charcoal & whipped cream

Who: Angelo & Lenore
When: Late
Where: Nighthawkes/His place
Gets kinda nsfw.

Lenore, true to her word the previous night, was never late. She had a heavy brass pocket watch (which was far from the standard issue of the nursing profession, but she could afford better than the crappy tin one the hospital gave you) tucked into the pocket of her coat which told her as much. She had arrived 10 minutes before the arranged meeting time, and that had been 12 minutes ago. But she wasn't annoyed. Just because she hated to be late didn't mean she cared when other people were - and she would've been more surprised if Angelo had been on time.

She'd selected a booth near the window, so she could watch the night sky and of course, the faces of passers by, and was drinking her coffee black. It'd been a long day, early start with a late finish the night previous, and as such her energy levels weren't their highest. But she wanted to be as lively as she could for her meeting with Angelo. She wanted to talk to him properly, and see his paintings, and just have a nice, easy time. She was happy though, because Angelo's liveliness was contagious. He was the sort of person she could bounce off. He was very, very alive. And that was something she appreciated.

Her hair was loose, and even though she rarely wore make-up she'd attempted a bit of blush to disguise the scratch marks under her right eye. They were kind of obviously from a slap in the face and that wasn't a conversation she wanted to have because she really disliked lying. However, if it came up, it came up. She had dressed simply, because she always did, in an off-white flapper dress and the kind of hose that had a seam down the back. Nothing revealing. While she didn't think Angelo saw her like that (she would've been surprised) it was important that she didn't present herself incorrectly. He was someone who, like her, took in the details. She appreciated that.

But appearance was not something that was weighing on her mind at all. She was more simply hoping Angelo would remember their appointment and show up. Not worried, or anxious. Just...hoping.

He'd nearly been on time! It was a feat in and of itself, though Angelo didn't expect it to hold much ground with Lenore. He had, in fact, planned his day around this meeting. Angelo had flipped his schedule and smoked a pipeful of opium that morning instead of before bed, lazing around like a cat in sunlight until just before work. He'd set up his canvas, had even slapped down a few strokes of black and red that had no real design yet, and somehow it had suddenly been time to work.

But he was a man thankful for small mercies, like how mundane his night at the club had been and how the floor manager even told him to leave early so the house could save a few dollars. Angelo had dashed home at top speed, tumbling once and falling into a puddle, soaking his work suit and mentally noting to get it to Mr. Lu's drycleaning tomorrow morning before he'd changed in the closest thing to panic he ever felt. So... he'd nearly been on time, only just now heading up the street towards Lenore at a brisk pace. Angelo hadn't dressed finely, pulling on an old wool shirt and a patched peacoat that worked together to ward off the chill.

"Din' miss anything exciting, did I?" he called in greeting as he drew near.

Lenore looked back from the window and up at Angelo. She was mildly surprised that she hadn't seen him coming down the street but still, she was pleased he had actually arrived. She raised an eyebrow at him and laughed softly, her expression warm. He looked slightly rushed, but sweet nonetheless.
"Coffee's pretty exciting this time of night, I think. However, I doubt you've missed out on that," she affected a mock whisper and leaned forwards slightly, "the waitress has been hovering slightly, I think she'll be thrilled to have another order."

The waitress had probably been hovering because there were only 3 other people in the Diner and she was the only one not currently eating - it had been a remark on the girl's rudeness and not his lateness. She wasn't particularly fussed about that. She was surprised at how easily he fitted into her comfort zone. It was a rare skill, and one she envied.

Angelo laughed warmly, nodding to the waitress with a grin as he shirked his coat and moved to sit across from Lenore. "Coffee for me too, please, an' some hashbrowns," he ordered before settling back in the booth. Breathing deep from his sprint here, Angelo laughed again, this time at himself as he pushed a hand back over his short-cropped hair. "So, you think I jus' made her evening?" Angelo asked, nodding at the retreating waitress, "This time a'night, can't be too much traffic."

The question was a buffer, a minor social cue meant to give him time to take in how Lenore looked tonight, to spot the differences. The white dress was simple, but somehow elegant on her with her captivating eyes, and the light touch of makeup over the scratches definitely caught Angelo's eye. He didn't see it as a blemish so much as a curiosity, starting to reach across but not letting himself touch her. "What happened? Looks like you been livin' some interestin' times, as my laundry man likes to say."

"Is he Chinese? Don't they say that? 'May you live in interesting times'? I think it's meant to be a curse. You've been giving them too much dirty laundry and not enough in the way of tips," she said good naturedly, winking, "Anyway, I got slapped at work. But I don't think it was personal. Just a scared little girl."

She sipped her coffee and maintained eye contact, scanning his face once again to see if she found anything different from last time, but it was the same. Inviting and warm, and a twinkle in the eyes. She liked that neither of them was shy about their examination of the other. She wouldn't have minded if he'd reached out to touch her, either. She'd done that very thing to him on their last meeting, and Lenore wasn't shy to touch. She understood it was important - and the desire to reach out and touch something you were drawn to and found interesting.

"Chinese as a firecracker," Angelo confirmed, nose wrinkling with his grin, "An' he says it every time I bring in a wine stain an' say I need the suit in a few hours." He gave quiet thanks again as his coffee arrived, wrapping both hands around the mug to leech warmth and raising it up to his lips. Angelo's eyes drifted shut as he breathed in the smell, sighing in quiet contentment from the simple pleasure for a private moment. Looking to Lenore again, he took a deep drink and exhaled against the heat before he set the mug down. He reached out to lightly settle a fingertip at her jaw, angling her face ever so slightly. "Hell, I hope it wasn't personal... stranger or no, don' think I can see someone raisin' a hand to you."

Lenore smiled wryly to herself and responded to his touch, tipping her head the way he moved it. There were a lot of people who had risen a hand to her. People rarely thought that of her though. They saw her and thought, pretty middle class girl. Never had a day of trouble in her life, and fair enough. That was the image she projected.

"Well, everyone gets a good slap mark at least once in their life. I doubt I need to tell you, you work in a nightclub. At least I know how to disinfect mine properly," she said, thinking of her earlier meeting with Jesse who had been pounded far worse and didn't look like he could say the same. She moved her head back to it's original position, softly brushing his hand away, and meeting his gaze with a smile.
"Anyway. My day was as long as it was interesting. How about you?"

Often, Angelo would find himself caught up in someone's gaze, but he stared. It was to be expected. Here, though, it was returned, and that fascinated him all by itself. "Wish it was just a slap," Angelo mused, idly stirring his coffee, "Got myself a bottle cracked over my head somewhere 'round my first month at the Round." He reached up to rub beneath his hair for the small divot of scar tissue he knew lurked there, chuckling with the memory. "That particular fella? Was not a fan."

