Stepping through the doors of Cat’s Meow is like walking onto a movie set or into a circus tent. There’s something almost not quite real about it, a carefully crafted set of lies, but one willingly taken–rose colored glasses within these four walls–as if reality has been tilted just slightly to show props and gimmicks underneath.
Plausible deniability would state that Cat’s Meow is a restaurant–or a cafe, or a bar–but those who know the truth, well. They can easily see it for what it is.
For those who don’t? Well, first timers get special treatment.
“Take a seat,” the man says, curling one warm hand around your elbow, a gentle and feather-light touch. He’s dressed in black and white and maybe plausible deniability would say that he’s a waiter, or a busboy, or the bartender, but you’ve never really been one for denial.
“You’re not going to want to miss this,” the man continues, guiding you to a seat, the plush leather almost welcoming you. The booth is meant for more than just one person, but you’ve come here alone.
Most people come here alone, but the booths get filled up anyway.
“You can call me Porcelain,” the man says, sitting beside you–but not too close, you notice–body heat just barely felt through your clothes and empty space.
Maybe it’s an apt name, you think, for his skin certainly does look as smooth as porcelain, but you think he’s far less likely to break.
“Andrew,” you offer back, because it’s only polite, never mind the place you’ve found yourself in (plausible deniability, you didn’t know, this is your first time here).
“Well, Andrew,” Porcelain says, with a sweetly curved smile on his mouth, “I’ll be your server tonight, unless you’d like someone else?”
“No,” you say, without needing to consider, “You’ll do quite nicely.”
That smile curves even more, a dimple appearing as if in punctuation. “Oh, will I?” Porcelain asks, more teasing than seeking confirmation.
“Yes,” you say simply.
After all, you know what you came here for.
~
A/N: tiny thing, I dunno, blaaaaah…
JackSGreyson Says 