Jump to content
SITE NEWS
  • EXCITING NEW PLOTS COMING SOON, LOOK FOR UPCOMING POSTS IN THE PLOTTING AREA THAT WILL HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY FOR ALL ON THE SITE TO JOIN!!
Derrick Mason Gray

Snowflakes and Twinklelights and Ribbon... Oh My

Recommended Posts

October 25, 2022; 3pm

 

Normally a formal visit was accompanied by a fitted suit and a dark sedan outside that had driven her. But their encounters had taken a certain edge of the formality that she justified to Gaspari by explaining that formal in this area actually drew too much attention to her and by association then, Bakkhos. Black jeans clung to the long thighs as she strode to the firearms shop, the dark leather boots barely sounding as they struck the sidewalk. Like nearly everything she owned, the heather gray sweater that hung loose over her powerful lean frame was incredibly soft to avoid over stimulating her sensitive skin in the cooling New York weather.

 

Reaching for the door, her other hand ran over the top of her head, long mahogany strands sliding back over her shoulders to drape down her back. She had forgotten a damn tie. Dark shades surveyed the shop, no one here but him, a fact disclosed by her sensitive ears not any forced inner sight.

 

'ey…

 

The casual address was accompanied by a sheet of paper pulled from her left front pocket. Laying it on the counter she leaned a hip against the case. He had been in a fair funk pretty much since he had returned from New Orleans but that wasn’t the source of her curt behavior now.

 

Need to go ahead an' order a restock…. 22s, 44s, 45s.. some more for the Mags an' 12 gauges… basic order.

 

There was a distinct lack of the normal pleasantries she usually exchanged with him. Her annoyance at something was more than a bit transparent as the right hand slid into her back right pocket to pull out a black and gold envelope that held a faint curve now from her right cheek pinning it between itself and the jean pocket's grasp. The formal invite was tossed a bit carelessly onto the counter with a shrug.

 

..an' you are invited to this thing….

 

Lips puckered ever so slightly as she seemed to ponder what to say next, finally deciding on simply…

 

… like to pick it all up in two weeks.

 

The topic change was a bit too abrupt, her annoyance clearly more tied to the fancy envelope than the order being made of him.

  • Like 2

Share this post


Link to post

The bite of cold was starting to get to him. Being warm-blooded, even when he was gallivanting all over the world it never bothered him before. Before though, he wasn’t dealing with what the Event had done to him. It didn’t permeate to his bones like it did most, it hit his skin like an open handed smack; little needles flicking at the edges of his tolerance until he turned on his juice. During the colder months, the storefront was always unusually warm because he needed it to be to save his sanity.

 

'ey…

 

He was working at his table in the corner within the “bounds” of his behind the counter-ish space when she came in. Not cut off from the public, but obviously not for customers to sit at either. Eyes were focused through special lenses clipped to his normal glasses as he worked ever so delicately at something that continued to vex him. The dueling pistols he’d brought back from his last trip. The Cajun seemed hellbent on bringing them back to life, to the end of his patience. He could fix anything, why couldn't he fix these?

 

Glance at her over the top of the rims came only after the final turn of a screw. Paper meant an order. He’d been able to get ahead of them lately. He was always on time, but getting ahead kept the income rolling in.

 

Need to go ahead an' order a restock…. 22s, 44s, 45s.. some more for the Mags an' 12 gauges… basic order.

 

“Got everything else in stock already. The 12 gauges gonna be a bit, brass just ain’t there right now. Got someone supposed ta’ come in within the week. Gotta stop kickin' down doors with shotguns cher...”

 

He placed the pistol and tool down delicately as he got up and washed his hands, pushing the glasses up on top of a mussed pile of hair that he needed to be cut. Stepping behind the counter, he picked up the paper and glanced over it, paying no mind at first to the other scribblings. Brow cocked slightly when he took a closer look.

 

...que se passe-t-il?

 

The words were muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to her a moment.

 

..an' you are invited to this thing….

 

Expression quirked upward, skeptical at the invitation. Bakkhos inviting him to a party? He folded the other paper into the back pocket of his dark charcoal Chinos before leaning both elbows on the glass counter across from her, flicking the invitation between his fingers.

 

“Bakkhos… wants to invite the prince of Nola nightlife to a Masquerade?”

 

The chuckle was genuinely amused, mischievous almost. He tossed it on the counter softly as he straightened and took a long drink of warm water from a coffee cup. The magus was burning through water trying to keep himself on the warm side. Dehydration was a risk when he did it, every time.

 

… like to pick it all up in two weeks.

 

Keen eyes had picked up the annoyance with either the invitation for him, or the party itself, or the fact that he was pretty sure she was being forced to attend. The masquerades he knew, were probably not what she was envisioning this debacle to be. It was almost too tempting.

 

“You need me to go with you and save you?” he pulled the glasses smoothly from his hair and clinked them on the counter. He’d read the note, on the note... an almost invisible scribble of cursive. It wasn’t all bullets and brawn orders. The quiet, fashionable and reserved Southerner was all she knew. A party. Hell, that was too good to pass up. She might not like what she saw of him at a party, he could be and always was the center of attention. His own lips pursed a moment.

 

“You askin’ me on a date? I accept,” side of his lip curled into a wickedly amused smirk as he leaned back on the counter with both elbows to pick up the invitation again. For the first time in a long time, the sly easiness had worked its way back into his words. “What we wearin’ to this thing anyway?”

 

She was either going to slug him, tell him to fuck off, or… yah, he was going to get told to fuck off.

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

She listened only momentarily as he worked once more on the weapons from his hometown before going right into the order. Months now he had been working on those things, they didn’t seem to be cooperating with him.

 

“Got everything else in stock already. The 12 gauges gonna be a bit, brass just ain’t there right now. Got someone supposed ta’ come in within the week. Gotta stop kickin' down doors with shotguns cher...”

 

Brows quirked up over the dark shades. Not at the order being ready, she was starting to get used to him being ahead of their needs, it was why he was rapidly becoming their "favorite". Her quirk was at the latter comment. Her response fairly deadpan.

 

Not usin' em in the city.

 

The shotguns were out at Victor's compound in the country, protecting the vast acres of the vineyard.  There had been some trouble out there lately, people trying to steal from the winery which was a walking death wish. Victor was a bit quieter than the other bosses, but it was a mistake to think him forgiving of such a transgression.

 

A noise outside in the distance caught her attention, chin shifting towards the door as she listened a moment longer. 45… probably  twelve blocks away. Nothing encroaching on the firearms shop though.

 

...que se passe-t-il?

 

Huh..?

 

She turned to "look" at him, the melodic tenor still reverberating against her eardrums, distracting her senses before she shook her head slightly and absently dropped the tidbit about the invite. She felt the air shift a moment before his scent strengthened as he leaned on the counter nearer to her.

 

“Bakkhos… wants to invite the prince of Nola nightlife to a Masquerade?”

 

Shoulders shrugged even as the brows furled downward. Clearly the Masquerade wasn’t on her top things in New York to do for the holidays. Lips pursed at the chuckle she hadnt heard in a long time before trying to get off topic again.

