Birdie knows this is a shift. Free as she is with her physical affections with nearly everyone else, she's held back and held off with Kaz. Still, she was honest before. She's thought about it, considered options, ways for it to work beyond the scant shoulder bumps past guards and desperate arm grabs.
Her last set at the club for the night is distracted, though only the Dregs might notice it. Pigeons are oblivious creatures, and gamble the same as they always do when she sings, full of high risks and minimal rewards with barely a murmur of disappointment at the tables. When it's over, she heads straight back to the Slat without the usual lingering and conversation.
Kaz wants to try touching, something that has as many wonderful opportunities as it does potential for disappointments. None of which she wants to miss by not making it back to the basement with enough time for it before sunrise.
Really, she hasn't done as much to the space as she normally does more permanent havens. Partly because she traveled light when she came to Ketterdam, and partly because she's been so distracted with Kaz and jobs and everything else at night that she hasn't had too much time to really nest. But she has done her usual--any sliver of window is covered with either thick curtains or insulation. One curtain is hung between the space where the bed was placed and the door that leads upstairs, an extra little barrier on any errant sunlight that might creep its way down. The rest of the walls, too, are covered in fabric. Not quite tapestries, but random yards of scrap picked up from any number of places, colorful and thick enough to act as a rudimentary soundproofing.
And pillows. On the floor, on the two chairs that look like they were spare from somewhere else and had wound up down here ages ago for storage.
She's in the middle of contemplating if any of that fabric would help this touch-related venture when she hears his cane on the stairs and calls, "Come in," in the direction of the door, lilting and not half as nervous sounding as she is that she might mess this up.
for @noreasonneeded
Her last set at the club for the night is distracted, though only the Dregs might notice it. Pigeons are oblivious creatures, and gamble the same as they always do when she sings, full of high risks and minimal rewards with barely a murmur of disappointment at the tables. When it's over, she heads straight back to the Slat without the usual lingering and conversation.
Kaz wants to try touching, something that has as many wonderful opportunities as it does potential for disappointments. None of which she wants to miss by not making it back to the basement with enough time for it before sunrise.
Really, she hasn't done as much to the space as she normally does more permanent havens. Partly because she traveled light when she came to Ketterdam, and partly because she's been so distracted with Kaz and jobs and everything else at night that she hasn't had too much time to really nest. But she has done her usual--any sliver of window is covered with either thick curtains or insulation. One curtain is hung between the space where the bed was placed and the door that leads upstairs, an extra little barrier on any errant sunlight that might creep its way down. The rest of the walls, too, are covered in fabric. Not quite tapestries, but random yards of scrap picked up from any number of places, colorful and thick enough to act as a rudimentary soundproofing.
And pillows. On the floor, on the two chairs that look like they were spare from somewhere else and had wound up down here ages ago for storage.
She's in the middle of contemplating if any of that fabric would help this touch-related venture when she hears his cane on the stairs and calls, "Come in," in the direction of the door, lilting and not half as nervous sounding as she is that she might mess this up.