an' kindly take tha' nonsense elsewhere an' mind yer own." She folded her arms and smirked. Casually, she glanced around and noted a few eyes in the crowd were on them. The heat in the man?s voice rose the tempo of her heartbeat, and she was glad that her arms were crossed so that her adrenaline didn't show her her nerves. "Dun thin' ya wan' ta make a scene here wit' th' likes o' us."
"Fine, fine. But you won't always be able to pretend you're better. Things are gonna change." He pointed at each of them in turn, starting with Locke. "You're gonna pay, and then you're gonna pay. Traitor." He hissed the last word, and then hustled away from the growing crowd. Locke's eyes were stormy as he stared daggers into the back of the retreating harasser.