 

…like to pick it all up in two weeks.

 

“You need me to go with you and save you?” 

 

Brow softened as she faced him with a soft huh?.... his comment had clearly caught her off guard. Chin lowered to "stare" at the glasses he dropped onto the counter as if they were the most interesting thing in the shop.

 

“You askin’ me on a date? I accept,” 


Wait…what?!

 

His words struck a cord and her heart was pounding far too loudly in her chest. Something had just shifted in a way she was not prepared for. She was ready to vent about her indenturetude but instead she was suddenly picking apart in her head him jumping to them having a "date".

 

“What we wearin’ to this thing anyway?”

 

Lump in her throat was swallowed down as she scowled at him finally.

 

Yer not actually going to go to this thing are you?

 

There was almost a hint of anxiety in the question.

 

I mean I am being forced to go to this thing… and in costume….. COSTUME…..

 

There was a bit of a snarl of exasperation in her tone.

 

I mean how the hell would I know what we are wearing to this farce?!?!

 

There was an unconscious  use of "we" that spoke volumes about her uncharacteristic closeness to the man across the counter.

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

 Not usin' em in the city.

 

“The wildes still got doors too,” he quipped back under his breath. Just ones that need a louder boom.”

 

He looked up briefly from the paper as she responded curiously to his french mumbling.

 

“Nothing, just talking ta myself.”

 

He changed direction, the charm definitely notching up one as he wanted to enjoy antagonizing her a bit. It was so easy to fluster her sometimes, probably because the easy roll of his personality was virtually unshakable. He didn’t flinch when she got pissed off and he was pretty sure most did.


Wait…what?!

 

Brow furled in a mischievous glance upward at her from his stock list in his counter ledger… waiting for the crinkle in her nose. There it was, the tempered scowl. He chuckled to himself quietly as he copied the order to his books

 

Yer not actually going to go to this thing are you?

 

“I have to, out of principal. Bakkhos pretending they can throw a party? I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” the smirk was deep. “Might have to show ‘em how it’s done.”

 

I mean I am being forced to go to this thing… and in costume….. COSTUME…..

 

Both hands leaning on the counter, he was absolutely enjoying this. He snatched one of his last mint toothpicks and clicked it between his teeth.

 

I mean how the hell would I know what we are wearing to this farce?!?!

 

“You don’t need to, I’ll pick it for you,” the humor was calm as he closed his book and pushed off the counter. “There’s costume without being in a costume. You need me. I can make us look like we own it.”

 

He crossed his arms, dimples pressed into his cheeks as he smirked.

 

“Haven’t been in a good tux in ages.”

 

He’d been in tuxes, fine tuxes, but not the ones he wanted to wear. There was an elegance to those that wasn’t appropriate to anywhere else left in this world, and he knew exactly where to get them. He checked the clock. There wasn’t a lot of time to be able to make it work, less than a week to get what he knew would be stellar for this gig was going to be a challenge.

 

The soft sound of clicks could be heard throughout the shop as he tripped all the locks, reaching for his coat.

 

“We gotta go,” he said definitively. “Shoppin’. My tailor closes shop in an hour. If we want to have the right digs he needs all the time we can give him.”

 

Television flicked off along with the open sign, his unusual abilities obviously natural and normal. He opened the door for her, waiting expectantly for her to follow. His more conservative car was parked out front, the tungsten color 300 Limited sedan with dark windows half a block away.

 

“After you.”

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

"The wildes still got doors too… just ones that need a louder boom."

 

Nose wrinkled faintly at him.

 

No doors on fields…..

 

Perhaps it was a saying? She didn’t get it. But the puzzlement was lost as the foreign words hit her ears sending that shiver into her eardrum.

 

"Nothing, just talking ta myself."

 

He should do it more often……expression dropped to a complete blank after the thought. What an odd thing to think… It was this DAMN party. Had her all off kilter. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the fact that the sound was delicious to highly sensitive ears.

 

Everything evaporated as he plunged headlong into a tease that was lost on her. Her reactions genuinely horrified that he actually WANTED to go to this thing.

 

“I have to, out of principle. Bakkhos pretending they can throw a party? I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Might have to show ‘em how it’s done.”

 

WHAT?!? He sounded downright tickled to be going! She growled under her breath and paced several strides in front of the counter, right hand waving absently in the air.

 

Gaspari knows how to throw a party…. that’s not the issue…

 

Stopping she turned to face him once more hands outstretched in a plea for understanding.

 

I mean…. picking costumes?!?

 

She didn’t even "costume" for the stage.

 

“You don’t need to, I’ll pick it for you. There’s costume without being in a costume. You need me. I can make us look like we own it.”

 

Hands fell to her sides. Color draining from her features, the dark shades only accentuating the shift to ashen. He… would pick? Wait… what?... what exactly was happening here?

 

“Haven’t been in a good tux in ages.”

 

She was still drowning in the thought of someone selecting her clothes. She was so very careful who was allowed in that world. Her entire wardrobe was shades of gray, black and blue jeans. It allowed her to select nearly any combination and not fear having done some atrocious matching faux pas without knowing it.

 

The click of locks broke into her spiraling concern.

 

“We gotta go. Shoppin’. My tailor closes shop in an hour. If we want to have the right digs he needs all the time we can give him….. After you.”

 

Flinch ran through her cheek as the door was opened and his presence simply stood there. Like a kid being ushered out the door she half stumbled in the direction… still shell shocked. He may as well have had a hand on the small of her back and pushed the stunned woman out the door. It was only as the cold snap of air flushed her ashen cheek once more that her senses returned, the scowl with them. She should refuse. But that would mean someone in Bakkhos would be choosing and she was horrified at that thought. Likely something skimpy, neon.. and frilly. For some reason… she trusted the arms dealer more than the family. Arms folded over her chest obstinately as she blurted out at him.

 

I don’t do dresses…. or skirts… or those damn ruffle things…..

 

Scowl at him had all the authority of a petulant child.

 

And I am….picky… about fabrics…..

 

No one in her life really paid close enough attention to something as trivial as her wardrobe choices to notice that her clothes all had incredibly soft, buttery texture. The heather gray sweater that hung loose over her frame was like doe skin to the touch. Her hyper sensitivity made coarser fabrics unbearable.  Even the jeans she had on held a bit of stretch because of the ultra soft cotton blend that was tainted with a hint of lycra making them almost fuzzy to the touch.

 

Lips pursed at him, daring him to argue with her.

 

Did this mean they were going together to the Masquerade…?….suddenly the chest tightened once more with confusion as she stood obstinately waiting for him to lead the way.

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

Gaspari knows how to throw a party…. that’s not the issue…

 

The chuckle to himself was decidedly skeptical. Basis of comparison was what exactly?

 

I mean…. picking costumes?!?

 

“You don’t needin’ ta pick anything.”

 

I don’t do dresses…. or skirts… or those damn ruffle things…..

 

He waited expectantly at the door, the sarcastic grin enjoying every minute of it.

