two miles beyond.

[Anselm de le Poer]

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» 's all good. -Loving this thread.- xD         She found herself in good company. Maybe the same magnets would repel, but there was also some merit to that "birds of a feather" saying, too. Anselm, keeping in line with his inflated opinion of himself, liked to think himself more confident and capable than arrogant. To be fair, that confidence came from a lot of experience and skill, plus his mind was sharp and analytical to boot (despite the omnipresent borderline paranoia). Still, he never boasted or gave too much detail on his war-torn past. As Inferni's resident spy, he knew best of all that information and knowledge was power. The less others had about him and his capabilities, the better. That didn't stop him from projecting an aura of tenacity and poise. He also was inclined to see Ghita's disposition as confident, too, which was an attractive trait just by itself. (He certainly wasn't the sort who'd like to pick up the broken pieces of some girl's self esteem.)         She huffed and looked away from him, but he simply looked on with the remarkable patience he possessed in situations like these alone, and a subtle smile teased the corners of his mouth when she decided to join him anyway. It'd be easy to chalk her response up to taking on the "challenge," of course, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew if she were truly disinterested she would have declined regardless. It was the same sort of thing where if anyone asked, yeah, he was just casually stretching, but in reality it was all a subtle show. (Or perhaps subtle wasn't the best word, as she'd picked up on it instantly--though it was largely subconscious on his end.)         As she began to shift, he found his head turning and his gaze lifted skyward again--he couldn't help but consider such things as private. It was the rough equivalent of watching somebody change clothes; there was something vulnerable about being in between states. Though he had the mouth of a sailor and laundry list of vices to his name, in some very peculiar ways he could still rather gentlemanly. It took quite a bit longer than he was used to, however, and on occasion he would take quick glances to ascertain whether or not she was done. He practised shifting regularly (daily, to be precise) and had it down to an art form, a skill performed with the efficiency anyone who knew him well enough would come to expect.         The ladder began to shift at his side and he looked down, remembering quickly to hold the top steady as she ascended the rungs. He was intrigued by her coordination (in his mind it almost contradicted the duration of her shift, but this simply added a layer of depth to her--and a little mystery was always appreciated). As she reached the top he scooted back so she had room. He sat on the crest of the roof and, once more, found himself watching with interest as she crouched on the roof. He didn't look too long, however, and he found his gaze drifting out over the back yard, complete with Maserati's crop of marijuana. Only now did he become intensely aware of the pungent smell--prior to that, Ghita's had clearly taken priority in his mind.         She spoke and he found himself asking a soft, agreeable "Isn't it?" as he peered back at her face. Content to leave that question--or statement, maybe--as ambiguous as possible, he smoothly continued. "I like the contrast. You've got the park and woods behind those houses in the back, and the sprawl of the city in the front." With that he turned again, facing the direction he originally had been towards the street. It was almost as if they were straddling two worlds--but perhaps she wouldn't see it that way.         As he turned he caught sight of his pipe again and he picked it up, eyeing the partially charred plant material contained in the bowl. He glanced back up to the pierced woman and raised a brow questioningly. "It'd be rude not to offer," he said simply, clearly holding no expectations either way. Some preferred to stay away from foreign substances while others embraced them... but as he'd said, it was quite simply bad taste not to offer. There was no sense in hiding it if she disapproved, anyway, as she would surely notice the only two items up there shortly (that being the pipe and the fluorescent orange lighter, of course). As far as he was concerned, the mild drug was only an enhancement for an otherwise perfect afternoon.

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