It was obvious that the Miracles boy was one of very few words, seemingly lost in his own world behind the bright blue eyes. She was curious to know what was going on in his mind, wanted to know what he was thinking of her and her strangeness. He crossed the room to sit beside her, though he still seemed far from comfortable. Caillen. She silently considered the name, one she had not heard before. Some names were very common; others were much more rare. She assumed that this was a less common one, or she would have heard it sometime during her travels. "I am Lolita Monroe," she answered, her voice silky and smooth, deep as it always was.
She reached out her hand to rest it gently on his leg and to run her fingers lightly over the fur of his thigh, if he did not jump away immediately at the touch. "You are nervous," she observed. "Do I... make you nervous?" The question was accompanied by a small pout as Lolita pretended to be hurt by the notion, put on for show of course. Lolita had a tendency to make others nervous, especially men. She liked to flirt and touch, and that brought out primal urges where society had begun to form, and this made men—and sometimes women, too—sweat.
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