 

And I am….picky… about fabrics…..

 

“Of course.”

 

The door would shut on its own, keys flipping from his coat pocket. Chirp from the alarm was quiet and he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. At this particular moment he was going to leave her to her own devices. She knew how to open a car door, and probably needed to at this point of shock. Feel like she was in control of at least something. As the car warmed up, fingers lingered by the vent as he adjusted it. He didn’t particularly hate the weather, he’d just not grown up in it. He would adjust as he always did. Volume down on the radio, he clipped on his belt in the leather seat and waited for her shocked ass to find its way into the car and settle.

 

“First thing I did when I came to New York was find the best tailor. He makes suits, and he straight up tailors anything existing you have. He does have a small team that works couture as well. I might gallivant across the world, but there are some things that I didn’t toss by the wayside,” he said quietly as he pulled away from the curb.

 

He was silent for a bit,

 

“They’re expecting you to be at this shindig, you know that. I’ll get you through this unscathed.”

 

There was an assured humor to his voice, one that knew the ridiculousness of family expectation and the willingness to play along on one’s own terms.

 

“I’ll take the measurements myself if it makes you feel any better,” thumbs drummed their own rhythm quietly against the click of the turn signal as he waited at a light to turn left. “Though if you follow their lead, it will be quick. Take a day or two to make a mock-up, you come back for a fitting, then they finish it and you come back for a final fitting.”

 

He parked and got out.

 

“C’mon you ninny.”

 

The bell on the door of the play was a pure chime, ambiance quiet and almost muffled from the cloth that hung from the walls in rolls. It was a cornucopia of feels and things to touch, the deprivation of the noise from outside by the muting property of everything in the shop making it feel like it was a quiet haven from the chaos.

 

“Feel free to touch anything cher,” he said, smiling at the proprietor of the place as he was approached first, the man seeming not to know the rock star from anyone else on the street. An older gentleman, he seemed also displaced from a city that no longer existed, another soul the Cajun had sought out in order to find ties to his old world. He clasped the man’s hand, the free flowing bastardized French between the two warm and comfortable. Laughter warm, relaxed, his conversation moved in small clips and words back to English, obviously having himself taken care of first so his companion could see what it took to have it done.

 

An assistant took his coat as he removed it, moving to a side alcove adorned with mirrors. Tie and belt both off, he handed them to an awaiting hand. Fingers worked the buttons on the front of his shirt and he pulled it free from its tuck and handed that off, a soft plain shirt beneath. He was never really in anything else other than a button down.

 

He nodded toward his companion.

 

“My friend Derrick,” he said quietly. “Both here for something unique, Beau.”

 

If anyone in the small shop recognized her, they didn’t let on. It was obvious in that moment they catered to the high born at one time. Calm, collected and discrete.

 

“Old world.”

 

Beau’s brow rose slightly, the snap of the tape through his fingers slick as he paused a minute.

 

*npc* “How old world?”

 

“As old as it gets,” the dealer chuckled softly. “Cost not an option, I’ll walk you through hers as well.”

 

He could almost hear the man’s grin behind him as the soft touch of fingertips started the tedious measurement process. Mason was going to hate it, but… necessary.

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

His very step seemed lighter. Every syllable he dropped as well. He was genuinely enjoying this and that…. what?.... annoyed her?...no. …. not annoyed… concerned her. Elaborate parties had been her mother's thing…. not hers… she was wading deep into "not in her element" territory and it was disconcerting. Faint growl lit in her chest at the thought of that woman. Why in the world had she even thought of her?

 

"You don’t needin' ta pick anything."

 

It was little comfort. And his "of course" in regards to her clothing preferences seemed like he was just pacifying her. Brows held a persistent scowl as the door to the shop locked and she was left to either stand on the curb or get in the car.

 

…she was still debating.

 

Huff escaped her lips as she reached for the handle based on the sound of his own door closing, her ability to map the world around her even without her abilities was always in play. Just one of several reasons her strings were wound a bit too tight.

 

The cold bite of the lever on bare skin was almost a relief, long fingers curling around and holding it for a moment to let the chill run through her arm, next breath a little less labored before the pull came and she slid into the vehicle, neglecting the seatbelt not out of defiance… but lack of use. Chauffeured in the back seat she wasn’t expected to wear one… she preferred to walk anyway. She could master nearly all things the sighted could…. driving wasn’t one of them. She had done it once.. desperation had necessitated it. Gaspari had been shot… she had shoved him in the car and hit the gas to get away from the hail of gunfire the trap had sprung on them. Even with abilities engaged the picture wasn’t the same as live visuals and the vehicle wasn’t her own body, the reflexes to make it turn and move were all out of sync. A bench, numerous trash cans, a parked motorcycle and eventually a fire hydrant embedded halfway into their grill had been the outcome.

 

Elbow notched onto the armrest of the door as her chin rested on the curled fingers, grumpy "glare" out the window still deciding just how bad of an idea this was as she shoved away the lingering questions on if they were going to this thing now together and what that actually….. meant.

 

“First thing I did when I came to New York was find the best tailor. He makes suits, and he straight up tailors anything existing you have. He does have a small team that works couture as well. I might gallivant across the world, but there are some things that I didn’t toss by the wayside,” 

 

She appreciated fabric, more than likely any high society idiot who only cared it was expensive or not… but not the couture itself. As an art form geared towards the visual, it was completely lost on her.

 

“They’re expecting you to be at this shindig, you know that."

 

I know…

 

The words were huffed between faintly pursed lips as she continued to glare out the window.

 

Don’t see why….. gonna be more muscle there than can shake a stick at…. what would one less be….

 

It had never occurred to her that Gaspari wasn’t insisting because he needed the extra bodyguard.

 

" I’ll get you through this unscathed.”

 

The soft sigh was resigned to her fate. Nod of acceptance to his words oddly trusting.

 

“I’ll take the measurements myself if it makes you feel any better,” 

 

Huh?

 

Head lifted from its perch on her hand to "look" over at him. Oh shit…. she needed to be measured… of course she needed to be measured… she was a freak of nature and nothing ever fit right at her height. She hated to be casually touched… people never understood her sensitivity to it. Fuck this was getting better and better wasn’t it. This wasn’t the first high society affair she'd ever been measured for, her mother had…

 

Damn…… there was those dark memories again. This party was driving her further and further into a funk.

 

“Though if you follow their lead, it will be quick. Take a day or two to make a mock-up, you come back for a fitting, then they finish it and you come back for a final fitting.”

 

Again the nod of trust came, hand lifting to rub fingers tightly against the scalp under windblown mahogany chaos in aggravation before hands fell into her lap once more.

 

Ya… I know the drilll…. been forever ago… but not my first time.

 

"C'mon you ninny."

 

Sliding out of the car, the door was slammed a bit harder than necessary.

 

Dun see why I'ma ninny for not wantin' to get strutted around like some castrated peacock…

 

The chime barely registered until the door closed behind them. Then the silence suffocated her. She had grown incredibly still.

