[ If her wide-eyed look didn't have an almost incensed edge to it, perhaps it could even pass off as pleasant surprise. But she doesn't gratify him with more than a second of acknowledgement of this new gift.
Delicately plucking the umbrella from the other glass, measuring the two against one another, she snaps back the flimsy wooden spokes of whichever she deems to be longer until the pink paper has been bent, flattened back and inside-out-- as far as she is concerned, a plain cocktail stick with which to spear the fruit pieces from the pink beverage. It's especially elaborate for her, but serves well as a method of delaying taking these drinks. No matter how sociable he wants her to be, she still has a job that she cannot risk either of them in doing, by any fault or slowness of response of hers.
It does make her consider more clearly, as she directs her restlessness into transferring the fruit from one glass to another, what their relationship is outside of that single professional duty. Whether enjoying herself is something he can demand of her. Smiling. Adapting to those around her.
The one person from whom she would accept those orders would not ask her to smile for his sake. So, then, a loyalty bought by cash cannot demand that of her either. It does, however, prompt a little thought, a little concern-- perhaps that they should be on more equal grounding, if she won't acquiesce to every order. Forfeiting the paper-messaging completely (the bartender looks tired of acting as a free courier service), she takes a wine-soaked piece of apple in her mouth, eyes slipping shut, and connects her mind, the way she has tentatively taught herself to. Her voice speaks for her in his head. It's simple; they've connected before.
no subject
Delicately plucking the umbrella from the other glass, measuring the two against one another, she snaps back the flimsy wooden spokes of whichever she deems to be longer until the pink paper has been bent, flattened back and inside-out-- as far as she is concerned, a plain cocktail stick with which to spear the fruit pieces from the pink beverage. It's especially elaborate for her, but serves well as a method of delaying taking these drinks. No matter how sociable he wants her to be, she still has a job that she cannot risk either of them in doing, by any fault or slowness of response of hers.
It does make her consider more clearly, as she directs her restlessness into transferring the fruit from one glass to another, what their relationship is outside of that single professional duty. Whether enjoying herself is something he can demand of her. Smiling. Adapting to those around her.
The one person from whom she would accept those orders would not ask her to smile for his sake. So, then, a loyalty bought by cash cannot demand that of her either. It does, however, prompt a little thought, a little concern-- perhaps that they should be on more equal grounding, if she won't acquiesce to every order. Forfeiting the paper-messaging completely (the bartender looks tired of acting as a free courier service), she takes a wine-soaked piece of apple in her mouth, eyes slipping shut, and connects her mind, the way she has tentatively taught herself to. Her voice speaks for her in his head. It's simple; they've connected before.
I won't accept these. ]