He withdrew his hand with the subtle cue, resting his forearm on the table and leaning a bit. "My day? S'like tryin' to catch sunlight, you know? Slipped right through my fingers, left me feelin' a lil' warm but without nothin' to show for it all," Angelo waxed, "But that's most days. Good thing I ain't the type to want souvenirs, yeah?".

"A bottle? That's an overreaction if ever I heard one. Let me see." She sounded exactly like a nurse asking to see the place where you had been hit with a bottle should sound, concerned and slightly bemused, even if it was an old wound. She pushed her coffee aside and leaned across the table unabashedly, smoothing her hand over the place he just touched trying to find the scar for herself. She liked scars. They were markings of a brush with Death.

"Souvenirs are just tangible memories," said Lenore as she ran her fingertips across his scalp, her touch gentle, but firm enough not to tickle, "Coming from someone who collects more than her fair share of mementos, take it from me that you're not missing much. The warm feeling is probably better than constantly needing to dust."

"Like I said, the fella wasn't a fan," Angelo reiterated, smiling as he leaned a little into the touch. The scar was decent in size, the night he'd earned it had seen a prolonged visit to the hospital after all, but it was long-healed and covered by hair. "An' I wager you've got it right, 'specially since I'm not the sort to wave a duster." He chuckled softly, watching her expression as she felt the old scar and wondering how they looked to the few other diners present. Likely odd, given their clashing skin tones and Lenore's familiarity with him. "What sort of mementos you collect, then?"

"Oh, stuff. Scissors. Stuffed animals. Old photographs," she said, finally deciding she had examined Angelo's scar closely enough and sliding back into her seat with a grin, "Just junk really. I like it though - sometimes things draw me in, you know? Things other people wouldn't see the beauty in. Like your scar - it's beautiful. It's your own little mark of being alive." It was odd the way Lenore could say things like that without sounding particularly enthusiastic. She had a habit of talking like she was teaching mathematics, but of course she wasn't bored by the subject matter.

She leaned forwards with her chin on her hands and looked at Angelo with her usual probing expression. "So, maybe I'll find something I like in your gallery of masterpieces. You never did tell me what kind of thing you paint. Am I going to be horribly offended by all the nudity?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Angelo's eyes narrowed in wry amusement, crinkling at the corners as he smiled to Lenore. He was debating just how to answer that when his hashbrowns arrived, and Angelo wasted no time in spiking a healthy dash of pepper on them and spearing a forkful. Wolfing it down, Angelo chewed with zeal before finally speaking up. "Ain't a whole lotta nudity," he finally answered, stabbing another clump of food and offering it Lenore's way, "But there's a lil', if you know where to look."

He was eager to see her reaction to his artwork, given how intrigued and open Lenore seemed to be with the rest of his passions, but at the same time? Angelo could admit he was a bit nervous. "I sorta... paint all kinds of things?" he offered eventually, "Like, I'll paint anythin', it's more 'bout the viewer for me. I don't really like tellin' people what it is they seein' 'til they tell me what they think they see, you know? Like... I know what I wanted to make, right? But it's only half as important as findin' out what other folk see, and if it's anywhere close to what i was goin' for."

Lenore was one of those people who scraped her teeth along the fork when she ate, another tiny quirk that disquietened some people, the sound of tooth enamel against metal. Lenore didn't eat much, and she'd eaten earlier in the evening, but she liked food all the same, and was quite happy to let Angelo feed her a forkful.

"Good hash browns," she said once she'd swallowed. She had been listening intently to what Angelo said regarding his paintings and it made her frown slightly. "I wouldn't peg you as someone who'd place value on their work by what other people thought of it? Perhaps that's not what you mean. Perhaps your aim is to provoke people to think. But surely what you create is just that - yours. It's your story, your painting. Shouldn't matter a damn what anyone else thinks, should it?"

It was the confidence thing all over again, that she'd spotted within minutes of meeting him previously. He was so obviously talented, but she couldn't help but feel that perhaps he wrapped himself too tightly in approval. He couldn't see his own talent, didn't have a scale for how magical his liveliness and ability to create was.

"You got it partway right," Angelo replied, his expression thoughtful and just vaguely amused. He liked this; explaining his outlook, having it challenged, getting glimpses of Lenore herself based on how she saw things. "Yeah, I wanna get gears turnin' for folks, but sometimes it ain't gonna happen. So... like this one time, I was doin' a show, right? Lil' gallery down near the Sixth that's gone now. An' this fella from uptown, he says he curates for the pieces that get displayed up at the Drake, starts tryin' to talk my themes with me. An' he's a smart one, but he's not seeing the work. He's lookin' for subtexts, for evocative colors, all that."

Angelo paused to slurp from his coffee and swallow another bite of food, smiling to himself at the memory he was sharing. "So he asks to buy one, an' when I say no he looks like I slapped his momma in front of him. But the thing is, he din' want the art, he wanted a trophy to hang, maybe tell his clients 'bout that nigger fella who paints so well for so little formal training. Me? I don' say what it is cuz I always hope there'll be someone who sees what I see, or who finds somethin' I put there without realizin'. I like to connect, realize my tiny lil' island of perspective got room for more than one set of feet. Only value I put on a canvas is the idea that somebody might share the price without me explainin' it first."

Lenore nodded, still nursing her coffee and paying close attention to Angelo as he spoke, laughing gently at the appropriate moments, and clucking her tongue softly at others. He really did have a way of hooking you in when he spoke, and Lenore knew she stared, but considering he didn't seem to mind she was indulging herself. It was rare to find someone who didn't baulk under scrutiny.

"Some people get so caught in what they think they're supposed to see that they miss what's really there. I think there's always going to be something that's the clearest principle in your head that won't translate to anyone else. I feel that way a lot. What's the fairytale they tell small children? About the Emperor? I think I always got the moral wrong," she grinned, fairy tales were not her strong suit - no-one had ever read to Lenore as a child, and she'd never had the desire to hide herself away in a fantasy world anyway, "You were supposed to think that he was stupid for walking around naked. I always figured it didn't matter. End of the day, he was still Emperor, and everyone enjoyed the parade. Anyway. I hope I see what you see. Or at least a variation. I shouldn't like to disappoint."

It was his turn to laugh, eyes shining as Angelo rounded up the last bits of his meager meal and ate. "Hell, I heard that story an' I thought you was s'posed to admire the boys who got him to strip," he confessed, swirling his mug's contents lazily, "There's plenty a'tales 'bout how powerful a good hustle can be, after all. Jus' made sense that that was another." Angelo kept up the idle play with his mug for a moment before tossing it back and draining it, smacking his lips in satisfaction. He leaned an elbow onto the table, letting his posture go loose as he shook his head at Lenore.

"You'll see what you'll see, an' I'm dyin' to know what it is. Two days ain't much in this city's tides, jus' a ripple on the surface, but you're nowhere near disappointin' me yet," he praised, the warmth in his voice entirely genuine. It was easy to let his fascination with this woman slide into attraction; she was attentive without being dull herself, thoughtful, critical... How many people of either gender had ever held his curiosity like this?