 

"Feel free to touch anything cher…"

 

She didn’t move. Silence was something that rarely washed over her. The ridiculous hearing capturing noises rooms away… even blocks away. But it was a dead space in here. Like her bedroom in her loft.

 

It was several more beats before she finally quit pretending to be a statue just inside the door and let her keen senses take in the space. Wools, cottons, silks…. each had its own scent. Some drew instant aversion just based on knowing the texture of that smell. Wool was something she particularly despised. It felt like steel nails being drug over her skin.

 

Ears were awash with the bastardized French that clearly spoke that the men knew eachother. It wasn’t until Josef's warm laughter bubbled upward, the sound relaxed, that the chin moved to "watch" him. It had been a while since she had heard that laughter. Since before he had vanished down to New Orleans. It was good to hear it again.

 

"My friend Derrick, both here for something unique Beau."

 

It was weird hearing her name from his lips. He rarely used it and in the family she was simply Mason or DeeGee.  Walking the room slowly, a hand finally reached for something the nostrils had identified as soft… not just soft… but extremely, luxuriously so. Shiver ran up her spine as fingers slid over the Vicuna wool, it nearly felt like silk against the skin and yet fingertips could feel a warmth in the density of the buttery soft fibers. Her sweater rubbed against flesh like doe skin…. this… was softer. She had never felt anything like it, long fingers spreading wide across it in reverent appreciation oblivious of the extreme rarity and exorbitant cost before almost sighing and releasing the roll. It wasn’t proper fabric for party wear. But damn… she wanted to slide naked into its folds.

 

A heartbeat later fingers were trailing over mulberry silk… the warm gray tone of it lost on her but not the slide of almost a wet caress.

 

"Old world"

 

Fingers paused to look at him… old world? What did that mean?

 

How old world?

 

Chin shifted down to where the proprietor was measuring Josef's inside leg.

 

“As old as it gets, Cost not an option, I’ll walk you through hers as well.”

 

Brow quirked at the cajun.

 

'ey… no dresses or skirts includes those torture device hoop things ya know.

 

All she could think of was the "old" fashioned southern belle dresses her mother wanted her to wear to parties when she was young. With metal ribbed corsets and hanging hoops to hold the dress out.

 

She had refused to wear them back then too. There was an assistant a little too close for her comfort, the faint shift in weight away from her barely noticeable as the fingers continued to fondle the silk, realizing how boorish she sounded.  Bit of a sigh escaped her lips as she finished the thought with less low class objection.

 

Elegant doesn’t need to be stuffy and constricting is all am sayin'.

 

The assistant wasn’t backing off and she realized it was likely her turn to get measured as well, the scowl returned over the dark shades that still had not departed the bridge of her nose.  Resigned she permitted herself a cheat, air pushing from between nearly closed lips as she engaged the map, white dots illuminating in her mind a moment before they blossomed into marching ants, outlining shapes and people throughout the shop. It took a moment to orient herself as the mirrors looked like nothing more than a triple door, but seeing the stand in front of them she quickly marked them as mirrors and moved to the spot that Josef was just vacating.

 

She paused at the stand, lips pursing a bit as she realized the boots were not likely going to help anything when it came to measurements. Left foot lifted behind her, thumb hitching into the lace of the thick combat boot to loosen it before the foot dropped and the right bit into the heel to pull it off, the act repeated for the right boot as she shut down the ability that was not needed for standing like a statue and being judged for all your flaws.

 

Fuzzy gray socks perched onto the short stand as she waited, a faint tug on her oversized sweater felt causing her to glance at the assistant.

 

Yea yea…

 

The gray cloud was unceremoniously pulled from over her head. The striking image her tall form made standing in her ebony sport bra and jeans, shard carved tattoos down her entire left side,  was lost on her. The hangups of "seeing" skin was just not something she comprehended.

 

There was the slightest suck of air that tipped down her brows but the person hid it well as they took the sweater from her hand and the proprietor came to measure. She was quiet while he worked, muscle through her cheek flinching several times at the casual brush of fingers and the end of a tape measure on her skin. Words murmured softly, more absently to the owner than to the cajun….

 

I don’t like zippers… they scratch on the inside…..

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

Every huff and frown was cherished for the time being. She really didn’t trust him… or just didn’t trust people in general. Reckon a little of both, questioning whether or not she really knew him that well at all. He wasn’t the easiest to put a finger on. Obviously “well bred” but could be rough around the edges in a way that screamed he wasn’t just a trust fund baby. The Cajun was complicated, and not in a ‘lost the love of his life in a great disaster’ and 'everything he knew' kind of way. This adventure was one of those predicaments that only added to the complications…

 

I know…

 

She wasn’t happy, what a surprise…

 

Don’t see why….. gonna be more muscle there than can shake a stick at…. what would one less be….

 

The smirked eye roll was most likely unseen, a huff through his nose that was almost a chuckle.

 

“Lots of excuses just keep rolling out… just refuse to be muscle for a night and have fun.”

 

Ya… I know the drilll…. been forever ago… but not my first time.

 

Side eye glanced over at her a moment, noting as he got out she slammed the door.

 

Dun see why I'ma ninny for not wantin' to get strutted around like some castrated peacock…

 

“There’s castrated peacocks, and then there’s this…” he said quietly as he opened the door.

 

He loved this place, loved the smells and the textures. Everything had its own unique imprint on his senses, but they were aligned most with the scent of silk. Nobody he’d met had ever been able to detect it like he did, it was unique… and reminded him of pale rosewater or magnolia that had been windswept by a misted rain. It immediately could take him back to another place and time.

 

Eyes had already watched her reach for something as he conversed with his tailor and friend, he knew she would find that and noted it for later, nodding to let Beau and one of his assistants know to pull it from the shelf. Christmas was coming up, and well… just.

 

Well.

 

Everything she touched was caught by the keen attention of a man that could sense a twinkle of discontent in party full of people from across the room.

 

'ey… no dresses or skirts includes those torture device hoop things ya know.

 

He chuckled quietly.

 

“Yah, no… that ain’t it,” he lifted his arm as they pulled the tape around his chest. It was obvious he’d done this so often he didn’t even have to think. “There are costumes, and then there are costumes. Loud isn’t always good. The biggest, the brightest, the most expensive… none of it matters. You can say your wrappin’ has a thousand crystals on it, but they can be the ugliest thing in the world. Old world is a feeling, a way you carry yourself when everything you’re wearing makes you feel incredible. The power doesn’t come ‘cause it’s expensive, the power comes from them knowing it don’t have to be with you in it.”

 

He paused for a moment as they measured his neck.

 

Elegant doesn’t need to be stuffy and constricting is all am sayin'.

 

“...laissez les...”

 

The arms dealer was aware of the two floor clerks that were talking about him. It was his scruff this time. They liked his scruff. They always chattered about him, moving quietly as they transferred bolts of fabric back and forth from shelves and storage for him to either nod or shake his head at as the tailor started the mock-up notes. The man knew his tastes so well he knew exactly where to start. The dealer moved to a table near the counter as she stepped up to be fitted, the pile of cloth next to him starting to resemble something of a theme as he sketched out a few ideas on the paper his tailor had provided.

