Nobody Knows How Wonderful [JackxHannah]

[Jack Crawford]

Jack liked a bow tie. This one was red with a silver stripe slightly off from the middle. It looked nice alongside his white button-up shirt, all wrapped up in a comfortable green sweater with a rather inappropriately gaping v-neck. His slacks were gray - they were okay. He'd make do.

The young man's smile was a mile wide as his buzzed in and out between guests, the bar, and the front door. The lights from his gallery, the soon-to-be-famous The Box, were the brightest on the small commercial strip of Chelsea. The streets outside were illuminated by the yellow haze, the shadows of his patrons and guests dancing like demons. He was in his element and certainly loved playing the role of the host.

Tugging at his bow tie, Jack make a quick shuffle over to a group of people gazing at a large painting. It hung just perfectly on the wall. It was a beautiful piece.

"Just how crisp!" he announced to the set of guests. They turned their attention to him, the glasses in their hands lacking the necessary bubbles to be really worth while. Water was all they had; damn prohibitionists. They seemed eager for him to speak. "Once I found that man - a boy, really - painting on the streets I just knew he had talent in him."

Nothing in that story was true, but that didn't really matter. "Just look at the colors he uses," Jack added, waving a finger at the work. "Its almost like he's captured The Great War in this one piece alone." The group turned from him back to the painting, studying it. He wasn't sure if they believed him at not.

"We're never going to have another war, after all. The war to end all wars makes for beautiful artistic interpretation." The dealer made sure never to remind his customers that the work on display was for sale. High class customers didn't like to be reminded they were customers. The oddities of business.

He offered a final smile and turned away from the party, setting his gaze at the larger audience. It wasn't just a party - it was a means to showcase all the new art he had collected. The space had been completely rearranged. He emptied the entire space out so that it was just one large show room, and then put up fake walls on wheels of different sizes that cut the place up like a maze. Benches were distributed unevenly. The violinist he had hired sat in the corner, almost forgotten, his music humming nicely into the background.

In his survey of the room he spotted her. She stuck out.

Jack sighed and paused to consider himself. He hadn't quite made up his mind on what to do when he approached her. A hand reach out to cup her shoulder. "Fancy seeing one of you here," he said with a cool tone. Did he mean fellow wizard, or a China-woman? He didn't make it clear. He only half remembered her.

"We wont have any trouble, will we?"

[Hannah Parker]

Even at Warren, Hannah had stuck out. She was a perfect mix of her parent’s races, not quite Asian enough to blend in with the other non-honors students, and not quite light enough to be accepted among the honors kids. Her parent’s odd love story was enough to make her an outcast even there, though there was one girl that happily befriended her, shunned from every category that existed at the school because of the world she had come from. Shira had been homeless, running around on the streets and fighting to survive, until the Don of the Upper West Side, Aldrich Van Alstyne, had taken her in because of her innocent, doe-eyed appearance. It was something that he could use to his advantage, because really, who would expect a girl like that to turn around and rob them blind? Probably only the people who were smart enough to realize a girl of her standing would probably never talk to them. In the beginning, Hannah had wondered why Shira was talking to her, if it was some kind of assignment from her father or if she was genuinely interested in bonding with the other girl… But she learned very quickly, or at least she thought she did, that Shira was being genuine. After all, why would a Don tell his daughter to befriend some half-Asian girl?

It was partly because of the luxury afforded to her by living with the Van Alstyne’s and partly because of her family unfreezing her accounts after her mother died that Hannah was able to go to the art gallery show that night in Chelsea. If she were still living in the little hole in the wall in Chinatown, or really wherever the orphanage would have put her unless she managed to get adopted, which wasn’t exactly likely, there was no way she would have been able to come. As it were, Shira and her family had taken her in, her father’s relatives had seen fit to put everything her father owned into an account with her name on it, for some stupid reason that she still didn’t understand, and she found herself getting ready, desperately hoping to find a piece that she liked so her walls would look a little less barren. She stood with Shira in front of her closet, discussing the options. After all, this event wasn’t exactly something she could go to in a day dress, it was more high-end than that.

