If I wanted to watch that dumbass thief comb his beard, I’d already be there.
[ Her words, as ever, come out as little more than a purr. People don’t consider it necessary to live without mirrors, Fables included, and the Woodsman is no exception. Mary has absolutely nothing constraining her - nothing but the Crooked Man’s orders and her own desires, after all. She doesn’t want to talk to the Woodsman, so she doesn’t. His story is over. He’s boring.
Mary’s head lolls in consideration and she shifts, sitting forward instead of sprawled sidewards, taking up all the space the way a man would. With feet flat on the floor and shoulders squared, back hunched, well. He’ll get a peek inside her shirt’s neckline as well as an uncompromising view of her expression. ]
Look. The mirror is traditional, and I like tradition.
[ Her smile jerks, widening, as abrupt as twisting a knife. ]
It’s not necessary. Any reflective surface will do. Your toaster, a puddle of water, Crane’s glasses. I just have to be fast enough. And I’ve had plenty of time to work on that. So why don’t you make this easier on both of us and, I don’t know, invite me over for a nightcap?
[ His expression, all torn up in impotent, wolfish anger, really is delightful. She can’t get enough of it. She’d laugh, but laughing hurts her throat in anything more than tiny, murmured bursts. Everyone has always told her how terrible her laugh is, that it makes mundies bleed from the ears and fingernail beds. Who knows what it would do to him. It’s an experiment for later. ]
no subject
[ Her words, as ever, come out as little more than a purr. People don’t consider it necessary to live without mirrors, Fables included, and the Woodsman is no exception. Mary has absolutely nothing constraining her - nothing but the Crooked Man’s orders and her own desires, after all. She doesn’t want to talk to the Woodsman, so she doesn’t. His story is over. He’s boring.
Mary’s head lolls in consideration and she shifts, sitting forward instead of sprawled sidewards, taking up all the space the way a man would. With feet flat on the floor and shoulders squared, back hunched, well. He’ll get a peek inside her shirt’s neckline as well as an uncompromising view of her expression. ]
Look. The mirror is traditional, and I like tradition.
[ Her smile jerks, widening, as abrupt as twisting a knife. ]
It’s not necessary. Any reflective surface will do. Your toaster, a puddle of water, Crane’s glasses. I just have to be fast enough. And I’ve had plenty of time to work on that. So why don’t you make this easier on both of us and, I don’t know, invite me over for a nightcap?
[ His expression, all torn up in impotent, wolfish anger, really is delightful. She can’t get enough of it. She’d laugh, but laughing hurts her throat in anything more than tiny, murmured bursts. Everyone has always told her how terrible her laugh is, that it makes mundies bleed from the ears and fingernail beds. Who knows what it would do to him. It’s an experiment for later. ]
I like warm milk with a splash of bourbon.