Her gaze changed at the tone of his voice, arrogance falling away like the mask it was. Leaning forward, she scrutinised his face, noting how he fidgeted with the cheap mask.
Gently, Summer asks, “If you don’t want to be here, why did you come? For that matter, why did you stay?” She wanted to step closer again, offer an ease for that edge. It’s an instinct that’s hard to repress, but she does.
Ace’s gaze shifted as she did, noticing how she did so to get a better look at his face. He turned the mask over in his hands slower, and slower, before coming to a full stop all at once, jaw set.
“You can’t do everything for yourself, apparently.” The comment is meant to be dry, passing, but there is something of a truth behind it. “I wouldn’t’ve heard the end of it either way, if m’being honest.”
Attempting to lighten the mood, she remarks, “So shall I inspect the rest of you for that deformity? There’s clearly nothing wrong with your face.” She glances toward the door, toward the music and lights and bodies and madness. “Nobody’s going to come out here and bother us.”