Eventually, the pair of them settled on a white dress that she had gotten recently, one that fell to just above her knee and cut… well rather low, but it was the newest fashion, and she couldn’t afford to look outdated, even if she didn’t really care what all these society people thought. She wanted to be taken seriously, and given her racial background, she was already at a huge disadvantage. Smoothing down the front of her dress, she slid on her jacket, and began making the long journey to the art gallery, sliding into a black town car and watching the New York landscape flash by outside the tinted window.

She only got out of the car when she got to the gallery, stepping inside and leaving her coat at the door and finding a way to get lost amongst the patrons, despite some sideways glances and whispers that she knew were bound to cloak every public appearance that she made. Straightening, she tried not to let it bother her, thought she had a feeling that was much easier said than done, in fact, she knew it was much easier said than done. Separating herself from the crowd, she found herself standing in front of a beautiful landscape painting, though she knew not the location.

Hannah hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings, a horrid mistake, and when a hand brushed against her shoulder she jumped a bit, startled, and then stiffened when she remembered where she was, and that there was no way this was Alec, or one of the other men involved in the Upper West Side. She was the only one coming tonight. Turning her head, she glanced first at his hand, and then up at him, fighting hard against the impulse to grit her teeth when he spoke to her. Of course she knew who he was, Jack Crawford. They had gone to Warren together, though she highly doubted that he remembered who she was; they were from different worlds. “Fancy seeing one of you here.” She knew it was uncommon for an Korean woman like herself to be in an art gallery, but Hannah wasn’t just some Korean woman, she was a member of the upper west side gang, and a personal friend to the children of the Don. She was a society girl… or at least she pretended to be. “I don’t make trouble, Mr. Crawford.” Her voice was almost meek, and her words were polite, though anybody looking into her eyes would see the vitality with which they flashed. “But I cannot say the same for everybody in this room. I mean no harm to you or to your business. Tonight, I’m just another observer of the finer arts of life.”

[Jack Crawford]

She looked good. At least. That was something.

And she spoke like she was a somebody. Was she?

"Its Jack," he corrected her with a smile. "Mr. Crawford makes me feel old." That was the God honest truth. He sighed and placed his hands in his pockets. An old man was the top of his list of things he didn't want, need, or want to be. 

"These people aren't here to make trouble," he replied to her. That one he wasn't so sure about. "They're here to pretend to be finer than they are. Most of them, anyway." Jack let a quick laugh escape his lips. "It is all okay, though. An idiot's money is just as bankable as a King's." His voice got lower, and though his face stood pointed at the large painting before him, Jack's eye was watching her. "And a muggle's is as good as a wizards."

Surely they couldn't have been the only wand bearers in the gallery tonight. But they were the only two he knew of, which brought him a small comfort. He could tell that some in the room were watching them. The worst of them were no doubt waiting for the spectacle of him throwing her out. The others were probably just bored. Art could never truly be appreciated sober.

"At least you have taste," he added with a sigh. She had chosen one of the better pieces to stand in front of. Jack found her completely unsettling. Cool header and soft. He'd rather her laugh. Or at least cry. He could here more people entering The Box but he chose to ignore them. 

He knew very little about her. The woman's name was Hannah, he knew. They had exchanged words in the past, though perhaps never on purpose. "I figured you'd be out to California or something," he said. "New York doesn't quite strike me as your scene." Jack took a sip of water and absentmindedly ran a finger along the edge of the artwork. "Where are you living these days? Chinatown?"

It was an important question. 

Jack's opinion on race complicated. He didn't buy the science about skull size or brain power. He'd seem some pretty fat-headed white people be dumber than rocks. The European and, increasingly, American exploitation of China was doing business a lot of good, too. He doubted that had much to do about race, though. It was just politics. Still, Jack was a product of his generation - but most importantly he cared about his reputation.

If he was going to let a woman like her in his shop - at his party! - she needed to at least be half-decently beautiful and more than decently qualified at art work. She was passing.

