curiousity killed the cat
‘Are you certain you truly wish to know?’
Rouge blinks, tilting her head. Her spaded tail flickers most curiously behind her, ever emotive. Surely to the point where it would be damnably revealing—an unavoidable tell—except for the fact that her face was already an open book.
Sable, to contrast, was a largely unemotive person, with her sole two visible moods being either an icy neutral or an even colder fury. Right now, she is neither—an odd smile curls her lips, but the gold of her eyes gleams like a glittering gem in a death trap. It’s a challenge. It’s a warning. It’s both.
To the receiver, it’s taken as neither. Rouge simply dips into uncharacteristic quiet, humming thoughtfully. When she does respond, it’s not verbally, at least not at first—instead, she grabs Sable’s lower wrist in a cradle to lift it towards her face to look at properly. Slowly, ever so, in a specific manner reserved when broaching any kind of physical contact with Sable; a method which was entirely telegraphed so that it was her letting Rouge do so and not anything else. Never anything else.
‘I kinda do, Bee. I kinda really, really do.’
She peers at Sable’s hands, entirely covered in the softest of silk gloves. As they always were. As they always had been. Rouge had long since wanted to know how she kept the material so clean, the near-blinding of absolute ivory impossibly never any duller. As well as what lay beneath a gentle prison of silk, of course, most obviously, but that was less polite to admit.
‘But… are you uncomfy with telling me?’
A chuckle. It’s a low rumble, like brontide before a downpour. ‘My comfort?’ Gloved fingertips place themselves on the sleeve of Rouge’s fluffy jacket, and immediately, she lets go. ‘It is yours you should be worried about, not mine.’
‘I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make me uncomfortable.’
‘A sweet sentiment, dearest shade. But that sort of blanket statement serves no one. I could do any number of things to make you uncomfortable. Just like you are more than capable of that yourself. I simply would rather not.’
This time, it is Rouge’s turn to laugh. She bears pointed fangs when she does it, a shock of sharpness despite her rounder features. ‘Same thing, isn’t it? It’s the same thing in the end. It’s the same thing but with many more words. Not sure that changes anything. Maybe for some, but not for me. What you say matters but not more than what you do.’
‘Flatterer,’ Sable says, but she does not look upset, so it’s not meant as a barb. ‘You simply want to sate your curiosity.’
Rouge grins, though has the decency to make it look a little sheepish. ‘Guilt-tee! But you can hardly blame me, Bee.’
‘I can. But I happen to be in a good mood, so sating the curiosity of a kitten that isn’t me is something I can indulge in. Count your blessings.’
‘Already am~‘
For a moment, Sable merely looks at Rouge—meets her gaze with an unwavering stare. Then, she snags the tip of a glove with a grip of teeth, pulling the accessory off in a surprisingly indelicate gesture.
‘Oh.‘