Lenore gave one of her rare smiles that lit up her entire face, and brought out the twinkle in her brown-black eyes. She'd only ever met one person who'd given her such sincere compliments before, and now he was quite firmly behind bars. It was refreshing, and kind of exciting to have such a connection with someone. "Well that's a sweet thing to hear, although I disagree on one point - 2 days can be a lifetime, and that's all anyone gets. So we ought to grab pie to go, because I want it, and seize the moment and have a look at your den of mysterious artwork, hmm?"

She beckoned for the red-eyed waitress to come back over, and tried to remember the last time she'd eaten pie with someone - she had a sneaking suspicion it might have been last year and the pie in question had been laced with arsenic. Such was the complexity of life.

"Because you want it," Angelo echoed, looking thoroughly amused at her words. He quirked a smile, tapping his finger against his lips as the waitress approached and intruded on them. That smile Lenore had given, the zeal in it and the faintest bit of color it brought to her cheeks was a miracle to behold. She smiles like she means it, he mused, shaking his head at himself and digging out money for his tab. "I like that, y'know. Doin' a thing only cuz you want to, an' damn the consequences," Angelo observed as he smoothed out a few crumpled dollars, " 'Course, 'consequences' here might mean a burnt pie, or buyin' apple when you shoulda bought cherry."

The fact that he seemed to ask for cherry pie caught Lenore as something that might be a sign. The word "cherry" had so much meaning for her, from her other life, so she frowned momentarily, but then shook the feeling of oddness off.

"Cherry it is then, 2 slices of cherry pie to go, please" she said to the waitress, adding her own coffee & pie money to Angelo's bills along with a rather sizeable tip, before turning back to him, "Consequences don't bother me all that much. If it doesn't kill you, it's an experience, and if it kills you? Well, then you're dead" she shrugged, her tone not changing from it's current up beat. Death to Lenore was just the next step, and goodbyes were sad, but everyone had their time and there was no controlling when it would come. You just had to follow the signs and your heart, and right now? Her heart wanted pie and good company.

The frown wasn't lost or overlooked, though with the way Lenore seemed to rally from it, Angelo wasn't inclined to dig for details in the moment. She seemed enthused, and he had to wonder if she'd slipped in her own thoughts for that fleeting moment, but if she had? She'd gotten right back up. "They do a good blueberry too," he added, "Definitely an experience to be had there, you'll have to see if we get ourselves a round two." Her flippant view of death was strange to hear, but not shocking in and of itself. What was death, if not a transition or a perspective that rarely overlapped between two people?

"Uncontrollable force or not, think I like experiences a lil' more," he joked, rising from the booth and tugging his coat back on, "'Less death is just the start, you know? But I ain't itchin' to find out, I'm pretty intrigued 'bout the possibilities I got already." He offered his hand to Lenore where she sat, listening to the rustle of paper as their food was bagged up behind him. "I'm thinkin' that's one drop in the bucket of what I like 'bout you, 'bout this. You don' shy away from thinkin' on the layers, but we both know how sweet it is doin' things uncomplicated. Experience or death? That's about as uncomplicated as it gets, right?"

Lenore felt a tug that she couldn't quite place as she took his hand and lifted herself to her feet. The pull of attraction maybe? But something more than that. Not quite everything he'd said had hit home, but she felt like maybe... he kind of got it. The draw of Death was strong for Lenore, not in a suicidal way by any means, she liked being alive and basking in life - but all of it was part of the build up. Experience or death. Yeah. She looked at Angelo kind of quizzically, his big warm hand still in hers and then smiled as she faced him.

"Well then, we'll be uncomplicated. We'll have a night of pie or death, how does that sound?" she paused for a moment, just looking at him, biting her lip slightly - and then laughed, breaking the moment, "Vaguely threatening I think!"

The laugh came from Lenore just in time to keep Angelo from coaxing her lip from her teeth, splitting his lips into a grin as he nodded. "Jus' vaguely, though," he agreed, "An' since my laundry man apparently likes cursin' me, I think I can swing with that." He stepped back without releasing her hand, drawing Lenore with even if he loosened his grip, then nodded to the diner's door. "I think if we can make it a pair a'blocks, we'll be safe. An' hell, if it stopped rainin'? City's gotta have a few more favors waitin' tonight," he added, grabbing the carry-out bag in his free hand.

Lenore kept his hand in hers, snaking her arm closer to his - more just because she enjoyed the contact than anything else. As they walked out Lenore smiled into the cool night air. It was always nice to have a break from the rain. Stars were a rarity because of street lights and clouds, but the knowledge they were there and not pouring wetness at her was enough to make her cheerful. Rain was an omen, good or bad she didn't know, but sometimes you didn't want an omen. You just wanted simplicity.

"So how far is your apartment? Do you have a good view?" Lenore liked to look out over Eidolon and see the lights and picture the people living their lives - she didn't get much opportunity for that in her warehouse - and she figured if anyone would have big windows it would be an artist.

Of all the things that his apartment didn't have, a good view was one that Angelo was grateful for. Heights drove him crazy with anxiety, left him trembling or sweating even as he shivered. "Only if you like seein' feet," he joked as they walked, "It's a lil' basement crib right on the edge of Chinatown, suits me nice an' cozy. 'Course, now's the time when it's also a little chilly, but I make do." He breathed deep as they walked, drinking in the smell of the rain while it still hung in the air as if it wouldn't be raining again soon enough. Whether it did or not, that wasn't the point to Angelo. The moment, that was what mattered; the way the streetlights shone in puddles, the shine of damp pavement in the dark, both were the sorts of things that made him wish he always had an easel and paints handy.

Lenore knew Chinatown rather well. It was one of the realer places in Eidolon. Full of noise and strange vegetables and little girls in exotic silk dresses with eyes much older than their faces. At night, it glowed. All that orange light from paper lanterns making the shadows longer and softening the hard edges of the trash piles and filth. Lenore liked it.

"I've never lived in Chinatown. Or a basement, for that matter. Suitable digs for an artist though, I approve. Almost as good as having a view of the city," she joked, nudging him slightly, "and chilly we can find ways to deal with. I don't remember the last time I was really warm without a fur coat, anyway." Not that her coat tonight was fur. It was her usual dark grey wool trench complete with red lining - fur was a little too flashy for a trip to Nighthawke's. She usually saved it for prison visits.

"Well, I ain't right in Chinatown, but it's just 'round the corner," Angelo explained, cheeks flush and warm in spite of the chill in the air. "An' it's an okay place, it's cheap but clean. Small, but I like small. My mama used to call anything small 'cozy', you know?" he went on, a small admission of his life before he'd hit the orphanage, "So when I was in care, with the sisters an' the other kids? My room wasn't small, my cot wasn't too little, I was jus' cozy." He leaned in a little as they walked, nudging Lenore with his shoulder. "An' when I got my first job? Best believe I learned 'bout the miracle of a good sweater. We jus' up here," he indicated, nodding to the corner ahead and a short run of stairs leading down in front of the building.

