It's the cigarettes that get her in trouble, of course. Not for having them -- Zone's friend's brother had picked them up, free of charge, and she certainly looks of age when she swaggers and slinks -- but her lighter's in the pocket of the coat she was just too cool to wear. Rinoa feels distinctly out of place holding the box in her hand like an idiot who forgot matches. This bar isn't the kind of bar that gives them out at the counter - which is why she wants to smoke here in the first place - and for a second she's frozen in her own stupidity. She knows any second someone will take a second look and realize that she's Caraway's goody-goody daughter.
But she sees him in her panicked glance around the bar -- hopefully not-too-panicked; she still has a persona to hold onto here: red-haired, willow-wisp thin but with a strength to it like wire, leaning into the corner like it's his lover. He's wearing some kind of expensive suit like it was born on him, and she sees the tell-tale trail of smoke curling up and over his ponytail. He looks dangerous, and it's exactly the kind of person Rinoa knows she shouldn't be talking to. So she sways her way over with more confidence than she feels.
"Got a light?"
He turns, sinuous like a snake, to look at her over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes. There are red tattoo-streaks on his cheeks, and his eyes are bright and sharp and clever. He puffs smoke into her face and grins.
"The evidence is right there," she says, although she tries to make it sound coy. "So help a girl out, would you?"
The smile turns a little predatory, and the man turns around in one smooth movement that makes her panic, a little: it's the smoothness of motion her father's guards all have, that smoothness that comes with familiarity and training and confidence. He plucks the cig from his mouth with long fingers and says, "Make it worth my while, diamond-eyes."
Rinoa Caraway would never do this. So Rinoa Heartilly leans in, up on her toes, and brushes her lips gently across the stranger's. It's meant to be just a touch, but he surges forward suddenly, and her mouth is claimed by dark smoke and heat and the hint of a snake's tongue.
She breathes in, sharp, and the man's chuckle reaches her. It's surprisingly light, and it sounds even more dangerous because of that. She wants to be embarrassed - in some corner of her mind she is, a little - but she simply cocks her head and holds out the cigarette confidently.
The man flips a lighter up out of his pocket and bends to her cigarette. When his eyes flick back up to hers, the smile is sly. "Let me know if I can buy you a drink," he says, and Rinoa breathes in with triumph and puffs smoke out above her head.
Cigarettes (Reno/Rinoa, PG-13)
But she sees him in her panicked glance around the bar -- hopefully not-too-panicked; she still has a persona to hold onto here: red-haired, willow-wisp thin but with a strength to it like wire, leaning into the corner like it's his lover. He's wearing some kind of expensive suit like it was born on him, and she sees the tell-tale trail of smoke curling up and over his ponytail. He looks dangerous, and it's exactly the kind of person Rinoa knows she shouldn't be talking to. So she sways her way over with more confidence than she feels.
"Got a light?"
He turns, sinuous like a snake, to look at her over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes. There are red tattoo-streaks on his cheeks, and his eyes are bright and sharp and clever. He puffs smoke into her face and grins.
"The evidence is right there," she says, although she tries to make it sound coy. "So help a girl out, would you?"
The smile turns a little predatory, and the man turns around in one smooth movement that makes her panic, a little: it's the smoothness of motion her father's guards all have, that smoothness that comes with familiarity and training and confidence. He plucks the cig from his mouth with long fingers and says, "Make it worth my while, diamond-eyes."
Rinoa Caraway would never do this. So Rinoa Heartilly leans in, up on her toes, and brushes her lips gently across the stranger's. It's meant to be just a touch, but he surges forward suddenly, and her mouth is claimed by dark smoke and heat and the hint of a snake's tongue.
She breathes in, sharp, and the man's chuckle reaches her. It's surprisingly light, and it sounds even more dangerous because of that. She wants to be embarrassed - in some corner of her mind she is, a little - but she simply cocks her head and holds out the cigarette confidently.
The man flips a lighter up out of his pocket and bends to her cigarette. When his eyes flick back up to hers, the smile is sly. "Let me know if I can buy you a drink," he says, and Rinoa breathes in with triumph and puffs smoke out above her head.