[Hannah Parker]

His gentle correction forced a humorless smile to her face as he shoved his hands in his pockets. She was willing to bet most of her money that if he did remember her, it wasn’t anything more than a half familiarity. It wasn’t like they had ever spoken in school, to the extent of her knowledge, and if they had… well it obviously hadn’t been anything of consequence in the first place. She had called him Mr. Crawford as a sign of respect, but if he wanted her to call him Jack… then that’s how she would refer to him. Clearly, he knew that she was a witch, if his comments were any suggestion, and she flicked up her dark eyes to meet his, sharing some kind of conspiratorial glance that only two people who shared a kind of bond among the masses could share, the barest of genuine smiles crossing her face. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy Jack’s company, a part of her did. After all, he was an attractive man, and one who seemed to be paying her a fair amount of attention, and it really wasn’t his fault that most of the people she had encountered in public were rude.

Hannah could feel the eyes of the people in the room on her, the smirks and the outright glares. They frustrated her. At least, a little bit. Why was she treated differently because of the color of her skin? She had paved her way in the world, she was a mildly respected jazz singer, and she had a fair amount of money saved up from what was left of her parent’s estate and from the small amount of money she got at the gigs she booked. But she pushed it all away, the rage, and the frustration, all of it. There wasn’t a whole lot that she could do about it anyways, the last thing she wanted was to make a scene and perpetuate some kind of stereotype, or serve to lower the reputation of people like her further than it already was in the eyes of the general public. Not that she would be able to do much in the first place, but it was the little things that counted, right? …right?

Please, even Hannah wasn’t that naïve and jaded.

“At least you have taste.” A rare compliment from the owner of an art gallery, at least, if it was genuine. She knew the tricks, she had seen them executed more than once, though she was very, very rarely afforded their usage. Most people didn’t give a rat’s ass what a little Asian woman thought of them, and even the principle of “a sale is a sale” didn’t seem to apply. In the end she usually got what she wanted, and that was what really mattered to her, even if there were times, like right now, that she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she wanted. There was a lot that she could say about the piece: the way the short strokes gave everything a whimsical, feathery look to it that she loved, the artist’s clever use of lighting and colors to set the stage for the time of day. But instead, she said nothing and let her eyes canvas it again, a small smile on her face. She tried not to think about how she would love to go away to some small cabin like that for a few days with the man who loved her. It was an impossible future, and she knew it… no self-respecting man from the Upper West Side would ever fall for her, and no Asian man would love a girl who’s half white either.

Jack’s voice snapped her from her little reverie, and she couldn’t help but laugh when he asked her if she was living in Chinatown, briefly being thrown back to her childhood and the traumatic year after her father had died. That hole in the wall down the road from the local whorehouse plagued her nightmares sometimes, as did the way the men leered at her as she walked down the street, on her way to school after break. “No… Not in Chinatown. The Upper West Side.” She could see the shock that would undoubtedly be written on his face, that’s how it was with most people, why should he be any different. “As for California… call it ridiculous nostalgia or irrational fear but I prefer it here.” It wasn’t like the racial diversity was any better in California, as far as she knew, or public opinion of… people like her. As far as she knew, the whole world disliked her, some even wanted to ban her existence. It wasn’t anything new, but it still hurt. Especially when it was someone that she cared about. Not that Jack qualified, she didn’t even really know him, but… at this point, she might not mind getting to.

[Jack Crawford]

---

He smiled. She seemed to relax by a few degrees, though Jack still felt there was enough tension in her body to crack a walnut clean in two.
She wiped his grin away the second it formed, however. "The Upper West Side," he repeated. His eyes moved to the floor as he retreated into his thoughts. Jack tried to dig deeper into his memories. To recall anything he could about her. "Well color me commie red!"
Hannah had money. Or at least faked it well enough that he thought she might have money. She liked art, at least. There was no mistaking the fact that she was a witch, too. They had gone to school together, even if the well of memories he had of her truly did run dry. He crossed his hands across his chest and looked back up at the artwork.
"I shouldn't be referring to you as Don Hannah, should I?" 
He tried to grin through the question. He may have even managed it. Jack looked around and saw that most of the guests had gone back to gawking at the pieces they would never really understand. They were safe to retreat back into their own bubble. If Jack had joined a territory, it certainly wasn't out of the possibilities that other students hadn't. Even if they were Asian students.
"Kidding aside," he followed up, "Let me know when you're ready to move to the crown of the city. I'll help you get settled here in Chelsea anytime." Moving so that they could better look at one another, Jack motioned towards a bench and soon took a seat. 