"I have to admit, all five foot three of me is quite glad you like small." said Lenore softly into Angelo's ear, detangling their arms and gently pressing a hand to the small of his back, allowing him to descend first so he could unlock the door. She smiled as she looked at him, unable to tame the corners of her lips from curling. She had caught the admission about his mother, the way it sounded like something secret and special that he didn't tell many people. That was sweet, she appreciated it, and she felt he deserved a piece of herself in exchange.

"That was some sound advice she gave you, your mother. Do you remember much about her? I never knew mine. The Nuns told me I was the death of her, and that she was only a child herself." Lenore didn't sound sad or much of anything when she said this, as she followed him down the steps, because she wasn't. She had come into the world bringing death with her, and so her fate had been sealed from day one. That was just fine by Lenore. Things were as they should be.

Popping the lock on the door, Angelo slipped inside and clicked on a small lamp to reveal his home. It was small; a communal space shared between a living room and a kitchen that also bore two doors, one to his bedroom and one to the bathroom. But oh, the living room with it's walls puffed fat with paintings, so thickly in some walls that it threatened the already-meager space. None were hanging, the sum of them stacked against each other on the floors around a little sofa, coffee table, and his easel.

"Yeah," Angelo answered as he moved to the tiny stove, grabbing a kettle and running it under the tap, "I 'member a fair amount. Her an' my poppa passed on when I was 'bout twelve, they had a lil' shop in town." He'd been by in years past, but the building was still a derelict, burnt husk that was likely now home to the city's transients. "Did you ever find out 'bout her family or anythin'? No grandparents?" he asked, setting the kettle on the stove.

Lenore was peering at the flat, running her fingertips along the tops of Angelo's canvases. There were a lot of them. She looked over her shoulder at him as he spoke, although her attention was more focused on the large amount of artwork, which she found impressive even if the lighting wasn't ideal to examine in great detail.
"Oh, no-one even knew my Mother's name, there was nothing to go on. I was their mystery child," she said, wiggling her eyebrows in a joke "mysterious" fashion, "but I was never that interested. There were other things to dwell on. What kind of shop did they run, your parents?"

"A pawn shop," he answered, plucking a pair of mugs out of one cabinet and inspecting both to make sure they were clean, "One a'the first in our fair city, even. Made a right good livin' sellin' other folks' stuff, s'where I got my first horn." Angelo turned and leaned on the counter, watching Lenore intently with a thoughtful little smile. Stepping away and taking a few steps towards her, he paused long enough to turn on the heater in the hopes that it might actually do something.

It clicked on with a rattle that made him sigh before moving to the nearest stack of mounted paintings, fingers brushing along their tops thoughtfully. "Can't think there's much reason to go lookin' for who your ma was if you already knew who you was," he mused, tilting the row open briefly, "An' you strike me as the sort who figured that bit out real fast. Wish that sorta behavior was contagious..."

She smiled softly, and reached out to brush her fingertips along his cheek, "Come now, you know who you are. You're a storyteller, an artist, an excellent musician. You're brimming with you. That's so much more than a lot of people ever get. You just need to have a little bit more of that confidence thing we discussed, hmm?" She spoke softly, like she was trying to cheer up a small child with a good lashing of common sense and sugar. She didn't like him to sound so wistful, though, it didn't suit him. She wanted him to be able to see himself as she saw him - bright and wonderful and real.

"Just look at all these paintings, for one thing. That's miraculous. The act of creation. That's you, there, on the canvas. Even if you don't know it." She quirked an eyebrow at him, and turned back to the paintings, trying to find one that really sprang at her - but it was hard what with the high concentration of talent on display.

Angelo laughed richly at the praise, shoulders shrugging in an awkward moment under her scrutiny. "Meant more 'bout the city," he clarified, eyes twinkling with humor, "But hell, maybe you got a point. I always thought I was pretty clear on who I was? But to hear you tell it, I'm playin' a little too safe." He opened a stack of paintings again, looking down between them at the colors on the canvas as he wondered. Was she right? Angelo had always thought that a somewhat reclusive life suited him best, and though Lenore's praise was the type he didn't get often, it still challenged his notion.

"I guess most times," he murmured, pulling a painting free, "Don't nobody in this 'burg got much interest in dreamers. An... I think 'bout that, an' it pulls me down. So I paint, y'know? Colors pull me back up where can't nobody touch me." And then he turned the canvas, smiling brightly at Lenore as he displayed the painting. It was a perpsective of staring up at a building; dark colors that nonetheless possessed skewed details, and at the peak of the building with its' fire escapes and swirled faces of occupants, were light hints of blue, red, orange. Sunlight was a common theme in Angelo's work, he dreamed of blue skies with every fix of opium, but this particular sunrise had been a favorite of his. Something about the predominant darkness and the bleeding edges of dawn always made him smile.

She tipped her head and scrutinized the painting in his hands, moving closer, her expression pensive as she drank in the work. It was strange and beautiful with it's swirling colours and odd shapes. "Hope," she said simply, "Even when you're tiny and everything's dark, you've got hope curling out at you from behind those big oppressive buildings. That's good. Those colours are magic."

She laughed brightly and caught Angelo's eye, "A lot of people get too wrapped up in their stresses and daily life, forgetting that it could just be over. Bang. Your heart just stops and you never had those moments, those moments when you just found the colour behind the building. But that's okay, because that's how they live, and there's beauty in that, too, you know? There's a spark in everything. Just some people have a brighter spark. Yours... yours is bright."

There was something so compelling, so evocative about her in that moment; some combination of the look in Lenore's eye, her words, the real sentiment behind them... His hands had tightened on the edges of the canvas, feeling the textured paint press into fingertips as Angelo started to lean over the top of it towards Lenore, not sure what he was doing but not thinking he wanted to not do it, either. Then the kettle began a low whistle behind him, pausing him before he'd made even a few inches of progress and drawing a laugh.

"You know, I like that," he mused, carefully lowering the painting and moving to pull the lettle off the burner, "The idea that even livin' in the darkness is beautiful. Like... we all got a spark, an' maybe they jus' holdin' theirs closer." He pulled a pair of tea bags from a drawer, pouring water into the mugs and letting them steep before he looked back to Lenore thoughtfully. "I think you do that," Angelo observed, "'Cuz there's somethin' that shines here, but I don' know if I'd ever see it otherwise."

She had found herself holding her breath slightly as he had leaned towards her, because it was unexpected but fitting somehow, in the closeness of his apartment, and as the kettle whistled she had bit down on her lip in order to battle a grin. Anticipation worked too, in the atmosphere, the slight claustrophobia that was almost thrilling.