 

Yea yea…

 

“Carefull, she bites…” he said absently, sipping a bit of the hot honey tea they’d brought him as he focused on the paper a moment.

 

I don’t like zippers… they scratch on the inside…..  

 

Beau nodded, then glanced at Josef as he got up with his delicate tea cup. It seemed so, normal for him. Hard and soft at the same time. Refined and rugged.

 

“Was thinkin’ modified one piece in that color silk she was looking at, sleek leg down to here.”

 

He didn’t touch her, but two fingertips hovered right at the top of her foot where it angled off her shin.

 

“An avant-garde, asymmetrical collar off a v-neckline that matches the style of her tattoo… almost a continuation of it. Off her back, a robe à la française style train, fitted at first and seamed at the sides to the hip about here, then loose to the floor.”

 

He didn’t mean to, but fingertips brushed her back, the warm radiant heat unusual; a soft, penetrating sensation almost like a gentle vibration came with it. It’s what pulsed in his blood. To most, he was just warm. To the sensitive, it was an odd little breeze. He showed Beau his sketch, then handed it to Mason. Outlying lines were dark so she could feel them and “see” what he was thinking.

 

Beau nodded slightly, smirk light, “…lemme know if you ever need a job designing here.”

 

The Cajun laughed slightly, “…in all my spare time.”

 

He finished what he was drinking.

 

“Need anything, cher?” he asked her quietly before he retreated to his seat to let the man finish taking measurements. He already apparently had a captive audience waiting for his presence. Stories. They were waiting for his stories... his bastardized french gave them instructions for the wool first. It seemed to blow the wind out of their sails for a moment, but they returned after securing the entire bolt with a renewed and even more aggressive candor to start writing everything up.

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

She could hear the chuckle in the huff. She was clearly entertaining him with her annoyed discomfort about the entire event.

 

“Lots of excuses just keep rolling out… just refuse to be muscle for a night and have fun.”

 

….lots of people aint my idea of fun.

 

The words were almost inaudible, a pained confession made to no one. On a stage surrounded by thousands, was one thing. Thrown into the throngs of a party crowd….. people didn’t understand just how overwhelming that could be to someone with absurdly heightened senses like hers. Every accidental touch soon becomes an attack, the sounds mingling too violently together, thundering and disorienting in her ears, and the scents… too damn many people thinking they should smell like Chanel Number whatever the fuck.  Having a "job" kept her focused, kept the ambient at bay. Without one….. she was going to be lucky to get through the night without hurling in a potted Christmas tree.

 

She was getting lost in the "feel" of the place. The oppressive quiet that wrapped her senses like a blanket, the smells of fabrics she wished were not there, the smell of those she wished there were more of.  When she protested about hoop skirt torture devices his chuckle drew the faintest upturn of her own lips as behind the dark shades the pale gray eyes relaxed, closing and enjoying the Cajun tinted sound.  When was it last that he chuckled so often and so easily? It took her a minute to remember. It was the cemetery.  God that had been… what…. two years ago?...no… almost three now. They barely knew eachother then. She could still remember the scent of the winter cold on the stone that reminded him of his Metairie Angels… of that nasty swill he was drinking wafting hot off his breath… of the thick scent of her own very expensive liquor bathing over both their breaths.  Her haunting rendition of Odetta's House of the Rising Sun vibrating against the dead.

 

It was an odd memory to come through so clearly now. She hadn't touched that sort of blues and New Orleans flair since then. He had done his first vanishing act not long after that.

 

“Yah, no… that ain’t it. There are costumes, and then there are costumes. Loud isn’t always good. The biggest, the brightest, the most expensive… none of it matters. You can say your wrappin’ has a thousand crystals on it, but they can be the ugliest thing in the world. Old world is a feeling, a way you carry yourself when everything you’re wearing makes you feel incredible. The power doesn’t come ‘cause it’s expensive, the power comes from them knowing it don’t have to be with you in it.”

 

It was a feeling…… was that why the memory ghosted though her limbs now?

 

The hum was barely audible, the first several notes of that night's serenade unconsciously coming to her chest, the rum dripping sound, dark, sultry and old school. Abruptly the throat cleared with a soft throttle and the sound died with it as she became aware she was doing it. Attention moving instead to the perch she was expected to take for her turn at the measuring game, the soft sweater slid off her head as he piped up.

 

"Careful, she bites…"

 

Frown descended over the dark shades as she "glanced" over a bare shoulder in his direction.

 

'ey… yer more in danger of that than them… yer the one insisting this is a good idea.. they're just doin' their job..

 

Honey lingered on her senses as the heat of the tea wafted the sweet scent through the room, she returned to "looking" at herself in the mirror, pondering what it was about this whole dressing up thing that some people got off on.

 

Hands near her had muscles through her entire form a bit too stiff and ready to flinch. She was actually proud of herself, thus far she hadn't made any attempt to wrap her fingers around anyone's throat for being too close. Warmth billowed near her and instantly the muscle through her cheek tensed harder.

 

When had he moved?

 

“Was thinkin’ modified one piece in that color silk she was looking at, sleek leg down to here.”

 

Even through her socks she could feel the motion he was using to emphasize his point. Always that warmth, like that night in the cemetery when he flared it through the stone they shared a seat upon. It smelled of wet outdoors and spice.

 

“An avant-garde, asymmetrical collar off a v-neckline that matches the style of her tattoo…"… you sure that shouldn’t be hidden..? " almost a continuation of it."  

 

Apparently not as her murmured words were ignored. They made many uncomfortable which actually wasn’t a bad thing, it meant they never usually stared long enough at them to figure out what they were, or that they were not always in the same pattern.

 

"..Off her back, a robe à la française style train, fitted at first and seamed at the sides to the hip about here, then loose to the floor.”

 

Small of her back arched slightly as the muscles down the side of the spine constricted at the brush of heated fingers on her skin. It wasn’t like the cool fingers of the tailor… not at all. The vibration of radiant heat was felt through down to her toes causing a very uncharacteristic hint of color to rise on her cheeks, lungs somehow having forgotten to breathe as the sketch was held out to her. It wasn’t until the corner of the paper brushed the back of her hand that she even realized he was holding it out to her.

 

Fuck!

 

What the hell had just happened!?

 

She took the sketch quickly as the tailor joked that Josef might seek employment with him as a designer. Shades "glanced" down at it quickly to hide the disoriented confusion that fluttered in her gut for the briefest moment.

 

As the awkward stumble moved further away,  fingertips ran over the sketch "appreciatively", it was immediately apparent that he had ensured she could "see" the sketch. Heat from her cheeks dissipated as she studied it a moment. It was an interesting design. No skirt and yet something feminine about it.

 

"Need anything, cher?"

 

It took a beat to pull her out of her appreciation of the sketch.

 

Hmm?

 

Head finally lifted from the drawing to glance over the bare shoulder once more at him before shaking her head.

