They look gravely at each other over the table, eyes saying so much more than the silence would lead you to believe they are managing to communicate. The candle on the table is flickering slowly to itself, adding infinitely to the illicit atmosphere.
Languorously, a leg is extended, and the man with the scarred face jumps slightly, but not a lot. The peace is not overly disturbed, in some ways, and in others, it never really existed.
"How long do you think it's going to take for the mad old bird to find us?" Erskine grins winningly, and Ghastly grimaces.
"It'll never be anywhere near long enough, believe you me."
"Oh, I believe you." Erskine winces a bit, but soon returns to his jocular state. "How is your food?"
"Wonderful, though it isn't quite what I was looking for…" The scarred man bats his eyelids in a fashion that attempts 'sultry', but just about manages 'confused'. "Merry Christmas, by the way."
"A very merry Christmas to you too." It is Erskine now that bats his eyelids, and he, unlike his lover, not only achieves sultry but surpasses it. Ghastly does not quite faint, but he isn't far off from it.
A/N: 'Faint' in this context meaning 'nosebleed to death'.
A joyous Newtonmas to you!
~Mademise Morte, December 25