She watched him go through the motions of making tea, and moved towards his coffee table to grab the pie they had bought. Pastry and caffeine was an excellent late night combination. He was maybe right that she held back - there were a lot of aspects of her life that required holding back, because frankly, they could get her arrested. But it was more than that. She liked being "mystery girl", it felt right somehow. Like it was how she was crafted, to be enigmatic, to have more layers than anyone could unravel.

She didn't say this though. Of course not. She simply wrinkled her nose at him and made a 'really?' face. "What kind of shine is that? I'd be interested to hear an honest evaluation," which was true. She'd like to know how he saw her. Not that it mattered but it was a curiosity, "and forks, if you've got them. Forks and an evaluation."

"Forks I can do," Angelo told her, nodding with the words and tugging open another drawer. He rummaged for a moment, producing two utensils, gathering them with the mugs of tea, and heading towards the sofa. "The rest? S'a little tricky," he went on, gingerly balancing everything as he settled into a seat and laid out the mugs and forks. "It's more like... a glow. A shine, you can see from a distance. A glow's gotta be seen up close, it's a private thing. An' it makes sense, cuz it's gotta be looked for."

He sat forward to grab his mug, blowing at the steam curling off of the surface and taking a testing sip. It could brew longer, Angelo decided, and he set it back down and settled back on the sofa. "Even then, ain't like... a light, not with you. More a warmth. You put it to use, yeah? Use it to see in a city that's so shrouded, to spook off a chill when it's clingin' to someone you're near." At least that was Angelo's estimation, given her continued insistance that he believe in himself and her chosen career, bringing comfort to the dying.

It was an interesting way of looking at things. Of course, he didn't know the whole story, but nonetheless it felt oddly accurate in its way. She was the guide. She pulled people through the gate when their time came, and she did it with an appreciation for what they had been and what they were becoming. She did not slaughter for the sake of slaughter. She did it because Death had chosen her. So maybe, yes, maybe she was their warmth. She liked that, and told him as much.

"I like that, and I'm comfortable not being seen, but I think I'm happy that you see me," she curled herself into his couch, kicking off her shoes and tucking her knees up underneath herself, wriggling slightly to find the right niche to fit her, "It's rare for me to find someone who looks back. Really looks. But I guess I was just pointed in your direction, wasn't I?" Signs and fate again, the two staples of Lenore's existence.

Eager to keep from fidgeting, Angelo reached for one of the slices of pie and popped the container open, dabbing a touch of whipped cream onto his fingertip and tasting it, then smiling in satisfaction. "Here I was thinkin' you pointed yourself my way," he mused with a wink, "Comin' on up to the bar jus' to say hello an' all, right?"

Spearing down into the front of his slice of pie, Angelo chewed with a slow, savory look of enjoyment on his face, nodding in approval. "Right or wrong, I'm glad you pointed towards some treats," he went on after a moment, "An' what I seen? It's just... cool. See lots a'folk every day, whole lotta cycles bein' played out dawn to dusk an' every hour between the two, an it's rare as stars at noon to find someone else lookin', even if they ain't lookin' for nothing specific." He was going to paint her, Angelo decided it in that moment. Lenore had inspired him already to set brush to canvas, but now? It wasn't inspiration, it was a desire to immortalize whatever peculiar vision of her he had in his head.

Lenore stretched forwards and grabbed her own slice of pie, separating the crust from the filling with her for so she could eat them separately, and dipping her pinky finger into the thick cherry centre just to test it out before she dug in properly. Good pie.

"Wouldn't of come if I hadn't noticed you were on your own, and if I hadn't had the next morning off work, and a whole plethora of little things that fit together like the most intricate of puzzles. What's meant to happen happens. That's why I never worry about anything," she said in her straightforward way, after scraping a forkful of pie into her mouth and swallowing, "Just do your best to be kind and everything will come into being naturally"

"Faith," Angelo summarized neatly between bites, head bobbing easily, "Think I can get behind that." Sure, maybe it was a different sort of faith than Lenore's, but having it was what seemed most crucial to Angelo. Without it, would she have followed the sequence that was rightly described as being so intricate? Would he have kept up his pursuit of his loves?

He was grateful for those thoughts, all smiles as Angelo finished his pie with the quick hunger of a man who didn't often indulge such treats, setting aside his fork and carry-out box and claiming his tea in their wake. "So... think you got enough faith to humor a man while he does some charcoal sketches?" he asked, glancing sidelong at Lenore with a quizzical lift in his brow, "I'm not so puffed up that I'm thinkin' you'd sit while I paint, but a sketch? S'a quick thing."

Lenore grinned at Angelo, full and sparkly, licking pie from her fingers. No-one had ever so much as taken a photograph of Lenore, the idea of being sketched was too much fun too pass up. For a moment she felt like Lolita again, young and impulsive, and that was nice. To be wanted for something grand like art, even if it was just a sketch.

"I've got enough faith for just about anything," she beamed, "I've never been sketched before though, so I'm afraid I'll be frightfully nosy when you're finished."

She got another laugh from Angelo as he sat forward, clapping Lenore on the knee before rising. "Jus' don't go gettin' your hopes up," he cautioned, moving for the door to his bedroom, "S'real simple stuff, mainly for perspective or form." Because whatever inspirations he might work from later? Angelo wanted something handy to recall this night, to recreate it with the abstract touches that colored his world. "Humor a fella long enough to do two, an' you can even keep one," Angelo added before he disappeared through his bedroom door.

Lenore watched him go with curiosity, wondering what his bedroom looked like - bedrooms were telling places, at least hers was - but she didn't get up to follow and peek. Wouldn't have been appropriate, instead she put her half-eaten pie on the coffee table and sprawled out more comfortably on the couch, grinning to herself like a cheshire cat, her hands clasped over her chest in glee. It was proving to be an interesting day, a day that had started with duty and was ending with something else entirely. She was enjoying herself.

"When I was younger," Lenore called softly to Angelo, sharp enough for him to hear but hardly yelling (it was a small apartment after all) "I spent a lot more time in the limelight, but I never did feel like I was being seen. Now I'm all shadows and suddenly someone wants to draw me. Makes sense, in a funny sort of way, don't you think?"

The benefits of a small space were few and far between, but Angelo knew how to count them. For instance, it never took him long to find anything; in this case the half-used sketchpad and set of pencils he was seeking. "Mos' everything does," he answered, leaning in the doorway to watch Lenore, idly flipping pages in search of a blank one, "But then, I'm thinkin' all of life's got some funny logic if you look for it. I like thinkin' the man on high's got a sense of humor, though."

He moved back to the couch, sitting lightly on the arm of it across from Lenore and settling his pad on one knee. "'Course, this jus' makes a man feel privileged, bein' the one to break your trend an' all," he mused, plucking a thick-tipped charcoal from the box, "But then you coulda been on every calendar an' postcard and I'd still want my shot. So... get comfy, stretch out if you want." Already he was moving the pencil, arcing thick lines that could've been her figure, or could've been setting if Lenore suddenly adjusted. That was the nice thing about his style, it left plenty of room to adapt.

