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Cater sighs as he pushes his veil up, fanning at his face; the whole look that his dorm had chosen was snazzy as hell but a pain to wear. But at least he has a chance for a small break now, given the guests ad cleared out from the surrounding area and Riddle is no where around to breath down his neck about breaking character. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that someone is still watching him…
“You’re getting better at that, Monsieur Squelette,” a voice says from just behind him and Cater hisses out a litany of curses as he quickly steps away and spin back towards the asshole.
“Will you stop DOING THAT?!” Cater doesn’t quite remember when Rook Hunt had taken it upon himself to begin startling him out of the blue, but it was something that was now a mildly annoying regular occurrence. “Cay-Cay’s heart can’t take much more of this…”
A smile curls on Rook’s lips, the barest sliver of the fangs that tied together Pomefiore’s costume together peaking out from below the top one. “It would be a shame for your first danse macabre to be your own.”
Cater can’t help the amusement that washes over him at those words. “Dancing our guests to death isn’t quite the vibe our Queen wants,” he says, tugging his veil back down; he’d cooled enough and didn’t want to risk getting caught with out of place while on shift.
“A pity, I would have enjoyed a dance with you.” Cater isn’t sure if it’s the tone or the wistful look, but there’s something almost intense about Rook’s reply.
“Don’t really think dancing would to much to kill a vampire.”
“C'est vrai,” Rook agrees, stepping forward until he’s close enough to Cater that the only thing really separating them is the veil. “Une petite mort, on the other hand…” There’s another, far sharper smile now as Rook reaches out and lifts Cater’s veil. “Would you be willing to dance that with me?”