He adjusted his bow tie out of habit. "I'm glad that it sounds life has treated you well after Warren." Jack was happy to move the conversation along. "I don't see nearly as many old faces as I should. I know the city is massive, but you'd think we'd stumble on together more than once a year or whatever."

Taking a final big-sip of his water, the businessman put the wine glass off to the side and exhaled heavily. It was true. Warren had gone by so fast. 

"What do you do? If you tell me you own a rival gallery, well, let me be the first to tell you I haven't heard of it and you're a failure." He winked - such a gentleman.

[Hannah Parker]

Of course she was tense, how could she not be? She was in enemy territory, and she wasn’t just talking about Chelsea. Hannah was among people who didn’t know who she was or why they shouldn’t mess with her, and she lacked any kind of security detail, opting to appear on her own that particular evening. After all, it wasn’t like she was going to a speakeasy, she was going to a damn art gallery, it wasn’t dangerous or anything. At least, she didn’t think it was. And it’s not like she was totally helpless; she had a gun strapped to a holster on her thigh and her wand stashed alongside it. She knew how to fight, it was one of the first things she had ever asked Alec to teach her, and she knew how to handle herself if she needed to. Maybe that’s why she was so cool headed now, because deep down, under the fear at the paranoia, she knew that she could handle herself, and she trusted the training that she had. After all, Jeremy was the best fighter they had, and he was the one who had taught her.

Still, talking with Jack put her at ease, and when he asked if he should call her Don Hannah, she laughed out loud. The idea of her being in Alec’s place was laughable at best. She could never imagine ruling over an entire faction, much less doing so as successfully as he had. Turning her head she saw the grin on his face, and decided to mess with his head a little bit, just for the hell of it. “Oh no,” she adopted that cool, levelheaded smile that had been on her face for most of the night, “I’m much more formal than that, it’s Don Parker.” She even managed to keep a straight face as she said it, though it didn’t last very long before it cracked, revealing her vibrantly white teeth, a small chuckle escaping, though it wasn’t as prevalent as the outright laugh from earlier. Which was probably a good thing, she had enough people thinking she was some “stupid Asian”, she didn’t need the one friendly face here thinking that she was mentally ill or something. But wait, if he knew the vernacular, if he knew what it meant that she lived on the Upper West Side and had money, or at least was knowledgeable enough to joke around about it… was he in the Chelsea faction?

Though she didn’t consciously do it, Hannah found her body lowering down towards the seat until the white fabric bunched under her legs, not unlike the way she had found herself seated at a piano bench on more than once occasion. Her fingers brushed against the wooden surface, and she felt a small amount more at ease, though that wasn’t saying much, considering how on edge she was in this particular environment in the first place. “Yes well, friends in high places tend to lend to prosperity.” A small smile crossed her face, before she too moved along the conversation spectrum. “You’re not the only one, the only people I see any more are the Van Alstyne’s… and I live with them, so I don’t quite think that counts.” Not quite true, but she couldn’t rattle off the names of the people she encountered; most of them were well-known members of the faction, and if he knew anything about that, it wouldn’t take long for him to figure it out. After that, she would be seen, more likely than not, as an enemy, and she couldn’t have that. Not yet, anyways.

His wink couldn’t be called anything but cheeky, and when she saw it, one of her eyebrows lifted. She was used to not being treated like a lady, most of the men she encountered, aside from Alec, never felt the need to treat her, well, even like a person. To most people, she was a part of the wall paper, she was nothing special, and people’s eyes tended to just pass over her. “No, no,” she chuckled, “Hannah Parker, jazz pianist and vocalist, at your service.” She tried her hardest to look haughty and aloof, and even nodded her head once in his direction before looking away, and hey, maybe she even pulled it off for a short while, but it wasn’t a façade that she could maintain for long. She may have been born into that life, but it was one that she hadn’t always adapted well to, and she smiled at him again, all pretense of superiority vanishing, at least from her face. “What about you? Why am I just hearing about this place? You have some magnificent pieces, so why am I just hearing about this place?” Her look was friendly and inquisitive, and it didn’t hint at any kind of ulterior motive… but that didn’t mean that she didn’t have one, either.