Lenore stretched out more, she didn't know how long he would take and she didn't want to be uncomfortable. She curled one arm up behind her head, the other flat across her stomach, knees drawn up slightly, still giving off the sleepy-kitty vibe. She smiled lightly at him, her limelight hadn't exactly been the kind that made it to calenders.

"Privileged? Flatterer," she said, obviously joking, "You probably have a list of models you can summon up out of the ether. Isn't that part of the appeal? Absinthe and women of loose morals?" she laughed, and nudged his leg with her foot in a light, teasing fashion.

Laughing with her, Angelo was quick to bring his pencil off of the paper, poking at her foot like he might smudge her with it. "Absinthe is... interestin' stuff," he agreed, chuckling steadily as he returned the pencil to paper, "As for ladies? Nah. Had this 'doll at the Round offer me a 'discounted rate' one time, though." He lowered the sketchbook long enough to wink at her, studying Lenore's pose again and resuming the sketch.

Pencils were traded once he'd curved and arced thick lines that detailed the bend of her knees and waist, swapping for a thinner point to capture the contours of her neck in simple-but-stark detail. "An' one time some birdie down at the Kitten tried kissin' me, but that was more to provoke her fella," he shared, chuckling again. "Most ladies ain't too keen on modeling for free, after all, so I make do. Watch for a while, capture what I can up here," he said, tapping his temple with the pencil, "Think that might be why some folk can't make heads or tails of a canvas when I hang it."

She left her foot where it was was on his thigh, but tried not to move too much apart from that. She didn't want to break his concentration, but she liked the contact. Listening to him talk about conquests (or lack thereof) made her think about the last person she'd been with. She smiled gently to herself remembering tangled limbs and leaving him happy and quite dead on bloodied bedsheets. That, Lenore figured, was the perfect way to go.

She allowed herself to remain lost in her thoughts while Angelo drew, not saying much of what was on her mind. Like, if he wanted someone to paint, she'd be more than willing. But being too forward did not seem to go with the theme of the evening. She was letting things stew, enjoying the static.

"You look in the wrong places," she said after a fashion, "Dancers and hookers, the last thing they really want to do in their leisure time is have a man studying their every detail and copying it to paper. I don't know where that myth comes from, the whore and her artist. A whore wants to be ignored."

He was alternating pencils as she spoke, swapping them between being gripped in his teeth and his hand, depending on the point needed at any moment. Plucking the finest-tipped one free, Angelo started light scratches of her hair and how it hung. "Well, I'm not even lookin' in the first place, but I guess the Round won't be no hotbed," he agreed, smirking, "I jus' think most ladies expect an artist to try an' bed 'em." And while he wasn't above such things, Angelo didn't let them motivate him either.

A drug habit was wonderful for curbing such urges, and his nightly pipeful normally kept Angelo from even dwelling on it. "And... there," he said at last, tucking his pencil behind his ear and turning the sketchbook for Lenore to see. It was simple, but sharply angled to suggest an attentiveness to the pose she'd lounged with. He'd left her features largely undetailed, sneaking in only dark pools for her eyes and tiny lines that hinted at the smile she'd been wearing as she lounged on his sofa.

Lenore scrunched herself up into a sitting position next to him and examined the sketch. It was very pretty in its simplicity. "It's me, on paper, how funny. That you could make me out of charcoal lines, but there I am," she placed a fingertip on the page although she was highly aware that she didn't want to smudge it, "a moment captured. That's quite the skill, Mr. Lacoste."

Her tone was hushed, about as close to 'awed' as Lenore ever got, because despite the fact it was just a plain black & white sketch, it impressed her. The meaning behind it. That he'd found their shared time as inspiring as she had, and had wanted to capture it. She gazed up at him through her lashes and made a quizzical sort of face, "It's beautiful. Although I suppose I can't say that because it sounds big-headed, but it is. You got my eyes just the right amount of black."

"Naw, you can say it," Angelo protested quietly, laying the book out on the coffee table so he could look at it with her. "I'm not gonna think you got some ego floatin'. Jus'... got a good subject to work from. Not the kind of thing that you wanna overcomplicate, really." He looked down at her, caught on some level by Lenore's expression, by the wide eyes veiled behind her lashes. "Now... I could do another? But I'm thinkin' I might wanna sit across the table if I do," he warned honestly, flashing just a hint of tooth in his smile.

"Draw until you get bored of it, I don't have places to be," she said, narrowing her eyes slightly and catching the oddity in his tone, and matching it with a level of coyness in her own, not wanting to make him uncomfortable "and please don't feel like you have to move, unless you happen to be after different angles. I don't mind you being where you are," she turned her attention back to the sketch and tucked her falling strands of hair behind her ear, "The results are no cause for complaint."

Reclaiming the pad of paper, Angelo smirked as he flipped to a blank page. The compliment was welcome, though he wanted to decry it in the same breath. But by now, he was realizing that Lenore didn't exactly seem to welcome his self-deprecating moments. "Well then, I hope you still comfy, cuz I may jus' stay put," he warned, glancing at Lenore fleetingly before starting a new stroke of charcoal. Really, his spot worked better for this one; a closer look at her face, the lazy sprawl of her arms, and the innumerable details like the shifted strands of hair or the slim curve of her jaw.

Comfortable was exactly what Lenore was in an odd, lazy sort of way. She was used to people being dangerous or desperate or both, not having this warm languid feeling she got from Angelo. She liked it. She snuck a look back up at him as he concentrated on his sketch of her and grinned a twisty little grin to herself. "I like this," she commented quietly, more to herself than him, "I feel a touch bohemian, and definitely comfortable. Curled all amongst your stories."

She did not lean her head against his leg although the urge was there for the closeness, because again she did not want to disturb his pencil strokes, but she sighed a content sigh and waited to see the second drawing. She was enamoured with the idea of little pieces of herself existing on what was once a blank sheet of possibility.

Even if he didn't look back down at Lenore for a long moment, Angelo looked amused as he grabbed the thick-tipped pencil and drew a neat swath of darkness for each eyebrow. Just because he didn't paint in sensible patterns or styles, that didn't mean he couldn't. He chose not to most times, instead trying to promote thought, to evoke some feeling. But he was smiling as he drew and listened to her quiet tones.

When he finally glanced up to refresh his memory, he caught the twist of Lenore's lips and Angelo knew that that smile? It needed to be captured. "Simple livin's easy livin'," he observed in a soft drawl, working his craft dutifully, "Oughta try it out if you ain't yet. I wake up to sunshine, sleep when the stars is smilin'. An'... you fit here. 'Mong my stories." He stopped with the pencil's tip lingering at the corner of Lenore's mouth in the sketch, looking up to her again for a long, wordless moment, seeming content to just study and think.

