[He makes no secret of tracking her progress through the cafe to a table near his own - indeed, he doesn't lift his eyes from her once or go to drink from the cup over which his hand is hovering. She's a magician, he's sure of it. --Or an enchantress or a witch or mage or whatever it is that people like the pair of them call themselves in this world. Though it isn't until he catches some sight of her cards that he says or does anything at all.
Which is to say: the cards make him snort. Of course.]
Are they a trick prop or is that really your Talent?
[ That's getting really creepy there, Michael, just saying. But she answers his question regardless, even if she looks fairly nervous as she does so, shoulders hunching forward a little in clear discomfort. ]
I don't - I can use them, if that's what you mean. They're not a prop.
[It's not creepy! Its...excessively observant... --Alright, so it's a touch unsettling. Which may actually be his intention as there's something pleasantly satisfying about the curl of her shoulders. That's right, girl. Be intimidated.
Michael shifts his leg under the table, toe of his leather shoe catching against the edge of the chair opposite him. He shoves it out by a few degrees and inclines his head toward it.]
Then you won't mind doing a reading for me. I'll buy your lunch.
[ It's creepy, Michael. That's just how it is, okay. It feels creepy. Not that it's terribly difficult to intimidate Larissa, in the end, but he's still something that she feels rather uncomfortable about right now.
But it's not - you don't just say no, to people who want their future read. It's a gift. It has to be used as such. Her hesitation is long and her glance around slightly trapped looking, but then she stands up and moves over regardless, bringing her things and coffee with her.
Besides, why turn down a free meal here? ]
If you'd like. People don't always like the answers they get.
[He offers her a taut smile, eyes all sharp as he carefully rearranges the tabletop - pushing the nonsense decor aside and gently relocating his cup and saucer well off.]
[ Meaningless small talk. She doesn't obscure her readings, if she knows what is meant. People always say they can handle it. She shuffles, slowly and carefully. ]
Yes. [ The lie is smooth and practiced, but she still can't quite meet his eyes. ] Do you have a gift?
[Which is equally a lie, equally smooth, practice to the point of being rote. His hand hovers at the handle of his cup like he might take it and lift it to his mouth, but Michael's eyes remain locked on her face as she avoids looking at him; he doesn't bother with tracking the motion of her fingers or the gentle 'whsk' of the cards as she shuffles.]
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no subject
Which is to say: the cards make him snort. Of course.]
Are they a trick prop or is that really your Talent?
no subject
I don't - I can use them, if that's what you mean. They're not a prop.
no subject
Michael shifts his leg under the table, toe of his leather shoe catching against the edge of the chair opposite him. He shoves it out by a few degrees and inclines his head toward it.]
Then you won't mind doing a reading for me. I'll buy your lunch.
no subject
But it's not - you don't just say no, to people who want their future read. It's a gift. It has to be used as such. Her hesitation is long and her glance around slightly trapped looking, but then she stands up and moves over regardless, bringing her things and coffee with her.
Besides, why turn down a free meal here? ]
If you'd like. People don't always like the answers they get.
no subject
[He offers her a taut smile, eyes all sharp as he carefully rearranges the tabletop - pushing the nonsense decor aside and gently relocating his cup and saucer well off.]
Is reading cards the only thing you can do?
[It's dreadfully conversational.]
no subject
[ Meaningless small talk. She doesn't obscure her readings, if she knows what is meant. People always say they can handle it. She shuffles, slowly and carefully. ]
Yes. [ The lie is smooth and practiced, but she still can't quite meet his eyes. ] Do you have a gift?
no subject
[Which is equally a lie, equally smooth, practice to the point of being rote. His hand hovers at the handle of his cup like he might take it and lift it to his mouth, but Michael's eyes remain locked on her face as she avoids looking at him; he doesn't bother with tracking the motion of her fingers or the gentle 'whsk' of the cards as she shuffles.]
Where did you get your education?