It's still strange to hear him say that. She knows he did earlier, but it's still strange to hear. To picture Luther watching her on tv every week, on the television she willed into existence when she was too young to really be letting herself get away with things anymore and already obstinately doing it anyway. It's still incredibly strange to picture him watching her. Like that was just a normal occurrence.
Not that the irony doesn't strike her that she catches him on the news. She can't see her show mattering to things he and her father consider to most.
But the arrival distracts from the thought, from the response she'd been pulling together in her head, and shifts him to the soundless question she wouldn't even need to read his lips to know. They like to control things, to plan, to have their fingers on all chances and avenues, Reginald Hargreeves children. Which makes it pert that Allison throws him a smile that is all winning delight about denying him any of it, and, instead, turning her attention to the driver and paying.
Ruffling up under all the fabric of the skirt portion of this dress again and finding the garter thigh band with the pocket that has her ID, her credit card, and a little cash only: the last of which she hands off to the driver. Before her hand is already on the door, smirk still on her lips: "You'll just have to come along and see."
For all the vague bravado, it's not all that impressive, and actually, before they turn the corner to where Lick Ice Cream is, she wonders if it's actually beyond the pale of childish. The wrong choice. Utterly. Made in the heat of a frustrated moment. Well and truly passed, with the back seat's safe space turned into a few feet on the sidewalk, back in the still-humid but slowly cooling night air, where they're just too people who used to know each other walking down this street.
"Ta-da," she says as they round the corner, even though she doubts if he'll remember, and there's a little uncertainty in her imperious showy tone. Just at the edges of her mouth and her eyes. Wanting him not to see suddenly stupidly turned juvenile standing there in this beautiful dress, having left the fanciest public party of the night likely and the relative safety of everyday coffee shops, for an ice cream store of all things.
no subject
Not that the irony doesn't strike her that she catches him on the news.
She can't see her show mattering to things he and her father consider to most.
But the arrival distracts from the thought, from the response she'd been pulling together in her head, and shifts him to the soundless question she wouldn't even need to read his lips to know. They like to control things, to plan, to have their fingers on all chances and avenues, Reginald Hargreeves children. Which makes it pert that Allison throws him a smile that is all winning delight about denying him any of it, and, instead, turning her attention to the driver and paying.
Ruffling up under all the fabric of the skirt portion of this dress again and finding the garter thigh band with the pocket that has her ID, her credit card, and a little cash only: the last of which she hands off to the driver. Before her hand is already on the door, smirk still on her lips: "You'll just have to come along and see."
For all the vague bravado, it's not all that impressive, and actually, before they turn the corner to where Lick Ice Cream is, she wonders if it's actually beyond the pale of childish. The wrong choice. Utterly. Made in the heat of a frustrated moment. Well and truly passed, with the back seat's safe space turned into a few feet on the sidewalk, back in the still-humid but slowly cooling night air, where they're just too people who used to know each other walking down this street.
"Ta-da," she says as they round the corner, even though she doubts if he'll remember, and there's a little uncertainty in her imperious showy tone. Just at the edges of her mouth and her eyes. Wanting him not to see suddenly stupidly turned juvenile standing there in this beautiful dress, having left the fanciest public party of the night likely and the relative safety of everyday coffee shops, for an ice cream store of all things.