A faint (but still audible) snort of derision is the only response Modomnoc offers to Spike's second suggestion. Strike two.
Sunshine, for her part, produces a remarkably similar sound after digesting Fausta's little theory. It almost makes her want to pull away from Spike just to demonstrate that she's not going to let rift-generated emotional manipulation that she is perfectly aware of drive her behavior, but there are other points she could make without losing the comfort of a hug from her boyfriend. This might not exactly be standard operating procedure - none of her former boyfriends would have described her as cuddly - but this isn't a standard sort of situation, either.
More to the point, though, is the fact that this isn't a party of two (or, okay, four). "It's not just doing this to us," she says. Exhibit A. "So if its motivation is just that, it's pretty inefficient to go dragging every other rifty in Manhattan into it."
Dom wiggles his antennae pensively. "Maybe it's not the rift's motivations you should be worrying about," he muses, almost to himself.
She gives her bee a sharp look, not even needing to verbalize: what the hell is that supposed to mean?
"I'm coming over there," Dom announces instead, for some damn reason, and Sunshine mutters a somewhat baffled, "Be my guest," before tucking her face back into Spike's neck with a put-upon sigh.
And, okay, it's dark, and she knows intellectually that her bee can't see very well. But she's sort of glowing, and even without that visual cue, she assumes he could find her using some sort of intrinsic soul-animal magical whatever. So she's taking it for granted that he's not going to do something objectively insane like land in Spike's hair, which is only one of the reasons why it gives her a hell of a jolt when that is precisely what he does.
Oh, gods. It's like someone reached into her chest and squeezed, and she actually stops breathing for a moment, her hands fisting in Spike's shirt. She half-expects it to hurt, agonizingly, like it did before, but this is… different, fainter, more like a sore muscle than a stab wound, and the ache isn't as notable as the - the warmth, like this is not a bad thing even though it has to be, because it's so unbearably intimate and this isn't--she doesn't do this.
But her goddamn bee does. Apparently. He holds still for a moment, legs splayed as if trying to keep his balance on an icy surface. And then he moves, oh gods, against the grain, he's--he's fucking mussing Spike's hair, and she is going to actually, literally die of embarrassment. That will be right at the top of her to-do list once she can manage anything more than clinging to Spike and remembering to breathe. "I can see why we like this," Modomnoc says, his voice infuriatingly mild and only a little bit strained.
no subject
Sunshine, for her part, produces a remarkably similar sound after digesting Fausta's little theory. It almost makes her want to pull away from Spike just to demonstrate that she's not going to let rift-generated emotional manipulation that she is perfectly aware of drive her behavior, but there are other points she could make without losing the comfort of a hug from her boyfriend. This might not exactly be standard operating procedure - none of her former boyfriends would have described her as cuddly - but this isn't a standard sort of situation, either.
More to the point, though, is the fact that this isn't a party of two (or, okay, four). "It's not just doing this to us," she says. Exhibit A. "So if its motivation is just that, it's pretty inefficient to go dragging every other rifty in Manhattan into it."
Dom wiggles his antennae pensively. "Maybe it's not the rift's motivations you should be worrying about," he muses, almost to himself.
She gives her bee a sharp look, not even needing to verbalize: what the hell is that supposed to mean?
"I'm coming over there," Dom announces instead, for some damn reason, and Sunshine mutters a somewhat baffled, "Be my guest," before tucking her face back into Spike's neck with a put-upon sigh.
And, okay, it's dark, and she knows intellectually that her bee can't see very well. But she's sort of glowing, and even without that visual cue, she assumes he could find her using some sort of intrinsic soul-animal magical whatever. So she's taking it for granted that he's not going to do something objectively insane like land in Spike's hair, which is only one of the reasons why it gives her a hell of a jolt when that is precisely what he does.
Oh, gods. It's like someone reached into her chest and squeezed, and she actually stops breathing for a moment, her hands fisting in Spike's shirt. She half-expects it to hurt, agonizingly, like it did before, but this is… different, fainter, more like a sore muscle than a stab wound, and the ache isn't as notable as the - the warmth, like this is not a bad thing even though it has to be, because it's so unbearably intimate and this isn't--she doesn't do this.
But her goddamn bee does. Apparently. He holds still for a moment, legs splayed as if trying to keep his balance on an icy surface. And then he moves, oh gods, against the grain, he's--he's fucking mussing Spike's hair, and she is going to actually, literally die of embarrassment. That will be right at the top of her to-do list once she can manage anything more than clinging to Spike and remembering to breathe. "I can see why we like this," Modomnoc says, his voice infuriatingly mild and only a little bit strained.