 

No…. no… am good

 

Paper was gently held out to the side, knowing one of the assistants would take it from her before she again waited for the tailor to finish his measurements.

 

Breath pulled long and slow into her lungs as she forced relaxation to seep into some of the corded muscles. It helped that the musical language behind her chattered on, his warm tone heard over the tinny sound of the others. Just above the band of her jeans, the small of her back still flared like a brand had torched her skin there, a creep of inky reach that had curiously extended from her left hip several inches finally grew still once more as she felt the lengthening grip surrender while the man perched on something to take the final measurements for her shoulder and under her bust.  

 

The "all done" from the man was met with a silent exhale of relief. The gray sweater brushing her arm as it was held up for her, nodding thanks her fingers quickly found the neck and slid around it. The quick motion letting her note the placement of the tag so she didn’t accidentally put it on inside out or backwards. Fluffed armor once again restored over her bare skin she hopped down from the perch to slide hands in her jeans pockets and wait out what she had to assume was the Cajun giving further instructions.

 

Brain churned over the last half hour in a feverish attempt to understand what the hell had just happened,  instead it was left spinning and her gut wanting nothing more than a stiff drink. She had a real craving for the liquor from that night. It didn’t exist anymore.

 

Damn shame.

  • Like 2

Share this post


Link to post

'ey… yer more in danger of that than them… yer the one insisting this is a good idea.. they're just doin' their job..

 

He chuckled again.

 

“It is a good idea. I say so,” he said as he came closer to guide the tailor through his idea.

 

…you sure that shouldn’t be hidden..?

 

He was aware she could sense how close he was, of course she could… but there was something more. To the sensitive, he felt different. Of course she would know. He’d never touched her before that he could remember had he? Noting her flushed skin, it seemed the reaction was slightly more potent than anyone else he’d ever met. Made sense though considering her own gifts.

 

Hmm? No…. no… am good

 

The dark haired assistant, Kelly took the sketch from her and handed it back to the dealer. Glancing over it again, he put it on the table and charmed up the women as they pulled tools to run the patterns for their mock-ups. As soon as Beau said he was finished, his attention turned to him.

 

“’bout two hours if I pay you overtime?” he asked.

 

The man nodded, “Knowing what this is for, we can certainly have it ready.”

 

“We’ll be back in two shakes then,” the Cajun asked, sliding on his coat. “There’s a great pub down on the corner, let’s go grab a bite and a drink or two. Is quiet there this time a day. Quick walk.”

 

He waited a moment for her to get situated, then opened the door. Chest was tight for a split second, the cold had an edge to it. Footsteps determined, he crossed the distance quickly and pushed through the doors of the pub and nodded at the bartender, winding through the near empty tables to a back corner he obviously was very familiar with. Coat shrugged off, the bartender wandered over herself. It was just her and the cook.

 

“Usual?” she asked.

 

He nodded, “whatever she wants as well.” Attention turned back to Mason, “can cover your tattoos if you want to.”

 

Drinks were slid onto the table with practiced ease within moments, he lifted his and took a swallow. Brutal, but good.

 

“Sorry about the touch thing, by the way. Forget sometimes that you can feel my mojo,” again the hum of a chuckle in his chest He settled back into the corner against the wall, absolutely ready to be there for a while and making himself comfortable. Foot came up on the bench, forearm on his knee and tumbler dangling from his fingers. Charms twinkled against it. “Sure you wanna go with an old man? Could be the scruffiest guy there…”

 

He was teasing, but it was nice to look forward to something for once.

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

“It is a good idea. I say so,” 

 

It was her turn to huff softly.

 

The whole affair really hadn't taken that long, which meant she didn’t have a lot of room to complain about it either.

 

“’bout two hours if I pay you overtime?” 

 

Brow perched high over the left eye as she glanced at him. Two hours? So they were coming back today?  Well… now perhaps she had something more to complain about.

 

This whole ordeal had her annoyed before, but now she was annoyed and unsettled. She didn’t understand the boundaries here and he wasn’t working to make them any clearer either.  And if he did make them clear… would that make it better? She wasn’t sure.

 

"We’ll be back in two shakes then… There’s a great pub down on the corner, let’s go grab a bite and a drink or two. Is quiet there this time a day. Quick walk.”

 

Come to think of it…. Where the fuck were they? Normally she paced the car and mapped every turn, it was rare she didn’t know where she was in the city within a block of accuracy. But she had gotten in his car and paid absolutely no attention. Cage would kill her if he knew that she ran off with the arms dealer without her phone and didn’t pay a damn lick of attention to where he took her. Rookie mistake and yet she didn’t feel there was any reason at all to be concerned.  The Cajun did that to her.

 

She made her escape with him and took a beat to lift her face into the bite of cold wind, letting it wash away the last signs of flush she still felt from the whole awkward affair.  She liked the cold… it helped numb…. everything.

 

A half pace behind him the radar hearing listened for the change in his steps that betrayed curbs and streets until he opened a door that made her head tilt. The creek of it was familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it until she stepped inside and the smell wafted over her senses… a smirk lopsiding her lips as amusement bubbled up into her tone.

 

The leprechaun's place?

 

She liked the bar. While she could fit in anywhere, if she were to naturally select a bar based on her own comfort, it would be this place over Bakkhos.  She had been there opening night, drinking hard with Boone… the leprechaun in question… passing relaxed quips between them. It had been to "look the competition over" for Bakkhos but this place was no threat to the establishments Bakkhos ran. Which meant the same clientele rarely frequented the two, leaving her a bar she could come to from time to time and be ignored.

 

When the bartender asked for the "usual" she almost responded before tilting her head slightly at Josef's response. So he was regular enough to have a usual too? Odd they had never crossed paths here. Then again… not so odd, she didn’t come that often. Life… got in the way.

 

"Yorsh?" the bartender asked betraying this wasn’t the guard dogs first trip there either.

 

Hand ran over her head to push the straight locks back behind her shoulders, internally swearing about forgetting a tie, there was usually one on her wrist.

 

Yea..thanks…

 

His steps and the slide onto the bench along the wall as he sat resonated on the furniture around him telling her approximately where the free standing seat was across from the L shaped bench along the walls. Her hand pushed forward to grab the back and clasp around it once bumped, spinning the chair and straddling the back, arms resting on top.  Oddly enough the act was something she had learned long ago kept her from fumbling into a seat. Too often the grab was off to the sides and awkwardly balanced to pull the chair back to sit on. But grabbing it anywhere on the back, tipping it onto a single leg to spin around and straddle always looked intentional as the moment it tipped she knew exactly where her hand held it and could adjust in the pivot.

 

So many tricks…. now just habits….

 

“….can cover your tattoos if you want to.”

 

The comment caught her off guard as their drinks arrived. A shrug given to cover up her surprise that he latched onto her comment in the shop.

 

Not very "ladylike" is all…

 

Air quotes were used to aid in showing her contempt of the concept before she picked up the drink, hint of a smile as she could actually smell the faint linger of vodka on the beer, the bartender had doubled down on the stuff as though she was here to hard core drink. First draw was a deep one, tongue snaking to capture the faint foam on her upper lip.

