milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Anthy's at a window table, slowly draining a mug of Darjeeling tea. She has a boiled egg in a cup in front of her, as yet untouched.

Her biological functions are none of your business.

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But Anthy has superior ankles.

Also . . . can Antigone ever resist conversation with someone she knows is smirking at her on the inside?

Ankles?

Pah!

Antigone's ankles can beat Anthy's ankles any day of the week.

... Smirking on the inside is why she talks to Jonathon Crane.

Can they?

Would they like to prove this?

Would they like, in fact, to take this outside?

Would they perhaps like to go?

Because Anthy's ankles, they would not object to being privy to it Being Brought.

Oh, it can Be Brought.

It can Be Brought ALL NIGHT LONG.

Consider it "on," if you will.

Oh, and it is "on" indeed.

It has been brought. It has been thrown down. It has been taken outside, and it has gone.

Come on now, sugar. Bring it on, bring it on, yeah. (<-- To be read in a tuneless monotone.)

Anthy idly crosses her legs.

Antigone's feet hook around the legs of her chair.

Aw, snap.

Oh no she di'n't.

Anthy delicately extends her legs, and then her toes, and stretches.

Yeah, she went there.

Oh yeah, biznatch?

Think you got game?

One of Antigone's feet slides lazily down the chair-leg, while the other comes to rest on a rung.

Once she's finished stretching, Anthy tucks her soles against the solid back of her chair, which (incidentally) shows off the elegant arch of her feet, and the graceful curve of her ankles.

Her ankles which can LAY THE PROVERBIAL DOWNWARD SMACK on Antigone's.

DAYUM.

Those are some bitchin' ankles.

In a ~~desperate last move~~ shift of weight, Antigone turns her hips sideways in her chair, both legs coming together Anthyside of her. Her toes touch the floor, and her ankles (like her elbows, slightly too sharp) are in clear view.

Sadly, they are not as graceful as Anthy's.

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