[Jack Crawford]

---

Jack ran his tongue behind his teeth, feeling the grooves. He held his breath. He genuinely held to the belief that most women didn't have the brain for sarcasm, so his heart skipped a beat when she replied to his off-hand remark. He watched her, though Jack tried not to look like he was, for any hint of the truth. Just before he imploded she cracked. She smiled. She laughed.

"Please make sure to share those friends," he remarked now that they were sitting. "An art gallery can always do with some prosperity." He winked again and ran his hands over his knees. The conversation was getting rather fun. "I'm just commie enough to say that wealth needs to be shared - at least between friends."

Jack cleared his throat and listened as she spoke. Hannah had an interesting back story, that much was true. "The Van Alstynes?" he repeated rather loudly. What a magical name that was. A powerful one. 

"You live with them?" he asked to himself, more quietly. That felt like an even deeper story he wanted to hear. Though maybe for another time. It all felt entirely political. 

"Beauty, taste, and musical talent!" he said with a laugh. Jack reached over to squeeze her shoulder. Had he somehow managed to stumble upon an exotic piece? That was how he made business. How he stayed ahead of the curve of culture. A woman, and an Asian woman at that, with the class and experience to stand up to a crowd, and then the talent to wow them. She'd be wonderful for him - if only he owned a jazz bar. 

"You must give me the information for your next gig. I'm sure it'll be wonderful!" He smiled honestly. "It doesn't happen to be burlesque jazz, is it?" Jack was mocking her - playfully. Or so he thought.

Jack liked the way she talked. He disliked, however, how she tried. There was a look to her that made it painfully obvious that she was trying. He didn't know, though, if it was that she was just trying to be better than she was. He took note of it and moved on.

He forced a chuckle. Then another. By the third one it had become natural again. "It has only just opened - well, for two months I guess," he confessed. "Progress is slow: not everyone has taste like you. Not yet."

He had big dreams for the place. "C'est la vie," he announced in a perfect accent.

Jack stood up off the bench and motioned out the open door. "I'd love some fresh air," he stated. "Join me for a cigarette?"

Without waiting he made his way through the maze of walls, paintings, and guests. He smiled when he had to, even shook a hand or two. People seemed to be enjoying themselves. That felt nice.

Outside the air felt brisk but pleasant. It hadn't yet gotten unacceptable to bare flesh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his case. A few swift motions later and he was lit up. Inhaling. Feeling warmer.

"C'est la vie."



ooc: I don't know why I've switched to red D:

[Hannah Parker]

His reaction to her living situation wasn’t exactly uncommon, in fact it was pretty much to be expected at this point. The Van Alstyne’s were a very powerful family, with enough money and influence to be recognized in just about every single circle in the city. They were a powerful family, one that didn’t have to take in some little Asian woman for the sake of some kind of novelty. Most people didn’t understand their reasons, but Hannah was pretty sure she knew exactly why she was living there. It was because of her best friend, and her tendency to beg her older brother for something she really wanted, in this case, for Hannah to come live with them when she had nowhere else to stay. So yes, in short, she lived with them, and it wasn’t exactly a situation she wanted to change, certainly not one she would willingly jeopardize. A slight incline in her head was the only indication that she had heard his quiet question, and that he had indeed heard her correctly.

He touched her. Why did he have to touch her? It certainly wasn’t necessary at this particular function, and yet it was the second time now that he had done it, even squeezing her shoulder as he laughed. It wasn’t that she minded physical contact… it was that… well as far as affectionate anything went, Hannah Parker had more to learn than she cared to admit. Sure, she had a loving family, but by the time she was sixteen both of her parents were dead and gone, and as far as romantic interests… well those were pretty much non-existent, and the extent of her experience was her, harboring some hopeless crush on a boy who could never return all that she felt. And she was, for the most part, content in that knowledge. It made it easy not to expect much, and if she didn’t expect much… well she could never really be all that disappointed, could she? At least, that’s what she told herself.