She returned his look with a soft, knowing sort of expression. She could have said a lot of things, like simple and easy were two different things, and she wasn't sure if she wanted either of them - especially not easy. That 'belonging' wasn't exactly high on her list either, no matter how comfortable she was or calm he made her feel. But Lenore didn't feel that talking was appropriate for the moment. She felt that her words would ruin the beautiful tension she felt sparking, so she simply looked at him, and let her lips quirk into a slight smile that maybe said all the pretty and gently condescending things she was thinking.

In some sense, Angelo knew that this wasn't her world either, that this was a fleeting thing. He felt like maybe that was part of the spark, the draw between them: feeling awe at a world that wasn't yours, but wasn't the one so much of the city lived in either. And already it made him sad, though Angelo wouldn't dwell on it. Later, he would take the sorrow that more people couldn't embrace his world, he'd channel it onto the canvas. He had visions of streaks of deep green, sorrowful blues, flowing strains of colors like a heavy rain on a window.

"An' we're jus' about..." Angelo murmured, looking back down to add a solitary dot that was the spark in Lenore's eye, "...done." He turned the pad for her to see, reaching to drop it into Lenore's lap and folding his arms across one knee.

Lenore looked at the sketch and breathed deep, like she wanted to drink it in. That was her, all right, the way her hair fell and the slope of her neck - but something more. Even with the roughness of the lines there was an essence of her on the paper. She ran her fingers very lightly along the pencilled edges of her jaw and looked back at Angelo, eyebrows knotted slightly, examining him once more.

"This is wonderful. I love it. It's like... a mirror without the harsh edges. I haven't seen myself in that light before. I don't examine myself all that closely on a regular basis. I don't suppose many people do. So, thank-you." she smiled again, although sadly, and removed her hand from the drawing and back to her hair, pulling it from her face and leaving small smudgy grey marks on her cheek.

"Mirrors is objective things," Angelo murmured, smiling slightly at the smudges and wishing he could do another drawing right away, an impromptu one as Lenore drew her hair back, "They show us somethin' without carin', give room to throw in our own perspective. Even if it's harsh, I prefer the subjective myself." He chuckled a little, drawing his knees up and in as he leaned towards Lenore. "An' like I promised? Pick one, tear it free. S'yours for the takin'," he reminded her, "An'... hold still." He licked the tip of his thumb with the warning, reaching out and bringing his hand to Lenore's jawline, gently coaxing the smude away with his thumb.

Lenore wrinkled her nose with pleasure at him and set aside the sketchbook for the moment. Not discarding it, simply saving it for later. She didn't know yet about keeping a drawing - didn't know how to go about choosing or if she was taking the memento for the right reasons, to remember him or pure narcissism? No, for now she would have something more tactile.

"You have very warm hands," she said, pulling herself closer and onto her knees, becoming level with his gaze. It was true, he did, and Lenore's skin had a habit of always being cold so the contrast was nice, "They match your eyes." she said it sincerely, in an almost clipped fashion, no hint of trying to give a pickup line. She just wanted the closeness - Lenore was a firm believer of seizing moments as they were presented. You were where you were meant to be, at any given time.

He laughed softly, dropping his gaze for a moment as Lenore leveled hers with him. She was right about his confidence, the praise was still something to make Angelo awkward, but it was less so right now. This was a quiet, personal moment, and her words went no farther than him alone. "Wish I could say it was contagious, but that'd be pride talkin'. You jus' got this... zeal. S'appreciation, I think, an' I wouldn't mind seein' what you see," Angelo mused. He reached up for her chin again, gently coaxing Lenore forward with a light smile. "All I know is I appreciate you," he murmured in a low tone, closing that small gap between them and kissing Lenore slowly. The gesture itself was like Angelo himself; languid, hazy, smooth and appreciative, like he wanted to learn the details of her in a wholly different way.

She had almost laughed at his moment of awkwardness, because it was beautiful to see him so gentle and appreciative. That he said it too, that he appreciated her, was something new. The last person who had spoken to her like that? He was in jail now. And he had been oh-so different from this. One of those dangerous, desperate types she'd been contemplating earlier. This was purer than that. So she let herself slide into his kiss like it was a second skin, liking the softness of his approach - she was used to something a little more brutal, and the flavour and, yes, simplicity of this was different. Something new and exciting. She moved her hands to press gently at his chest and let herself simply breathe his scent and brush her palms across the angles of him, not wanting to rush into anything - just waiting to see how this would evolve on it's own.

Angelo's lips curled in a slow smile as she moved in closer to him, arms moving in alternating directions to draw her in. One circled the small of Lenore's back, pulling her closer with a gentle insistence as the other brushed an artist's fingertips up the slope of her neck, detailing the curve of her ear and describing her like a blind man might. It was so invigorating that there was the briefest thought flashing through his head that this feeling could stretch out, extend into tomorrow and beyond, block away the need for serenity that he found in his pipe. He shifted slowly, easing down from the arm of the sofa to the scant amount of cushion between them as he coaxed Lenore with a bit more pressure, drawing her into his lap with a small, nearly inaudible laugh into her lips.

Lenore moved in elegant synchronicity with the way he directed her, slipping her legs either side of his lap, her dress riding up slightly as she settled there, her bony hips finding a curve where they could sit without digging in, entwining herself. She slid her own hands up the back of his neck, and the base of his skull, feeling for that scar tissue again. Hunting out the imperfections that built him. She felt the warmth of his palms through the light fabric of her dress, a sensation of heat which made her tingle, and pushed herself closer to his frame, wanting as much contact between their bodies as she could muster. The feeling of his laughter against her lips was part of that, but she did not reciprocate - Lenore was slow fire when she got caught in the moment - her usual restraint became intensity, and there was a certain longing. Longing to be wrapped up in Angelo's vitality.

Maybe he truly wouldn't need a fix, if only he could hold onto the memory of this experience tightly enough to capture the feeling of it. Angelo was focused on a dozen points of contact between them at once, feeling the tap and brush of each fingertip on his scalp, the strength in Lenore's legs as her muscles played, even the muted echo of her heartbeat against his chest. It was music; an improvisation on the oldest melody of man, and it soared inside of him. He broke from the kiss, eyes fluttering open to shine warmly at Lenore for a moment before Angelo tilted his head and leaned into her neck. The scent of her skin was something he drank in, leaning close and brushing his lips and the tip of his nose along the slope of her neck in an achingly slow sort of scrutiny as he moved his hand down her back to her waist, settling it at one hip and finally pressing slow kisses along the bunch of muscle between her neck and shoulder.

As he pulled away Lenore gave the smallest whimpered murmur of discontent, bit down on her bottom lip to stifle it. She had to allow herself the anticipation as well, the build-up being the sweetness. She could still taste him there, and she gave an involuntary shiver as her explored the smooth whiteness of her neck. Nuzzled herself further into his caress, slipped her hands up underneath his shirt and let her fingers lightly trace shapes across the skin of his back, although she was aware that her hands were cold. His skin however, was not, she felt the warmth of life vibrating off of him and it was good and she wanted more of it.

