[One day, perhaps he will look it up. ... She'll find it much more amusing if he does so after it's too late.]
I think we both know it's better than "not bad"...
[Her lips curl into an even more self-satisfied look, like a cat that's gotten into the cream. Well, no, it would be disgraceful for a tanuki to be compared to that- like a dog with a bone is more acceptable. He might be overreaching, to just touch her without permission... but what was skin for, but to be touched? What were tattoos for, but to be admired? Her expression only grows more coy, and obligingly...
A little shiver traces down her spine in the path of his finger, the jet black of the blade and the crimson of the peony "heart" it stabbed through shifting on pale, soft skin, the ink embedded so perfectly that it did not even feel as if that flash had been pierced by needles a thousand times to create the work of art. (Someone else across the street is gawking, slapping a friend on the arm and pulling his gaze over. Was she exposed in the front, pulling her kimono as far back as she had? She doesn't seem to notice or care.)]
There's little point in pretending to have made a commitment you have not.
[Temporary tattoos? Hah. Perhaps the usual expression is "in pretending to be something you aren't"... But she certainly isn't about to say that. The next time she and this boy meet... Will he recognize her? As for hurting, well...]
Some pain is worth it.
[He sits back, and she moves to pull her garments back into place, providing just a hint of ink beneath the tip of the sword, above the cleft of her ass, before the silk robe hides it all again. A slip, a tuck, a hitch, and she is back together, whirling back around and disappointing her impromptu audience across the street... so that her boot might suddenly find a place on the bench beside her current object of interest, providing an extra credit peek higher up her thigh and a hint of black lace as she leans over him, retrieving her stole with a little "thank you~" before she throws it over her own shoulder... and points at his shirt.]
no subject
I think we both know it's better than "not bad"...
[Her lips curl into an even more self-satisfied look, like a cat that's gotten into the cream. Well, no, it would be disgraceful for a tanuki to be compared to that- like a dog with a bone is more acceptable. He might be overreaching, to just touch her without permission... but what was skin for, but to be touched? What were tattoos for, but to be admired? Her expression only grows more coy, and obligingly...
A little shiver traces down her spine in the path of his finger, the jet black of the blade and the crimson of the peony "heart" it stabbed through shifting on pale, soft skin, the ink embedded so perfectly that it did not even feel as if that flash had been pierced by needles a thousand times to create the work of art. (Someone else across the street is gawking, slapping a friend on the arm and pulling his gaze over. Was she exposed in the front, pulling her kimono as far back as she had? She doesn't seem to notice or care.)]
There's little point in pretending to have made a commitment you have not.
[Temporary tattoos? Hah. Perhaps the usual expression is "in pretending to be something you aren't"... But she certainly isn't about to say that. The next time she and this boy meet... Will he recognize her? As for hurting, well...]
Some pain is worth it.
[He sits back, and she moves to pull her garments back into place, providing just a hint of ink beneath the tip of the sword, above the cleft of her ass, before the silk robe hides it all again. A slip, a tuck, a hitch, and she is back together, whirling back around and disappointing her impromptu audience across the street... so that her boot might suddenly find a place on the bench beside her current object of interest, providing an extra credit peek higher up her thigh and a hint of black lace as she leans over him, retrieving her stole with a little "thank you~" before she throws it over her own shoulder... and points at his shirt.]
Your turn, boy~