The way she sat irritated him. Her tall posture, one hand in her lap, legs folded gracefully under the table, the other hand holding the utensil high on its handle. She would adjust her grip, cutting each already bite size piece smaller and change her grip back fluidly.
And then she’d eat. It made him want to jump up from his table and lunge across hers to slap the fork straight out of her delicate hand. Each insufferable nibble she pierced barely enough to keep the food speared yet somehow as if ordered by the Gods themselves the fruit stayed as she brought it to her lips. It made his eye twitch. The way she’d allow the sample to hover in front of her lips, savoring the smell, before parting her lips to tease the food that would barely make it past her teeth before it was met by a tongue curling over it to remove it from its pike, ensuring those porcelain white medallions didn’t dare be marred by the intruding metal.  And then she’d chew. One. Two. Three. Four. She’d lay the fork down, picking up her napkin and moving it to her lips for a moment, needlessly dabbing at the corners of her mouth before coming to rest with her other hand in her lap. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. He was certain she had masticated the morsel into oblivion by now and merely enjoyed the feeling of the pureed fruit on her tongue. Finally the drink came; a delicate sip of water, barely enough to wet any palette. She’d ensure a solid contact as she set the glass perfectly on the table, her hand lingering on the stem a little too long to be necessary. And then it would start again.
His attention turned to the rest of the Bismark as the twitch started again. He watched the busy bustling to and fro of waitresses and waiters, patrons and whores. Another chunk of meat found itself speared onto the end of his fork before getting shoved it into his mouth.
Sedalyne Bisset... He didn’t need their reasons for wanting her dead. He didn’t care. The way she ate was reason enough for him. That pretty little head would find itself on his floor by week’s end.
And then she’d eat. It made him want to jump up from his table and lunge across hers to slap the fork straight out of her delicate hand. Each insufferable nibble she pierced barely enough to keep the food speared yet somehow as if ordered by the Gods themselves the fruit stayed as she brought it to her lips. It made his eye twitch. The way she’d allow the sample to hover in front of her lips, savoring the smell, before parting her lips to tease the food that would barely make it past her teeth before it was met by a tongue curling over it to remove it from its pike, ensuring those porcelain white medallions didn’t dare be marred by the intruding metal.  And then she’d chew. One. Two. Three. Four. She’d lay the fork down, picking up her napkin and moving it to her lips for a moment, needlessly dabbing at the corners of her mouth before coming to rest with her other hand in her lap. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. He was certain she had masticated the morsel into oblivion by now and merely enjoyed the feeling of the pureed fruit on her tongue. Finally the drink came; a delicate sip of water, barely enough to wet any palette. She’d ensure a solid contact as she set the glass perfectly on the table, her hand lingering on the stem a little too long to be necessary. And then it would start again.
His attention turned to the rest of the Bismark as the twitch started again. He watched the busy bustling to and fro of waitresses and waiters, patrons and whores. Another chunk of meat found itself speared onto the end of his fork before getting shoved it into his mouth.
Sedalyne Bisset... He didn’t need their reasons for wanting her dead. He didn’t care. The way she ate was reason enough for him. That pretty little head would find itself on his floor by week’s end.