It was the sheer contrast, that was part of what was so startlingly exuberant about it to Angelo. White and black, man and woman, hot and cold. What did they call it down in Chinatown? Yin and yang? Angelo felt like he finally grasped the harmony of the concept as he shivered at her touch, breathing a cascade of warmth along Lenore's shoulder and kissing more eagerly. He had to reciprocate, edging his hand down her hip to settle just past the hem of Lenore's dress and teasing her skin with slow circling passes of his fingers. Angelo reached to her shoulder, pushing slowly at the dress' edge there to expose the rounded curve that fed down to her arm and, as it was exposed, relinquished both spots of contact. He looked back to her, eyes lit up with real heat instead of warmth as he kissed at the lip snared in her teeth and raised both arms up, an unspoken cue that he wanted to feel that cool touch everywhere.

If he wanted the dress off, then that made two of them, and she was quick to respond, as she once again had to pull herself away from the hungriness of their kiss and pulled the off-white fabric smoothly over her head and let it fall to the ground in one lithe motion. The cold bit at her already chill skin and made the hairs on her neck and arms stand up, and she shivered somewhat - although it was not a shiver that was entirely brought about by cold air.

Lenore was not as beautiful undressed as she was clothed, sitting in her underwear and garters, not by traditional standards. She was too bony, for one thing. Hips and spine and collarbones jutting out of skin that was cold, and almost pasty rather than porcelain. Perhaps the lighting too, had something to do with it, enhanced her hollows. Maybe it was that her ribs sat strangely, ugly and awkwardly angled in the places where they had been broken years ago, as if she had too many of them. However, Lenore held herself well, with undeniable poise. She was proud of her bones and her breakages - and the relaxed almost feline grace with which her chin tilted upwards and her shoulders fell back revealed no shame. She gave Angelo a look that matched his heat, and began to smooth her hands up his torso, finding the buttons of his shirt and unhooking them.

As the last opened, Angelo rolled his shoulders and let his shirt fall off to the arm of the sofa, pulling Lenore back in against him. He counted up each knob of her spine delicately, fingers traversing her cold skin and lingering at the odd angles of her physique. She was an unexpected sort of beauty, and maybe she would've been offputting to someone else, but Angelo had an eye for what others couldn't appreciate. That was why they'd gotten this far together in the first place, wasn't it?

He refused to be crass or overeager, teasing the contours and curves of her body slowly, almost reverentially before reaching down to pull her snugly into his lap. "Hold onto me," Angelo murmured, dotting Lenore's lips with his own in a slow repetition, "This is somethin' I wanna do right... share some heat." He pressed in more enthusiastically, giving a low, velvety murr of enjoyment low in his throat as he set his feet down and stood gradually, keeping Lenore wrapped in close.

Lenore did as she was told, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her still-stockinged legs slung over his arm, her face buried into the curve of his neck. She smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling and admiring. She wanted him, the sensation of him, this man who had captivated her with his smile and his vitality. This man who seemed so alive and so bright. She wanted to be a part of the story, even if it was just for one night.
"I'm not about to let go," she whispered, voice thick with want, kissing as lightly as she could manage at his throat, "I don't think I could even if I wanted to."

The soft, urgent whispers and the slightly-cool feel of Lenore's lips were an electric combination to Angelo, sending chills down his spine as he carried her back through the door to his bedroom, not bothering with the light. Silhouettes would do her an entirely different sort of justice, and Angelo liked to think he'd be able to see her eyes shining in the dark. He moved on learned reflex, stepping over a small pile of clothes and settling on the edge of the bed with Lenore in his lap, then reached out blindly to grab for a blanket.

It was a thick, homespun thing that he pulled away from the mattress, releasing her enough to drape it around Lenore's shoulders, swaddling the two of them together with a soft sigh of anticipation. "S'all I need to hear an' more," he whispered to her, eyes shutting as Angelo basked in her lips at his throat, feeling his way up Lenore's back again as he resumed undressing her.

Lenore purred and decided she was done being all sweet and raptured, meek was something she did for other people (and that was rare itself) and this, she had already established, was different. She pulled Angelo down so they were lying on the mattress, settled herself neatly under his weight, ran her hands with a little more purpose and a little less tease to undo the notches of his belt, her back arching to allow him to undress her in turn. She let her lips trail along his collarbone and softly, ever so softly, nipped her teeth into his skin. She didn't want to hurt him - it was just an expression, that even though she was underneath him, even though she was near-enough naked, she still had power. Just like the Emperor.

If only she knew just how much power she actually had... Angelo was a supplicant here, caught up in a smoldering fervor and needing to pay some kind of homage. He pushed his hips back to free space for her hands at his waistline, all shadowed smiles as he felt the leather being undone, and when Angelo finally guided her bra down her arms he sucked in a soft hiss. He pressed down into Lenore heatedly, pinning her to the mattress for a drawn-out kiss before his head traveled lower, exploring her body in light kisses and washes of breath. Slipping both hands low, Angelo brushed that cool skin carefully as he began to slip her leggings free.

Lenore pushed the material of his trousers down and pulled her body upwards, wrapping her legs around Angelo's waist and grinning at him through the darkness, guiding his face back to hers - she wasn't ready to stop kissing him yet. She stopped for just a second, drawing back for breath, his face still in her hands. She locked her eyes with his despite the dark and smiled almost wickedly. "What was it you were saying? About women expecting you to bed them? I think expectations may have been exceeded," she spoke mischievously, although it was a point she made out of slight surprise - she had not expected them to mesh like this when she had agreed to meet him and look at his paintings, not even remotely, and so the giddiness in which it was happening was rather delicious.

He couldn't help a small laugh at Lenore's observation, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers as Angelo guided one of her stockings down her calf and off her foot. "Think this an exception," he murmured, moving to Lenore's other leg, "If there was two like you? Don' think I'd get anythin' done... but I'd never stop smilin' neither." Baring her other leg beneath the blanket, Angelo let his hand drift up and down the expanse of sleek skin as he found Lenore's mouth with his own again, feeling drunk on the taste of her. He twisted against her for a moment, working his last bit of clothing away and losing against his pure want as he touched her once more, teasing Lenore through her undergarments brazenly.

Lenore kept their mouths locked, a good way of stopping him from talking any more. Talk could wait until morning, now the matter at hand was a little more physical. She wanted touch and skin and sweat, and to explore all the facets of her exciting new find. Her artist with the warm skin. Lenore was too lost in the shudders of what felt like electricity that ran up her thighs as he touched her to even think about any more discussion, and she let her own hands roam further down his body, wanting to create electric ripples of her own. Lenore did Death very well in all of it's forms, and the "petite mort" was absolutely no exception.