song_tra_bong | April Fool's

She can breath a little deeper with each lace cut; she hadn't realized how tight it was until now.

She laughs a little at his comment. "You do know how to hand out compliments."

She knows he was talking about the dress, but dammit, she's in the ~~dead animal~~ dress.

Julian grins wider as he cuts the last lace, the slides the knife through layers of material carefully, so as not to go too far and nick her skin.

'Well, I'm a Prince. They teach us how to be polite.'

For a given value of 'polite'.

'And don't laugh. You wouldn't want to resemble a dead animal by emulating copious amounts of blood, would you?'

"And bleed all over my lovely new dress? No thanks."

("Nothing is fun unless a little blood is let, I think.")

"As entertaining as this all is, I'll restrain myself somehow."

And she fall silent, because she truly has no plans to bleed.
Though she mind not mind.

He glances up at her.

'Well if you want to keep the dress, then should I really be cutting holes in it?'

Because obviously she'd want to keep something like this. Useful, in a place like Vietnam. She could use it as a tent.

He cuts a hole in the material, around the stomach area, then slides the knife into his pocket, grabs each side of the hole and yanks. He's strong and there's no chance of her getting cut this way.

Few too many holes now for a tent. And entirely too much to carry around.

"If I'm keeping it for anything, it's for rags to clean my guns."

The material rends with a satisfying sound and she inhales, relatively free from the waist up. "Hm, just a sec."

And she sits down, mostly hidden inside the tent-skirt, before crawling out the hole he'd made earlier. "There." She stretches, relishing the freedom of movement.

There's a laugh, and he goes back to twirling the knife, leaning on the doorframe as he does.

'Well, that's quicker than cutting you out.' A nod at the thing. 'Just want to leave the carcass there?'

She nods, giving it a kick to scoot it so that it no longer obstructs the door. "Somebody'll come for it. Or maybe the bar will take it back, use it reupholster one of the couches or something."

A thought strikes her and she fetches the wig from the corner, placing it in the hall with the dress carcass. While doing so, she glances down at herself. Her concern is not that she isn't wearing much from the waist up--it's the hideous undergarment thing from the waist down. It is white and frilly and that's about all her brain is willing to process.

"Oh, Christ. The dress must have been that big to keep anyone from seeing these." She plucks at the fabric on her hip and rolls her eyes.

Julian, having already investigated the underwear, manfully does not break into helpless laughter. But he does grin rather wickedly and run his eyes over the things.

'I think they suit you. And probably even more use than a chastity belt.'

She gives him a Look, which is partially ruined by the fact that she's trying not to laugh.

"You like them, you can wear them." She shimmies out of them and tosses them over her shoulder, vaguely aimed in the direction of Julian's head.

She goes to the dresser and pulls out the first thing she can find--drawstring pajama pants, as it happens. She slips them on and doesn't bother to tie them; more for the sake of having something on with the door still open than anything else. Which reminds her...put on a shirt or close the door?

He dodges the underclothes and closes the door, because it's clearly the sensible option. And it removes pink from the world, which is a good thing.

'No, I think they suit you better.'

He wanders over to the dresser and tosses the knife down, then goes to lounge on the bed, lighting a cigarette as he leans on pillows.

'I never thought I'd appreciate getting out of clothes so fast. I think being naked would be preferable to wearing a dress.'

She laughs.

"Sometimes it is, especially when the dresses look like what we had. Of course, we didn't exactly get the cream of the crop, either."

'Well, no. But given the choice, I think I'd rather not have to wear any of them.'

He smokes languidly, staring at the ceiling and still buzzing pleasantly from the Atlantean.

"Shame. You have nice legs."

She hums a little under her breath--no demon song, just whatever was in those shots--a little sway present in her walk as she goes to the bed, flopping down beside him.

'Think so?'

He lifts one off the bed, though it's hard to tell the state of it, as it's covered by the ill-fitting pants. But he knows he has good legs - good body in general. he's not shy about it.

'So do you, for that matter.'

She runs a hand idly up his calf and halfway up his thigh, but no higher. "Mhm." Even drunk, she's still a tease.

She's lying on her stomach, so she twists her head a little to examine her own legs. "Thanks. I like 'em."

A smile quirks his lips at the touch, but he doesn't comment further on it. He does push the leg into her hand a little though, a silent encouragement perhaps.

'They keep you alive. I'd advise you to keep them safe.'

She traces abstract patterns on his thigh with a fingertip, one loop occasionally arcing high.

"Rather attached to them," she murmurs. "So I'll do my best."

The tracing is nice, especially when the fingertip reaches higher. He still doesn't comment though, just keeps up the lazy smile.

'Glad to hear it. You wouldn't be the same to look at, without them.'

She laughs again.

"Be shorter, for one thing. Have to sell off all my shoes. Probably scream a lot more."

She can be a bit of a morbid drunk. To compensate, she cranes her neck and kisses him lightly.

"And not in the fun way," she says against his mouth.

All the while, her fingers circle, gradually shifting up.

The kiss is returned easily as he tries to shift towards the hand as much as is possible. Which isn't very but he tries anyway. Feels nice.

'Well, that's no good then,' he murmurs quietly. 'Screaming in pain is never so much fun as in other ways.'

"No," she says, remembering fire and teeth.

"Best to tip the scale in the positive direction."

Her hand snakes up to his hip, then then down and across, but just enough to tease. Back to idle circles on his thigh.

His eyes close for a moment, then open as the hand moves away again. He shifts a little because teasing, then leans over to stub his cigarette out, twisting himself an ashtray for convenience.

'Positive is always better than negative,' he agrees calmly. Though the calmness may well be false.

"Mmm."

She smiles slowly, pleased, because teasing is what she's good at.

The pattern starts again. Up the thigh to hip, across again but higher--skimming the skin just above the waistband of the pants. Fingers linger long enough to twist the button open (standard military issue, she could undo it in the dark)...

...before slinking back to his thigh.

'Enjoying yourself?' he enquires in a light tone, dropping a hand to lightly caress the back of her neck.

'I don't think I'll buy you any more alcohol if it makes you tease like this.'

"Mmm, immensely."

She attempts a pout, but it quickly gets taken over by a smirk. "Oh, whatever shall I do--"

And her hand isn't on his thigh any more, or on his hip, but yanking the zipper down and there. She lunges forward while her hand works, kissing him hard.

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