Alex had been sitting cross legged on the kitchen table, she jumped down and began to pace. That was a good sign. She might still say no but at least she was giving it some thought. Her feet padded against the floor, she'd kicked off her her pumps when she'd walked in the door earlier. They lay in the corner, the glitter over the toes sparkling in the light. The apartment was mostly lit from the light from the street lamps and business signs outside the window streaming in. Our tiny kitchen was our conference center. Neither of us took to cooking much and Alex had put forth the great idea of using the cupboards for our growing collection of books.
Alex continued to pace, her breathing slow and even. I stood up and nervously ran my hands over the skirt of my dress, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. My dress was forest green velvet, a few shades darker than my skin. I watched Alex pace, looking more and more like a big cat in a cage. I didn't like it. I knew she didn't and that's why she paced. She would pace and pace herself into frustration and finally force herself into action.
Her lips were pulled into a thin line, the glint of her fangs barely visible. Her spots seemed to shift in the half light of the kitchen, it was getting darker. She stopped stock still. "Oh to hell with it," she sighed. She turned to me, "Get your coat, I'll grab my shoes. Let's do this."
