It’s barely anything, a gesture that’ll melt away into the chaos of limbs and bodies around them, people well on their way to drunk, riding the euphoria of winning, or drowning in the self-loathing of loss. No one’s going to notice a touch here or there, though he’s failed to realize there’s spies all over the place, trained for this sort of thing-– but he takes a step back himself out of respect for her preference, one half of his face pinched in a silent contrition while the other half conveys his reassurance that no one has noticed (or will notice). 

      ( it’s not his fault she’s so irresistible )

        Bruce shakes his head, his steady diet of unaltered club soda a conscientious choice for the night. “I don’t know about that,” he half shrugs; ducks his head half an inch and raises his eyes at her, wide and questioning – a grazing touch to her forearm is veto’d for the night, and yet fiddling with his clothing is a go?

Bruce finds himself slow to grin as he wonders just what else is on the table, and what’s off it.  “I’ve heard rumours you’re not the worst person to be stuck with in a jam,” he answers lowly, offhandedly. He reaches out to take her glass from the bottom, a venturous eyebrow lifted as his thumb covers a few of the fingers wrapped around it – paired with a step back so as to not make their interaction feel overly familiar — questioning: off the table or on? 

A slip- she’d seen it coming even as her fingers had drifted out to run the material against a thumbpad. The pinch to his expression suggests that he thinks no one is watching and this is where they differ because she’s SURE that someone’s seen ( and here she is, offering him her drink at the end of the bar ). The quick flick of her brows in answer to his expression likely doesn’t help- but maybe she’s in an antagonistic mood.

       Maria relinquishes the glass, lets him step back from her with it while she watches, bemused. At his remark she huffs, shakes her head gently. “Only rumors? Disappointing.” The twist of her mouth makes clear the tone of their conversation, if it hadn’t been obvious from the start. 

                           Silence, she tilts her head. “But you know? I’ve heard the same about you–” A half step forward, barely a shift, negligible to anyone else. “Much more resourceful and levelheaded in the aftermath. Not entirely helpless.” Palm out to receive the glass back, she tips her chin upward. 


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