Burlesque jazz wasn’t something she would ever do. It wasn’t for the same reasons as other people, she didn’t find it sinful or disgusting, per se… but she had nowhere near enough body confidence do dance around in lingerie as she sang a soulful song much like the ones she already composed. Still, the joking, mocking nature of his tone didn’t quite sit right with her, and she felt herself stiffen slightly, something she had, somehow, avoided doing when he touched her in the first place, though she couldn’t deny that she had started a bit. “Oh, no, definitely not.” She looked a little…. Shocked, to say the least, about what he had possibly just insinuated, but not offended. She didn’t think burlesque was a bad at form, she even had a friend involved in it, but it just wasn’t for her. At all. “Give it time, word travels fast once the right people get involved, and a place like this~ It’ll be the most popular art gallery in the city in no time.” He wasn’t the only one who had high hopes for this place. Despite the fact that she hadn’t even known of its existence until just a few days ago, she was a fan of all the arts, and a place like this, well, it deserved to succeed.

Jack stood, and Hannah found her eyes drawn to him again, a small smile on her face, but one that faltered slightly when he asked her to join him and…left without waiting for any kind of response. She raised an eyebrow, but after only a moment she joined him, pulling the light coat she had worn a little tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold, but given the amount of flesh that this particular dress didn’t cover, it was only natural that she should be a little chilly. Pulling out her own case, she grabbed a cigarette, but to her dismay, she discovered that she seemed to have forgotten her lighter back at her house. Either that, or her best friend was up to her old tricks and stole it again. After all, Shira was a bit of a health nut, and she hated that Hannah smoked, and there were times when she understood, but at the same time… it was her life, she was going to do what she wanted, and it wasn’t like she did it often, maybe once a week or so. Still, once the cool air had hit her face, it was like she was a completely different person. Inside she was completely rigid and on-edge, so tense that she was certain she was going to snap in half, but outside… she looked loose and happy and free, as if she had a weight lifted off of her shoulders.

This was who she was when she wasn’t weighed down by the pressures to act a certain way in society, though why she had loosened up and relaxed around Jack, she had no idea. As far as she was concerned, he was probably just as much of a high society man as any person in that room… but he had approached her. He had talked to her, he had treated her like a person… That was enough for her to at least relax a little bit. Turning to him, she held up her unlit cigarette. “Got a light? Mine seems to have walked off somewhere.” Her voice still had that formal, aloof tone, though her language had become just a touch more common, but deep down, she was still her. She was still Hannah, and sometimes, she was still fun.

[Jack Crawford]

---

They were cold; but in a decent way. Jack inhaled through his nose and let the tingling sensation spread from one end of his spine to the other. He let it shake him completely. 

The butt of his cigarette lit up like July as he inhaled it. 

Jack shared her a smile and tilted his head. He reached out her cigarette and decided instead to cup her delicate hand in his two larger ones. He reached in with his mouth and touched his end to hers. He breathed in heavy, again, and then gave a few smaller puffs.

He pulled back and winked at her. "That got her started," he said. 

Looking away, Jack pushed his back against the wall of his gallery and lifted his chin towards the hazy sky. The clouds were too fluffy; it was a picture-perfect winter evening. It made him feel small.

"How are you finding life after school?" he asked, more to break the silence than anything else. Jack found fuel from people - he loved being surrounded by others and having a party. At this moment, though, he just needed a break.

"I half expected all of us to be married with ten kids by now," he continued. "Happy to see I'm not the only one who failed my expectations." He laughed and hoped she would too. Jack wished he remembered more about the girl he stood beside him. 

She was beautiful, in an oriental way, and far too confident for her own good. He liked that. She knew money, too, which meant she knew the fear that came with loosing it. Money had destroyed and twisted his mother - was that what had happened to her own parents?

