"Everything will be fine." Her voice is soft and high, like a child, and in a bulky sweater and tights, she looks like a child, her minimal curves hidden inside clothing. "We'll get in, love. And everything will be fine." Baby reaches over and puts a delicate hand on Damon's knee, turning bright aqua eyes up to his. "We're too good for them to turn down." The journey's been long and arduous, but there've been no complaints between NYC and Las Vegas, because this is where they'll be safe. Obscure, in the public eye.
Damon remains silent, staring intently at the road the way he's done for the last only god knows how many hours. He shifts to look at the time. He shifts to look at her. His face no more intense than she's used to. He knows she's right. She always is. And it's only what he's said to them as they left New York City anyway.
"Damn, right we're too good. Too bad Mr. Reichard wasn't bright enough to come to that realization. His loss," he answers her flatly and reaches for her hand.
Intense but emotionless, that was Damon on a regular. You didn't want to see emotion in Damon. It would be the last thing you'd see. Just ask Mr. Reichard. Besides a smirk (that can't quite count as an emotion), rage was all that Damon would demonstrate outside his stonewall facade. But Baby could read through all of it. Only she got what no one else could. Not even Damon. There was no falling short or missing the mark. No forgiveness for mistakes. Baby was flawless. Damon knew that from day one. He kissed the top of her hand delicately, the way he always treated her.
Her smile is warm, lighting up cool feline features, and she unfastens her seatbelt to lean over and kiss him on the cheek, cupid-bow lips soft on the rasp of his face. "His loss and our gain," she adds archly, before stretching out of her seat, all long limbs and slim body. "Are we there yet?" Over her shoulder as she moves toward the kitchen area of the motorhome they're travelling in, to retrieve her Damon a drink. Poor thing, up all night driving, sleeping during the day, and he looks haggard.
His eyes narrow at the GPS unit in the dash then shift back to the clock once more. He eyes it then let's his eyes haze to peek at Baby in the dull reflection of the monitor. "Another six hours." He stifles a yawn which makes his flat gaze look menacing momentarily. Eyes back on the road. Focused. Eyes on the prize.
As Baby fetches him a bottle of water, she stretches a leg out on the counter beside her, testing her flexibility after so long sitting. She catches Dom's eyes as he glances up from whatever he's doing - looks like a video game of some sort - and without saying anything, says everything she needs to. Switch up, he's tired. So is she, and she's stiff, though it's almost impossible to tell from the bend she gets as she hyperextends her hips. "Love, here." Tucking the bottle into the holder, by his right knee. "Dom will drive for a while, so we can sleep."
On the run, but not really. Too many things in New York, too exciting to stay. Too dangerous. Next stop: Sin City, USA.
Damon remains silent, staring intently at the road the way he's done for the last only god knows how many hours. He shifts to look at the time. He shifts to look at her. His face no more intense than she's used to. He knows she's right. She always is. And it's only what he's said to them as they left New York City anyway.
"Damn, right we're too good. Too bad Mr. Reichard wasn't bright enough to come to that realization. His loss," he answers her flatly and reaches for her hand.
Intense but emotionless, that was Damon on a regular. You didn't want to see emotion in Damon. It would be the last thing you'd see. Just ask Mr. Reichard. Besides a smirk (that can't quite count as an emotion), rage was all that Damon would demonstrate outside his stonewall facade. But Baby could read through all of it. Only she got what no one else could. Not even Damon. There was no falling short or missing the mark. No forgiveness for mistakes. Baby was flawless. Damon knew that from day one. He kissed the top of her hand delicately, the way he always treated her.
Her smile is warm, lighting up cool feline features, and she unfastens her seatbelt to lean over and kiss him on the cheek, cupid-bow lips soft on the rasp of his face. "His loss and our gain," she adds archly, before stretching out of her seat, all long limbs and slim body. "Are we there yet?" Over her shoulder as she moves toward the kitchen area of the motorhome they're travelling in, to retrieve her Damon a drink. Poor thing, up all night driving, sleeping during the day, and he looks haggard.
His eyes narrow at the GPS unit in the dash then shift back to the clock once more. He eyes it then let's his eyes haze to peek at Baby in the dull reflection of the monitor. "Another six hours." He stifles a yawn which makes his flat gaze look menacing momentarily. Eyes back on the road. Focused. Eyes on the prize.
As Baby fetches him a bottle of water, she stretches a leg out on the counter beside her, testing her flexibility after so long sitting. She catches Dom's eyes as he glances up from whatever he's doing - looks like a video game of some sort - and without saying anything, says everything she needs to. Switch up, he's tired. So is she, and she's stiff, though it's almost impossible to tell from the bend she gets as she hyperextends her hips. "Love, here." Tucking the bottle into the holder, by his right knee. "Dom will drive for a while, so we can sleep."
On the run, but not really. Too many things in New York, too exciting to stay. Too dangerous. Next stop: Sin City, USA.
Current Mood: 
tired
tiredCurrent Music: Massive Attack - Angel
Leave a comment