You say a lot of things, [ comes her easy reply, hummed around a note of approval when she sees him rise to his feet. ] It's hard to understand you sometimes with that accent.
[ this close, it would've been easy to pass the playfulness off with another secret little smile, but the booze, the music, the high of his acquiescing hand in hers — how could she do anything else but grin wide, the kind of smile that crinkles her eyes and warms up her freckles.
at least she doesn't draw him towards the small crowd that had formed, instead sticking to their cozy little circle just beside their table. his other hand she snatches up before he can second-guess his decision, already moving her feet and hips to the music in a dance that's less form and more function. the head-whipping, hips-shaking, shoulders-shimmying kind of dance popular in the last hours of a quinceanera when everyone's had too much booze and cake and no one cares how silly anyone looks anymore.
she eggs and cheers him on the entire time, far more generous than anyone with eyes has any right to be when witnessing his moves, but it's like she said — it's about the feeling. and right now? well she feels pretty damn good.
so good, in fact, that she doesn't realize her twirl under his arm has her stumbling into the back of another patron, who stands firm and bothered by the little shove. marta trips backwards into kovacs' chest, one hand coming up to stifle the reflexive giggle that escapes her, hastening to put on an appropriately apologetic face when the large man turns to frown at her. ]
Lo siento, [ she manages, biting down on her lip. ] Sorry.
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[ this close, it would've been easy to pass the playfulness off with another secret little smile, but the booze, the music, the high of his acquiescing hand in hers — how could she do anything else but grin wide, the kind of smile that crinkles her eyes and warms up her freckles.
at least she doesn't draw him towards the small crowd that had formed, instead sticking to their cozy little circle just beside their table. his other hand she snatches up before he can second-guess his decision, already moving her feet and hips to the music in a dance that's less form and more function. the head-whipping, hips-shaking, shoulders-shimmying kind of dance popular in the last hours of a quinceanera when everyone's had too much booze and cake and no one cares how silly anyone looks anymore.
she eggs and cheers him on the entire time, far more generous than anyone with eyes has any right to be when witnessing his moves, but it's like she said — it's about the feeling. and right now? well she feels pretty damn good.
so good, in fact, that she doesn't realize her twirl under his arm has her stumbling into the back of another patron, who stands firm and bothered by the little shove. marta trips backwards into kovacs' chest, one hand coming up to stifle the reflexive giggle that escapes her, hastening to put on an appropriately apologetic face when the large man turns to frown at her. ]
Lo siento, [ she manages, biting down on her lip. ] Sorry.