𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. colette’s office.
𝚏𝚘𝚛. @bludluna, & raffaello torrigiani.
it’s an uncanny talent, hers : cognisance of the figure about to breach the threshold of sacrosanct space, cobalt like LASERS when they pin rafaello before he’s so much as uttered a word. ( special title he holds, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜 she juggles. ) ❝ i’d ask whether you had good news for me, rafael, but from that sourpuss ... ❞ gaze hasn’t let up, not once / unyielding over the rim of glasses, lady macbeth with the goddamned poker face of the century. being born brittle is one thing, but she’s made it a 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭, honed it into something weaponised, galvanized. ❝ ... spit it out, & then pour us a DRINK, will you ? something off the top shelf, none of that mediocre shit like last time. ❞
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𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ❝ i was wondering, do you think it's possible to sue a person - a parent, for example - in an affectionate way ? ❞
table for two at the babylon, swaddled away in candle - lit corner ; prefers province done over a drink these days. call it a 𝚏𝚘𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎, if you will ! when it concerns the constantine pedigree ... one isn’t ALWAYS enough. ( @vilebit is her favourite, though don’t tell the others that. something about the voracity she notes 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌, intimate in such a private way. mimicked in her own, most likely. ) second gin martini sits atop table, toothpick worried between protracted pearly whites / ever the picture of debonair polish when delicately - manicured brow peaks. ❝ that depends, ma chérie. ❞ solicitude soaked into 𝚑𝚢𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌, so easy to offer the youngest of the brood that so regularly land a stack of NEW paperwork on her office before her french press has been delivered. ❝ if 𝐘𝐎𝐔 tried to sue your father ... i can only imagine it’d end like that scene in the godfather. the one with the horse’s head, yes ? ❞ sanguine on satin sheets, decapitation frozen in terror & the endless screaming that’d come with it, the caterwaul ... oh, it’d echo for decades !
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