jewels and stones cut so precise
Title:: n/a
Fandom: original fiction: alphabet city
Genres: romance, angst
Characters: Silhouette, Beast
"We've got to stop meeting like this," he says, and she knows.
A wry smile plays across her lips. "I need the money," she says and he knows.
"We've got a job."
"How is the pay?" Silhouette asks.
Beast makes a face and shrugs. "Tough times, sweet thing." His voice almost gets lost between the churning conversation of people around them and the dull roar of the river. Beast leans backwards onto the cement railing of the bridge, tempting the cold wind to push him over. He can't sit still, not now.
Silhouette snatches the envelope from the frayed waistband of his pants, visible as the breeze swishes the hem of his shirt up. She rips it open and does a quick count of the contents. "Is this it?"
As she places the payment inside her jacket, next to her heart, Beast protests, "Hey! Hey! Half'a that's mine!"
She bites her lower lip and gives him that look. The one that goes up through her eyelashes and makes his stomach drop unpleasantly. "I need it," Silhouette confesses. "You can have the next one."
Beast doesn't say anything, and turns away to look out the river. He's used to going hungry for her. His fingers have begun to shake, but that will have to wait.
After a moment, Beast asks, "How 'bout that rain other day?" but no one answers. He turns around, but Silhouette is already gone. She usually leaves after getting her money. Alone, Beast exhales and watches the water, clean, flow under the bridge.
* * *
How old were you when you stopped crying so hard your eyes burned and you hiccupped pathetically afterward? How many years had you lived by the time the bones in your hands would rattle when you'd gone too long without a hit? How many breaths had you taken when your folks died? How long have you loved her?
Listen to me, Beast. This isn't for my health you know. Shoot up, then answer me: when's checkout time?
* * *
"Here is your key to the rooms, and checkout time is nine o'clock, sharp."
Silhouette takes the keyring from the lobby attendant and glides to the elevator with Beast trailing numbly at her heels.
Somewhere between the nineteenth and twenty third floor, Beast comes back to himself. He blinks, breathes in, coughs hoarsely, then slides down the wall to the floor. He's still getting his bearings back when Silhouette kicks him hard in the stomach. He contracts inward and then she's pulling him up by the hair on the back of his head. Her hand shifts, forces his temple to collide painfully with the wood paneling, and she hisses, "Don't you ever," (here she punctuates the sentiment with a sharp blow at his side), "show up for a job high again." Silhouette releases him roughly, but by the time the elevator has reached the twenty sixth floor, she's composed herself into a young society-girl in kitten heels and a sun dress, vacationing in the sector with her newest husband.
Fandom: original fiction: alphabet city
Genres: romance, angst
Characters: Silhouette, Beast
"We've got to stop meeting like this," he says, and she knows.
A wry smile plays across her lips. "I need the money," she says and he knows.
"We've got a job."
"How is the pay?" Silhouette asks.
Beast makes a face and shrugs. "Tough times, sweet thing." His voice almost gets lost between the churning conversation of people around them and the dull roar of the river. Beast leans backwards onto the cement railing of the bridge, tempting the cold wind to push him over. He can't sit still, not now.
Silhouette snatches the envelope from the frayed waistband of his pants, visible as the breeze swishes the hem of his shirt up. She rips it open and does a quick count of the contents. "Is this it?"
As she places the payment inside her jacket, next to her heart, Beast protests, "Hey! Hey! Half'a that's mine!"
She bites her lower lip and gives him that look. The one that goes up through her eyelashes and makes his stomach drop unpleasantly. "I need it," Silhouette confesses. "You can have the next one."
Beast doesn't say anything, and turns away to look out the river. He's used to going hungry for her. His fingers have begun to shake, but that will have to wait.
After a moment, Beast asks, "How 'bout that rain other day?" but no one answers. He turns around, but Silhouette is already gone. She usually leaves after getting her money. Alone, Beast exhales and watches the water, clean, flow under the bridge.
* * *
How old were you when you stopped crying so hard your eyes burned and you hiccupped pathetically afterward? How many years had you lived by the time the bones in your hands would rattle when you'd gone too long without a hit? How many breaths had you taken when your folks died? How long have you loved her?
Listen to me, Beast. This isn't for my health you know. Shoot up, then answer me: when's checkout time?
* * *
"Here is your key to the rooms, and checkout time is nine o'clock, sharp."
Silhouette takes the keyring from the lobby attendant and glides to the elevator with Beast trailing numbly at her heels.
Somewhere between the nineteenth and twenty third floor, Beast comes back to himself. He blinks, breathes in, coughs hoarsely, then slides down the wall to the floor. He's still getting his bearings back when Silhouette kicks him hard in the stomach. He contracts inward and then she's pulling him up by the hair on the back of his head. Her hand shifts, forces his temple to collide painfully with the wood paneling, and she hisses, "Don't you ever," (here she punctuates the sentiment with a sharp blow at his side), "show up for a job high again." Silhouette releases him roughly, but by the time the elevator has reached the twenty sixth floor, she's composed herself into a young society-girl in kitten heels and a sun dress, vacationing in the sector with her newest husband.