tragic_mask | (no subject)

Her eyes widen, and she moves to clasp her hands together.

"I blame you for everything. Before you came along, I was innocent as a newborn babe."

"Never trust a Norseman," he chuckles. "So insidious, with our pillaging and our lutefisk. We corrupt or we destroy. Lucky for you, you're a better target for corruption."

"Thanks," she murmurs. "I appreciate that, I think."

"Mmmm. I'm not really the active-corruption kind. It happens as a side effect sometimes, but I don't set out to do it."

A pause.

"...well, usually."

"Really," she says, disbelieving, as they cross the parking lot.

"I'm more interested in my own entertainment than in harming others, usually," he says. "It's only natural."

"That's reassuring."

And then, glancing sideways at him: "I can juggle, you know."

"Can you, now?" he asks, faintly surprised. "I should like to see that, sometime."

"Oh, yes. And not just oranges and scarves, either. I will show you sometime, if you want."

She grins. "It's one of my lesser known skills."

"Don't ever give away all your lesser-known skills," he murmurs. "Keep a bit of mystery. But I do want to see you juggle, sometime. If we're ever penniless somewhere and need to perform on the street for money, I think you may have your talent..."

"Trust me, there's plenty of mystery left."

She makes a face. "I hope never to be penniless, at least to the point that juggling is my only hope."

"But it's good to know you have something to fall back on," he says. "Me, I haven't got many performance abilities."

"Well, you can tango all right," she says with a smile.

"Mmmm."

He grins. "Not by myself, though. It needs just the right partner for that."

"That's certainly true," she says. "Takes two to tango, right?"

"Generally," he agrees. "But I do know other kinds of dances."

"See, I just knew you had the performer's spirit in you."

"And if you get me drunk enough," he says in a quieter, conspiratorial tone, "sometimes I sing."

"So I hear," she says wryly.

"You never know. There could be karaoke in your future."

A pause.

"I feel like I shouldn't admit to knowing pop songs."

"No, you shouldn't. Completely destroys the tough-guy image."

"There really aren't any tough-guy pop songs," he muses. "Not anymore. And possibly never."

"Can't imagine what that would sound like," she says, with a shudder. "Did you leave anything in the room, or should we go straight for the car?"

"I think I'd like to go up and check, just to make sure," he says. "Do you need to go too, or do you want to take the car keys?"

She shrugs. "Don't think I left anything valuable. I can start the car."