Pumpkin Spice Cyanide
Dead-End Girl
Carmilla Karnstein
Carmilla watched in amusement as Merlin interacted with the waitress and then smiled impishly at him while he jokingly scolded her.
“You naughty little minx! You knew, and that’s why you chose it!...”
Karnstein giggled and responded "I can't help my tastes, not anymore anyway." She brushed her hair over her shoulders and picked up the glass with him.
She was a caught slightly off by his lack of, somewhat modern, table manners but overlooked it as eccentricity and picked up his slack.
"Cin cin." she added, before tapping her glass on the table, tipping her head back and drinking it.
It was small, only a gulp to down the swig.
Cognac was not generally served as shots. It was somewhat akin to drinking wine from a shot glass. Regardless, she decided to drink like the glass and not the liquor.
Carmilla found his cradling of the tiny glass and minute sipping of it rather funny. She smiled and the smile turned to a laugh as he addressed her again.
"...the kind of girl who prefers not to be forgiven."
"You're fun." She declared cheerfully. Placing her glass at the edge of the table, Carmilla took a sip from her water glass. It was always odd to be able to make use of these sorts of things again; in an amusing way. Drinks and chasers meant something entirely different to her beyond these walls.
"Unfortunately, I don't think you're very likely to find out." She put her hands under her chin and planted her elbows on the table, her bonny expression hopefully not easily misunderstood as attraction.
He really was pleasant, and charming in a mature way. Very huggable, not to mention probably very interesting in conversation.
The interaction might have been an amiable back and forth but he was clearly in control of the mood.
Merlin had almost started to distracted her from her objective, almost.
Carmilla snickered at his comment about Tom and tilted her head towards his approach, giving him the warmest smile her cold countenance could muster. A facade indistinguishable to most, though probably not him.
She was happy to see him, just not necessarily under these circumstances.
Gwalihir
Carmilla watched in amusement as Merlin interacted with the waitress and then smiled impishly at him while he jokingly scolded her.
“You naughty little minx! You knew, and that’s why you chose it!...”
Karnstein giggled and responded "I can't help my tastes, not anymore anyway." She brushed her hair over her shoulders and picked up the glass with him.
She was a caught slightly off by his lack of, somewhat modern, table manners but overlooked it as eccentricity and picked up his slack.
"Cin cin." she added, before tapping her glass on the table, tipping her head back and drinking it.
It was small, only a gulp to down the swig.
Cognac was not generally served as shots. It was somewhat akin to drinking wine from a shot glass. Regardless, she decided to drink like the glass and not the liquor.
Carmilla found his cradling of the tiny glass and minute sipping of it rather funny. She smiled and the smile turned to a laugh as he addressed her again.
"...the kind of girl who prefers not to be forgiven."
"You're fun." She declared cheerfully. Placing her glass at the edge of the table, Carmilla took a sip from her water glass. It was always odd to be able to make use of these sorts of things again; in an amusing way. Drinks and chasers meant something entirely different to her beyond these walls.
"Unfortunately, I don't think you're very likely to find out." She put her hands under her chin and planted her elbows on the table, her bonny expression hopefully not easily misunderstood as attraction.
He really was pleasant, and charming in a mature way. Very huggable, not to mention probably very interesting in conversation.
The interaction might have been an amiable back and forth but he was clearly in control of the mood.
Merlin had almost started to distracted her from her objective, almost.
Carmilla snickered at his comment about Tom and tilted her head towards his approach, giving him the warmest smile her cold countenance could muster. A facade indistinguishable to most, though probably not him.
She was happy to see him, just not necessarily under these circumstances.
Gwalihir
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