→ I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy.

[thedominatrix]

Who: Irene Adler, Benevenuta Crispo
What: Irene being extremely forward.
Where: Bernát Residence.
When: Call it a Sukkardi, not long after monster rain.
Warnings: see characters involved.

Today, Irene's playing at demure. This means absolutely nothing except a lot of white lace and a respectable hemline which only makes her crimson smile seem ten times dirtier, all her primness and prettiness serving as nothing more than a foil for the entirely obvious truth. Dressed up like a doll, she looks even sharper and hungrier than ever.

She has a bottle of very fine white wine in the hand not occupied with her clutch, which she bites down on (teeth on the gleaming knuckleduster handle) for a moment and holds in her mouth, leaving a smudge of lipstick, to press the doorbell. She quickly reclaims the bag and stands up a litle straighter, feet together, society smile barely keeping in check her bright-eyed, sharp excitement. Ladylike. Vicious.

And when the door opens, she speaks immediately, launching straight into airy, intentionally overdone theatricality without so much as a hello-

"My cleaner kicked me out, something about needing absolute silence and peace in which to work her magic and see if she can't finally get those bloodstains out of my white carpet. So, I thought I'd see how my necklace was getting on."

She holds up the bottle, raises her eyebrows.

"And look! I brought a present."

--because Irene does like to spoil people, and that serpent pendant was payment.

(It's probably a worrying example of Irene's sense of humour that she finds everything about this particular scene and her current act to be absolutely hilarious).

Comments

[thedominatrix]

"Oh, I always do," she says airily, in a tone which sounds a little more like she was glossing over events than it was meant to. Recognising the botched line she gives it a split second, then lets her eyes soften as she delivers a slightly apologetic smile; sorry, I'll tell you the truth.

Whether she actually will or not is somewhat up for debate, but what follows is at least part of it, in a low and intimate tone:

"Staying in a safehouse was worse than being outside. Or- so I thought when I was locked in there. Maybe the grass is always greener on the other side of the nightmare."

But there's something in her slow, wry, careful pronunciation of nightmare- she sounds less like she's talking about her own life and more like she's recounting some sort of horror story, just frightening enough to be exciting- because that's how she likes to look at it, to keep herself sane. She's smiling still.