 

“Sorry about the touch thing, by the way. Forget sometimes that you can feel my mojo,” 

 

There was a soft clearing in her throat as she again was caught off guard, that damn chuckle working on her tension to soften the position of her shoulders. Drink lifted and lingering in front of her lips as she tried to figure out the response.

 

Not a big thing… just caught me off guard's all….

 

Glass tipped back but it was the delicate shade of warmth that ghosted over her cheeks that said it might have been a bit more than that…. of course the warmth could also be attributed to a healthy quadruple shot of vodka in a very strong beer. She listened to the shift in position, the soft chimes that reminded her of something that hung in the window of that old jazz lovers place in California when she was barely sixteen.  Breath filled her chest and exhaled slowly, expression behind the shades softening to something much more relaxed.  She had been comfortable there too.

 

“Sure you wanna go with an old man? Could be the scruffiest guy there…”

 

Snort was dismissive as a creep of a grin tugged hard at her lips.

 

Sure you wanna go with a vulgar woman? Might lay out the first person who says hi……

 

It was her turn to chuckle, the sound natural and warm as the Yorsh came to her lips again.

 

Face it… we're a perfect pair…..  I mean… you know… for this....thing.

 

Good bit of the glass was emptied in the next swig. The words had come out of her mouth and instantly she tried to back peddle out of it because it wasn’t meant to imply what it seemed to… at least what it seemed to in her own ears. Fuck that touch had her messed up.

 

The scowl was back, lingering deep crevices over her forehead as she stared into the nearly empty glass. The last of the glass was downed as she listened for the bartenders position before glancing over her shoulder and raising the glass to the woman for another. Setting it down when she heard the "sure".

 

Left arm laid over the top of the chair as the right hand played with the new glass of Yorsh, turning it left then right in small quarter turns. Something soft and vulnerable in the expression that hid behind the nighttime shades.

 

They're not tattoos….

 

Well that came out of nowhere....  why the fuck had she said that.

 

Two years it had been since the damn things had been discussed with anyone. Only three people had an idea what they were. One had abandoned her and left a lasting scar she still hid from. The second had vanished never having gotten to the "experiments" he wanted to conduct to see what more he could learn about them. The third was Gaspari, who after the Spire events had locked her in his office to hug the crap out of her that she was still alive and then proceeded to yell at her like she was the teen that had stolen her parents car, proceeded to wreck it, stayed out passed curfew, got drunk and had unprotected sex in her parents bed all on the same night. She had to tell him. And to his credit, he never told another family member a thing that she was aware of.

 

So why spill to the damn arms dealer?

 

Because she had stopped thinking of him as just an arms dealer long ago. The scowl had drifted away again, the second glass getting a healthy swig of its own as she waited in the silence unsure what to say next.

Share this post


Link to post

His inner ear tickled as they walked, the small pop and crackle much like static. He'd been annoyed the first couple times, but had quickly come to realize over time that it was her. He was sensitive to others like him, she was a bit different but still the same flavor... it was something about her that triggered his radar. He doubted anyone else could feel it, only if they were tuned into the world like he was. He'd never come across anyone else like himself, so he could've very well been the only one.

 

"The leprechaun's place?"

 

His brow quirked, a true laugh as he opened the door.

 

"The leprechaun's place," he confirmed, amusement in his tone.

 

Why was he not surprised she'd been here? It was a great place to find a good drink. Boone was not the kind of person he would have expected her to get along with, however. Then again, she got along with the Cajun... but his sense of humor was a bit more reserved, and a bit darker. Boone, was just a complete unapologetic jackass. A fun jackass, but a jackass nonetheless.

 

He breached the tattoo subject, not surprised at her answer.

 

"Not very "ladylike" is all…"

 

He almost laughed outright, the most lady-like of women he'd known in his lifetime had been the utter worst people he'd ever met.

 

"In my experience, I've found lady-like to be a state of perpetual self proclamation."

 

Humor had been brought back into the conversation, able to pick up on her subtle discomfort.

 

"Sure you wanna go with a vulgar woman? Might lay out the first person who says hi……"

 

"The line between vulgar and lady-like is how subtly you can comment under your breath," he chuckled and signalled for some food. He was a grazer... talked too much to actually eat a meal unless he was alone.

 

"Face it… we're a perfect pair…..  I mean… you know… for this....thing."

 

"Agreed... don't think Gaspari is ready for us. I can charm a room, but by the end of it my partner is always trying to keep from laughing... Everyone ends up with a nickname... and the private jokes just roll. 'Is how ya keep yourself sane in the insanity of pomp and circumstance..."

 

He watched her fiddle with her glass a moment.

 

"They're not tattoos…."

 

"They never are..." he finished his glass and set it down, fingers flicking slightly as his arm stayed perched on his knee. It was a statement that understood the world was seldom as simple as just a tattoo.

 

He watched her a moment from his comfy corner, head leaning back on the wall.

 

"...can feel 'em. Not sure anyone else can... my particular brand of mojo sees a lot most of the world can't."

 

Beignets were slid on the table in front of them. He'd talked to Boone a while back, getting the place to make a few things out of the ordinary. These were smaller than they were usually made, bite-sized. His family's cook made them that way. It was a small piece of home.

 

"Question is... does anyone else know that?"

 

Another bourbon slid on the table several moments later, he paused before he picked it up. Drink was slow.

 

"And do you want them to?"

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

"In my experience, I've found lady-like to be a state of perpetual self proclamation."

 

The humor in his tone was matched by a smirk of her own. She tended not to get along with the few incredibly "ladylike" of the family. They tended to be a bit too fixated on their own importance, which at the end of it all… was not as important as they liked to believe, or at least the guard dog didn’t feel such. Head shook as the smirk lingered.

 

You know what I mean…

 

"The line between vulgar and lady-like is how subtly you can comment under your breath,"

 

This time the chuckle bubbled up warm to harmonize with his own.

 

Face it… we're a perfect pair…..  I mean… you know… for this....thing.

 

The discomfort was short lived as he walked right over the awkward moment.

 

"Agreed... don't think Gaspari is ready for us. I can charm a room, but by the end of it my partner is always trying to keep from laughing... Everyone ends up with a nickname... and the private jokes just roll. 'Is how ya keep yourself sane in the insanity of pomp and circumstance..."

 

Just don’t expect me t' fawn over ya while ya work the room. You forget, been shot fer yer ass before. I don’t swoon when ya lay on the charm.

 

The chuckle again bubbled up warmly. It had been a couple years ago and the two had barely known eachother when they had ended up in a shoot out at his place. Even in the middle of a god damn gun fight where they both had ended up on the receiving end of a bullet, they had been exchanging sardonic quips at eachother. There had always been something… comfortable… about being with the cajun.

 

Comfortable…. perhaps that was why the words had slipped from her lips so unexpectedly.

 

They're not tattoos….

