He smiles back at her, mirroring the sincerity, though in the instant he turns back around Gela's next question freezes him in place.
He weathers the anxiety of it, takes a deep breath, sighs it out. She already knows he's wearing a dress, it's not like this can get more incriminating. "It's called, um," he says delicately, "a drag ball." How tantalizingly scummy. "It's at [idk man] in Lowtown, in a few weeks."
"Ooh," Gela says, her expression barely changing from a wide, interested smile (lest he be afraid of catching any stray judgement). "And are you performing there...? I didn't know you did that."
It's a sort of art, isn't it, dressing yourself up in a way you don't usually and then selling other people on it. Gela actually knows all about that but she's never gone so far as to attempt drag before.
“I— don’t,” he admits with an awkward laugh, but warms to Gela with the openness of her reaction. “I did it once for a mission, and just sort of. …liked it.” Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he offers her a fleeting, shy glance. This isn’t something he’d talk about with many, still sorting it out on a personal level.
“I think there will be people performing, though.”
Yes she can tell, and it's really nice. He looks very pleased with himself about it and tentatively happy, a far better look on him than what he wore when they were in the cells together.
"And you're going to watch. And think about joining in?" Who knows what will happen when you're a few drinks into a night, yes? "It sounds so fun, Benedict.
"We'd better make sure you look really good, then."
"I don't know about joining in," he scoffs with a self-effacing laugh, "nobody wants to hear me sing." He directs his gaze down to the waistline of the dress, smoothing the skirt beneath it.
"It will be fun." Spoken resolutely: a declaration, a command. "I'm sure you could go, if you wanted to see. Just don't expect me to be onstage." He flashes her a smile.
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no subject
He weathers the anxiety of it, takes a deep breath, sighs it out. She already knows he's wearing a dress, it's not like this can get more incriminating.
"It's called, um," he says delicately, "a drag ball." How tantalizingly scummy. "It's at [idk man] in Lowtown, in a few weeks."
no subject
It's a sort of art, isn't it, dressing yourself up in a way you don't usually and then selling other people on it. Gela actually knows all about that but she's never gone so far as to attempt drag before.
no subject
“I did it once for a mission, and just sort of. …liked it.” Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he offers her a fleeting, shy glance. This isn’t something he’d talk about with many, still sorting it out on a personal level.
“I think there will be people performing, though.”
no subject
"And you're going to watch. And think about joining in?" Who knows what will happen when you're a few drinks into a night, yes? "It sounds so fun, Benedict.
"We'd better make sure you look really good, then."
no subject
"It will be fun." Spoken resolutely: a declaration, a command. "I'm sure you could go, if you wanted to see. Just don't expect me to be onstage." He flashes her a smile.