"Try it with me sometime," she suggests to Mitchell, lips quirking upward in one of her wilder grins, "and you'll see."
She leans forward to kiss him, then, because by now her lipstick is totally gone, and she feels like re-initiating physical contact. Her body temperature is always somewhat warmer than a human's by about two or three degrees, and the contrast is enjoyable with anyone who isn't preternaturally warm.
But she makes a little sound of protest a moment later.
"I should really get dressed, though. I hate getting dressed." And this is accompanied by the jut of her lower lip in what is probably the world's least serious approximation of a pout. It's also debatable whether that shimmery white thing she intends to keep wearing really constitutes 'getting dressed'.
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She leans forward to kiss him, then, because by now her lipstick is totally gone, and she feels like re-initiating physical contact. Her body temperature is always somewhat warmer than a human's by about two or three degrees, and the contrast is enjoyable with anyone who isn't preternaturally warm.
But she makes a little sound of protest a moment later.
"I should really get dressed, though. I hate getting dressed." And this is accompanied by the jut of her lower lip in what is probably the world's least serious approximation of a pout. It's also debatable whether that shimmery white thing she intends to keep wearing really constitutes 'getting dressed'.