Project NoName NPC Sketch: Donovan
"This is the way it works" he intoned with the calm, slow, practiced vocal strides of a pondsman who knows he has his fish's attention. Gauging his subject's interest with a long pause disguised by a long drag from his cigarette, obvious this time but there was no harm to be done by following the time-tested script to victory, he watched and let himself be examined in turn. He had to be the only man in the tri-county area smoking Virginia Slims, but he found that the unspoken question that invariably floated behind the eyes of every Marlboro-man he played the game with distracted them from giving time to other curiosities that might reveal a hole in his story or any poker tell he hadn't already managed to train himself free from. One socially delicate inconsistency, left in place to mask a host of others until the sale was made and trust had been established. After all, such devices needed only last until the pitch was over. After that, what did he care if a now-enlisted country-boy had for a short time wondered if he might be conversing with a queer. Five minutes with Donovan customarily made clear to anybody even half-paying attention that sex, with a man or otherwise, was not what was on his mind. Bigger fish to fry, wasn't that the firm right hook of the pitch anyway? It could be some natural quality, he reflected, some inherent predisposition that made him as good at his job as the talents hidden and waiting in the fish he courted. Flicking his cigarette disdainfully in a show that he was finished contemplating the little billow of ugly bluewhite smoke he'd generated, Donovan quickly dismissed that falacy. Natural talent would provide a means to an end, but the ends were almost never yours. To play on your own terms, every skill had to be learned, owned, and understood. The ins and outs of human motivation are easiest to manipulate in folk who can't be bothered to understand the how and why of it all, satisfied in their own small way that they've gotten by without it so far. Ok, enough time had passed, he decided without giving in to the subconscious urge to nod and set his face as civilians instinctually do when arriving at a decision to act. Raising his eyes to meet those of today's first catch, he noted with satisfaction that would never reach the corners of his eyes that the face that met his was trying hard to feign a casual unconcern, but hadn't moved yet. They never move if they're curious enough to set themselves onto the hook. This one had practically caught himself. "You don't have time for this..." he apologized, inwardly proud as punch with the rustic wave-off he'd enacted, prompting immediately the desired stammer to the tune of 'no, really, go on, i want to know' that it never failed to elicit. Once you got them saying yes to things it was all in the bag. Getting them to contradict you to the positive? Well, it didn't take a degree in mathematics to work the added benefits of that one out. Get your fish to sell you on your pitch. Sit back with the luxury of incredulity as you guide the poor sap to convince you to keep talking. No, they don't think you sound foolish, in fact, you make a lot of sense and here's why. It was always the same. Invariably it reminds them of the inane story of some rustic happenstance that Donovan had become adept at not simply sitting through with feigned attentiveness but mining for pertinent details about the lifestyle and priorities of the storyteller. It passed the time and kept the hook freshly baited with the fish's feeling of personal investment in his fascinating new friend and future mentor. This one was ready, all that remained being the formality of the suggestion, followed by inevitable acquiescence, faster this time than usual. It had gone exceptionally well this time, even for Donovan. Too pliable perhaps? If the fish became a liability early enough in the game it could always be thrown back. Letting go was never a problem for him. Only in the kind of circles he traveled in was detachment considered such a virtue.