"I don't think Clem would be much interested in my last words," he returned lightly. She found him overbearing at the best of times, Ford thought. If he did linger on as a ghost after dying, perhaps their relationship would improve... at the very least, she'd no longer be able to lay the blame on him for not being given the funds to do whatever it was she had last set her heart upon. It'd have to be Noble's turn to be the bad guy — but he would do a better job of it than Ford, because Noble would probably have done most things better than Ford.
He grinned at her question about the dance. The thing she did with her hands was cute, and it got her point across just as well as words would have done. "From my perspective it was a bit —" he shifted his glass to one hand so that he could mirror her gesture with the other one, waving his fingers with a laugh. "— but I was a bit distracted that night, so maybe there was some sort of story line I just didn't catch on to." Distracted was a word that covered a multitude of sins, in this case, and it was odd to remember it now. So much had happened since the Sonata that it seemed like the Ford who had attended was practically a different person from the one who stood here tonight. He could not imagine letting himself gawk so openly at anything now — but back then he hadn't really realized what it was that was pulling his attention, so he hadn't thought to be careful about keeping it hidden. He did not expect to have any problems like that tonight — ballet was hardly on par with contortionists, however nimble the dancers were — and he'd agreed to watch the performances with Miss Chang, which, for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, seemed to matter.
She asked him about the drink, and Ford took another sip (three sips in half a minute was faster than he probably ought to be drinking cocktails, especially ones without any apparent taste of alcohol — he filed slow down away in the back of his mind as something to keep in mind while they headed over towards the dance). "Sweet, definitely, but sharp too. Citrus something," he pronounced. There was something else that he hadn't identified yet. He sniffed the drink and noticed something floral and familiar, but whatever it was hadn't come through as a distinct flavor in the drink. "And I think this red at the bottom might be pomegranate. Oh, yes — there's a seed," he noted as he peered at the bottom of the glass. "So, best guess — pomegranate, orange, pineapple. And no clue on the liquor, which means there's probably at least three or four different kinds," he said with a smile and a shrug. "Do you like it?"
He grinned at her question about the dance. The thing she did with her hands was cute, and it got her point across just as well as words would have done. "From my perspective it was a bit —" he shifted his glass to one hand so that he could mirror her gesture with the other one, waving his fingers with a laugh. "— but I was a bit distracted that night, so maybe there was some sort of story line I just didn't catch on to." Distracted was a word that covered a multitude of sins, in this case, and it was odd to remember it now. So much had happened since the Sonata that it seemed like the Ford who had attended was practically a different person from the one who stood here tonight. He could not imagine letting himself gawk so openly at anything now — but back then he hadn't really realized what it was that was pulling his attention, so he hadn't thought to be careful about keeping it hidden. He did not expect to have any problems like that tonight — ballet was hardly on par with contortionists, however nimble the dancers were — and he'd agreed to watch the performances with Miss Chang, which, for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, seemed to matter.
She asked him about the drink, and Ford took another sip (three sips in half a minute was faster than he probably ought to be drinking cocktails, especially ones without any apparent taste of alcohol — he filed slow down away in the back of his mind as something to keep in mind while they headed over towards the dance). "Sweet, definitely, but sharp too. Citrus something," he pronounced. There was something else that he hadn't identified yet. He sniffed the drink and noticed something floral and familiar, but whatever it was hadn't come through as a distinct flavor in the drink. "And I think this red at the bottom might be pomegranate. Oh, yes — there's a seed," he noted as he peered at the bottom of the glass. "So, best guess — pomegranate, orange, pineapple. And no clue on the liquor, which means there's probably at least three or four different kinds," he said with a smile and a shrug. "Do you like it?"
Set by Lady!