. . .
"Such a funny thing for me to try to explain
How I'm feeling and my pride is the one to blame
Cause I know I don't understand
Just how your love can do what no one else can."
—Beyonce Knowles
. . .
What...?
She only stared at him.
...Oh.
Ohhh.
At the next second, Proserpina hastily pulled up the front of her coat and pretended to wipe anywhere she can reach on her face: at her nose... her mouth, at least to subtly hide half of her face (or at the very least, to keep him from seeing her flushing cheeks—why does she have to be this pale?!), grabbing control of the cart in an attempt to escape with as much dignity she still had left.
"Ah," she muttered, mostly to herself.
"'Ah'?" he raises an eyebrow.
"Well. That is... understandable."
He snorts, 'Understatement."
"Sugar is in the next aisle," she told him.
"Oh? What's this? You're being shy?" if possible, Alastor's grin widened even more as he hurriedly jogged after her, peering at her face, "Wait. Winters, are you blushing? Are you that embarrassed?"
Proserpina pointedly decided not to entertain such a juvenile question with a response; she absolutely refuses to entertain such childish antics (save for William's... and even that, she has little patience to deal with on a regular basis) because of course she's not blushing—period. What the hell is this moron talking about now?!
"Well~? Winters... HEY!"
He suddenly jumped in front of the cart.
For a split-second, Proserpina genuinely found herself wondering if she could get away with this insanity if she decided to just... suddenly run him over with the cart. Half of her problems would have been solved if she did just that.
But logic quickly won over and she sadly decided against it. Alistair may not like the idea of his little brother crippled.
(Not like she could actually injure him.)
"...I am not," she answered.
Alastor snickered, poking at her cheek, "Then what's this?"
"My face. What do you think?" she snapped.
She instinctively swatted the offending finger away from her when he didn't stop his needless poking, "Aw, look at you! You are so cute when you're shy!" he gushed, grinning almost maniacally.
"You be quiet!" she barked.
"Touchy," he snickered.
Monsters and humans alike usually stayed the hell away from her general vicinity. Why couldn't this one, particular werewolf do the same?!
I must be losing my touch, Proserpina thought, wryly.
Proserpina attempted to wheel the cart pass Alastor again—who's attention had momentarily strayed on the array of cereal boxes next to him, something about it being his favorite ("Wait... THEY HAVE KOOKIE KRISPS?!")—however, she hadn't taken more than a step away from the supposedly distracted werewolf when she suddenly felt his warm hand grabbing the front of her coat, pulling it away slightly enough to reveal her face.