He noted she didn't mention them. 

"I'm surprised we weren't chummier during school," he said. "I'm rather liking you now." 

Jack took a step closer to her. He inhaled the rest of his cigarette and tossed its death to the ground. He stomped it out - just in case. A few people were walking the streets, huddled together in jackets and making their way back from a date or off to one. He liked that he saw them. It meant he had picked a perfectly wonderful spot for his Gallery.

[Hannah Parker]

Hannah breathed in the night air, letting it fill her lungs and consume her, and when she exhaled, it was like all the tension and the stress and the way it all was weighing down her good mood had disappeared with it, leaving her feel rejuvenated. Brightened. Alive in the city that never slept. It was a wonderful feeling, and one she was not looking forward to abandoning when she stepped back through the doors of that art gallery and joining the masses once more, lost in a sea of white faces among whom she did not really belong. At least in their minds. And yet, here she was, standing out on the sidewalk with the owner of the gallery whose party they were attending, and not them. Was it telling of his disposition? She wasn’t sure, but she certainly wasn’t overthinking anything that he did. It wasn’t her place to entertain a delusion like that.

However, that was much easier said than done when Jack reached forward and cupped her hands with his, lighting her cigarette with his own. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, he was so close she could smell the cologne that clung to him and had the cigarettes not been there… they very well would have been within kissing distance, but she tried not to blush or entertain such notions. After all, all things considered he was still a respectable white man, and when it came to women like her… they were rarely the objects of their affection. ‘That got her started’ oh did it ever…

Still she managed a small smile to help mask her blush, and busied herself with inhaling the pungent smoke the cigarette secreted, if only to distract herself from the way her body reacted to his own being in such close proximity, the way she could still feel the ghost of his touch on the backs of her hands, the way the very tops of her high cheekbones were still colored a gentle rose, though thankfully the tone of her skin hid most of that from the public eye. “Oh, fabulous, one big party, not a care in the world…” Looking at him, she winked deliberately; of course she was joking, and she knew that he could at least hopefully figure it out. If he couldn’t, well… she could always explain. Then again, her life wasn’t really that awful compared to other non-honors students; she lived with the Van Alstyne’s, she had a decent amount of money to her name, and she was paving her path to at least a mildly successful career.

Married? With ten kids? A small chuckle shook her delicate frame as she exhaled, the smoke from her cigarette curling through the sky as her cigarette burned in her fingers. Marriage just wasn’t a reality that she was ever going to see, she knew, and she had resigned herself to that fact a long time ago. Of course, sometimes she hoped, she dreamed, but… there were ways around it. Putting the cigarette closer to her mouth, she stared off into nothing and thought, the many facets of her imagination running while her face remained an almost frozen mask. However, at his next words, and his subsequent movement towards her, she looked up at him, putting the cigarette in her mouth and taking another deep drag before putting the cigarette out on the ground, stepping pointedly on it and rubbing it out with the front of her shoe. It wouldn’t do have the gallery burn down after it had just so recently opened, now would it?

“Oh?” Flicking her eyes up to meet his, Hannah stood up straight and smiled at him, though the smile was just a touch… bitter. “I am well aware of my status in the world, Mr. Crawford,” she spoke quietly, pointedly using his honorary title instead of his first name as he had asked, “I am certainly not surprised that a man like you… would have never sought a woman like me out when we were children.” Was her comment snarky and cynical? Probably, but it was what it was, and it wasn’t like she could take it back now. Reaching up with her hands, she cupped them and brought them to her lips, blowing on them and rubbing them together, hoping to stimulate some kind of warmth back into them. “Damn this Prohibition.” She spoke quietly, glancing up and down the street for potential coppers, but seeing none, she relaxed a small amount, and turned her eyes back on his face, perhaps lingering on his lips. “If you weren’t hosting this lovely party… I would ask if you wanted to do something… crazy.” An almost… flirtatious spark of adventure glimmered in her eyes, and she couldn’t help but move just a fraction closer to the man who seemed to be paying her so much attention.

After all, how could she resist a man who had a such good taste?