fecklessfutility

She did not simply step into the room; she flowed. Years of autonomous repetition guided the movement withered limbs in her entrance. The way her arm was draped carelessly on the door frame; the way her fingers fanned out as she caressed the wall, fingertips teasingly brushing the clasp on her gown. Across the room, perched a man. He sat, awkwardly, hands grasping a cloth bag. His eyes focused completely on the marvel that posed before him. "The money?" "Of course." Money was swiftly thrown on the table that stood between them-a note of desperation sounded as the coins rolled to a stop. The sound continued to resonate until an expectant s