Casement Dianna

Casement Dianna

Not two days later, Andover's reported beau was enjoying a little R&R in a darkened theater; it was currently screening "Quantum of Solace." A girl's eyes adjusted to the gloom as she stood near the entrance, looking for quarry. A long weekend at her friend's condominium was NOT an opportunity to be wasted.

The anonymous huntress identified a potential prey, and moved quietly, like a lioness. While the King of the Jungle is known for his terrific roar, it is the lioness who makes the kill. He became aware of her when she slid into the seat just next to his. It was an empty theater, and her forwardness was unavoidably evident.

She recovered from her small exertion easily, by deepening the draw of her breath. He knew, from experience in reconnaissance, that this translated into excellent stealth on her part. When fleeing, the noise of labored breathing is as telling as any indication a fugitive can hide.

Her Baby-Doll Tee was short, and her skirt was shorter. She felt that the ball was in his court, and did not go further with introductions. 007 undertook yet another 130 minute epic of history, and he was well underway before their shared armrest became the pleasure of his audience.

She was (by design,) seated to his left, and his first move was to relocate his drink to his right armrest. He contemplated the old "stretch and put the arm around her" maneuver, but decided he didn't want to explain a juvenile failure, either to his bud's back at the base, OR to his XO. Besides, Movieplexes frowned upon that kind of thing nowadays. At least, this was not THAT kind of Movieplex, and she gave no evidence of being a vulgar vixen.

His relaxation went away as she maneuvered her right arm until about a square inch of her bare skin touched his arm. She added a cook's portion of time, changing positions just often enough to keep his attentions divided. By the time Gemma Arterton's "Agent Fields," made an entrance, he was ready to surrender whether she was adolescent or not. And she was... young. Nubile, but not excessively so, he strongly suspected that jail-bait was on offer, but he could not avoid the evidence. There was BAIT on that hook.

She leaned over and whispered, "Did you know that 'Quantum,' (as used in the title,) isn't 'two-states at once,' but rather 'the smallest distinguishable unit?'" she asked.

Agent Fields herself was quite delectable, and the comparison inebriated the senses. "You should get a trench coat like that yourself," he suggested frankly. "No, I didn't know. I thought it was 'solace,' and 'not solace,' at the same time. Shhh!"

She had his attention and desisted from harassment, satisfied that her Marlin needed to burn some energy, or the line would snap. The constant touch at the arm was becoming intimate, and had progressed to more than was in any wise necessary. The play developed to crescendo, and abated, like the tide coming in and going out. This was her third angling expedition, and she monitored the plot in the pedestrian manner of children who watch a favorite Disney movie repeatedly.

For his part, he anticipated that her bare midriff and exposed thigh were fair game after her advances. But he was ethical; he had not yet surrendered all his morals. The closing credits rolled, and the lights came up.

She struck while the glowing metal was still malleable. "Could you help a girl out by sharing a taxi?" she inquired. A combination of respect for women and a desire to be a White Knight coerced agreement from him, and soon they stood side by side at the edge of the curb. Her right hand took his arm just above the elbow, and he was her escort before he knew what had happened.

"How old are you?" he soon demanded. It was impolite to ask a woman her age, but this waif at his side was certainly his junior.

"I turned 18 three months ago," she replied, then added quickly, "...but I'm NOT innocent!"

Hmm... he thought, can't argue with you there. He spoke gently, "I just don't want to take advantage of you," he explained.

As soon as they were seated in the cab and had given their destinations, her eyes sought his. He had no other warning of her next salvo. "Want to get involved in a 'Love Triangle?'" she asked, with a playful grin. His mind had come to no organized conclusion about this, before his blood chemistry assaulted any remaining clarity that he may have enjoyed.

Instinct and long established decorum asserted themselves. "Of course not," he managed weakly. She maintained eye contact, as her right hand guided his to somewhere north of her southern border. The triangle he found illustrated her point; you could call that a “love triangle,” if you chose.

He discovered that the vessel of his physical constitution was underway. Strange that the illustration that came to mind was nautical: ships are safe in harbor, but that is NOT what ships are for. He kissed her gently, as she directed the cabbie to her condo.

“Carpe Diem,” he thought.