 

"They never are…...can feel 'em. Not sure anyone else can... my particular brand of mojo sees a lot most of the world can't."

 

Smirk tipped her lips a bit as she nodded.

 

Well.... you already know it flares with emotions..... Its also drawn to you…

 

Nice way to drop a bombshell on a guy, assuming the implications sunk in. Hand ran under the long hair to rub the back of her neck slowly, gaze fixated still on her glass as something sugary made its way to the table.

 

"Question is... does anyone else know that?"

 

The rub paused before the hand slid from her neck to wait for the footsteps to disappear again before answering.

 

Other than you?.......one… other two that did…..

 

There was a pregnant pause, she was skirting around scars on her emotions that she didn’t share with people.

 

….they gone MIA on me.

 

With that she downed the remainder of the second Yorsh… the glass held up over her shoulder for a moment as she assumed the bartender saw. Wasn’t like there was anyone else in the place and Boone's crew was usually pretty johnny on the spot. Empty glass set down in front of her as she rested both arms on the back of the chair.

 

Third drink was set in front of her and it was the first she didn’t immediately reach for.

 

"And do you want them to?"

 

It was a valid question. One she never asked herself since, for the most part, it never came up. On a stage under lights they were just…. tattoos. And up close people were more concerned about avoiding getting decked by her than inspecting the markings, not to mention they had grown far more docile the more time had passed since the event. That was until he had touched her like that and a tendril had sought to inspect the heated "brand" he had left behind. Odd that she had so casually told him about them and yet the family was still in the dark.

 

Them…?.......... no….

 

Lower lip pulled a bit under her upper teeth before she reached for the glass, holding it loosely as her arm dangled off the back of the chair.  Gaspari had never even really asked about them, he knew how she got it and then had left it at that… it was not brought up again after that first night. Never seemed like it would be a welcomed topic with the family.

 

Shrug tried to push off the awkward moment.

 

They all be looking at yer pretty ass anyway… noone's likely to pay it much attention.

 

Smirk was a bit forced as the glass came to her lips…paused… then finally tipped back in a sip that proved she was slowing her roll a bit. In less than thirty minutes she was at least eight shots of vodka and two stouts deep the way the bartender was pouring them. She didn’t really get drunk, her ridiculously built up tolerance and high metabolic burn tended to ensure that, but she could become pretty brash when it ran thick through her veins. This didn’t feel like a good time to get that…. brash. 

 

Just dont go mojo'ing the entire place 'kay?

 

Smile was a bit more relaxed as the vodka heated her gut finally.

 

Go touchin' some of the girls there like that and they'll forget they came with someone else...

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

Just don’t expect me t' fawn over ya while ya work the room. You forget, been shot fer yer ass before. I don’t swoon when ya lay on the charm.

 

Smirk was light.

 

“Needin’ ta work on that,” he muttered casually before taking another drink.

 

Hell, he didn’t know if he was kidding or not. Their relationship was unusual… he could charm the panties off of anyone -well, his money always could anyway- but he had admitted to himself a while ago that he would be ultimately disappointed if It ever worked with her. He didn’t spew bullshit at anyone, he was genuine. It was the “exoticism” of the package that always did people in; stereotyped romantic view of what and who he was. It may have been true in some respects. In reality, the most outgoing were always the loneliest. Being the only one from home he knew still existed made it even worse because it made him more of an enigma.

 

Brow quirked slightly when she admitted her oddities were drawn to him. He was genuinely curious who else knew about them.

 

Other than you?.......one… other two that did…..

 

Past tense?

 

….they gone MIA on me.

 

“I go MIA all the time so you don’t needin’ ta worry.”

 

Understatement of the year. In the back of his mind, it added one more strike on his life. Order had been quiet lately; they still weren’t one to be trifled with especially when they were running dark. Putting something out in the open at such close inspection after she admitted his presence made them go “boo” probably wasn't such a good idea.

 

They all be looking at yer pretty ass anyway… noone's likely to pay it much attention.

 

“That’s what tux coats are for,” he smirked and finished his glass.

 

Just dont go mojo'ing the entire place 'kay?

 

“No promises, it’s a party,” glass clinked quietly on the table..

 

Go touchin' some of the girls there like that and they'll forget they came with someone else..

 

“Wait, what?” he chuckled quietly. “Nah… nah, that’s just… me. Can’t turn that off.”

 

He was quiet a minute, watching the bartender.

 

“Didn’t mean to. Really wish I could turn it off. Not something I asked for, definitely ain't something I want. Just something that is.”

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post

“Needin’ ta work on that,”

 

Brow lifted in a quizzical ponder over the dark shades. Was he making fun of her… or actually meant he had to work more to … to what…. charm her? There was a tinge of heat on her cheeks that wasn’t entirely from the Yorsh that lifted again to her lips in the absence of a smart ass response. She didn’t "charm" that wasn’t what caused the tingle over her skin. It was the strange honesty in the casual way he said it. They were a very odd pair. In a very short time they had laid bare to each other secrets that both traditionally left buried in their proverbial closets.

 

She was almost relieved when he asked if anyone else really knew about her parasite. The hitch in her breath in her MIA answer almost betraying just how much pain once lingered behind the thought. The cop had finally started to become a more distant memory…. almost. She had never let her heart be vulnerable. That one time she had barely let it feel.. it had been thrown away.

 

“I go MIA all the time so you don’t needin’ ta worry.”

 

Ya.. no shit……

 

This time there was a faint chuckle in the sound. She had been worried this last time. But… now she sort of got it. She used to go MIA on Gaspari in the beginning and the head of the family rapidly learned not to worry about her and let her have her space. She suspected the Cajun needed the same.

 

The banter moved back to the party and her shoulders relaxed with the smirk that lingered on her lips. His glass set down on the table just as hers came up again. What was this one?....third… fourth? Fuck.. bartender was making them strong tonight and no longer waited for her to ask for another, it was showing up the moment her empty glass was hitting the table.

 

“Nah… nah, that’s just… me. Can’t turn that off. Didn’t mean to. Really wish I could turn it off. Not something I asked for, definitely ain't something I want. Just something that is.”

 

Head shook waving it off with a hand draped still casually over the back of the chair she straddled.

 

'ey don’t sweat it. Caught me off guard was all. Doubt most would notice it much… my skin's just….

 

… secrets spilling from lips that were not drunk….

 

… super sensitive.

 

….aand there was the understatement of the year as she shrugged a bit and picked up the fresh Yorsh. Weight shifted to her left hip, ridiculously long right leg lifting and folding in front of the chair back as she arched her back, working out the ache of too many training days in a row. Smirk fluttered over her lips in an impish grin.

 

Least I know comin' with me you will wont be able to partake of any pig swill…

 

The jab at his bottle swilling in the cemetery almost two years ago brought a fond memory of the heat he had shared that night on the marble steps of Metairie styled angels. Glance of her shoulder was thoughtful, time had slid by without her which was a rare thing.

 

When were we supposed to go back for this farce?

Share this post


Link to post

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Restore formatting

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.


×
×
  • Create New...