Ira + Diana - pleasant conversation
Who: Ira and Diana
When: sometime last week
Where: a tavern
Rating & Warnings: PG? Ira is a troll. Diana is a bitch. Ginga is a nerd.
Tonight, at the tavern, he was a student. It was an easy disguise, an easy cover. If anyone recognized him, it was 'oh! I've just, I've forgotten so much French I thought I'd try reading an old book for practice'. If they didn't, well, he looked every inch the serious young man. He had a pen tucked over one ear that he took and tapped against his lips as he 'read' certain passages. Sometimes he scrawled notes, but these were mostly doodles, or comments on the conversations being carried on around him.
'back left: tailors wife. that LAUGH !'
He underlined 'laugh' several times. Bored and uninterested - everything he overheard amounted to the usual; the marital problems of unimportant people, comments on the food, shouts for more drinks, the sharing of tales of female conquests by drunken young men - Ira looked up and around, lips pursed. When his eyes settled on a woman sitting alone a table away, his eyebrows shot up. Diana Stark. Wasn't that just sad. Did she imagine her dead husband sitting across from her? Cita's balls, Ira thought. If he was that lonely, he wouldn't go out of his way to show it to the world.
'stark,' he wrote down on his notes. 'pa the tic.' He hid a smile and muffled a laugh in his throat. Really, some people!
The year after her husband died, Diana did imagine him sitting across from her the nights she dined alone. That was no longer the case. While she dwelled, she couldn't afford to be unrealistic anymore. Now, she dined alone simply because she wanted to be alone. It wasn't like her sons wouldn't meet her, and Kaplinsky was a nice dinner partner, but these days, she found more and more she needed time to deal with no one.
Her back stiffened when she felt eyes on her. Alert, her eyes swept the tavern for someone looking at her or quickly averting his gaze or just out of the ordinary. There wasn't anyone except for... a student? Not out of the ordinary, per se, but odd to be studying in a tavern. His time would be spent more efficiently someplace quieter and with better lighting.
There was no basis for her suspicion outside of her instincts, but she kept her eyes on the boy. Would he do anything suspicious?
When he looked up again and found himself meeting the very cold, suspicious stare of Diana Stark, Ira had to suppress another giggle. Caught! Only one thing to do, really.
He palmed his book shut and scooped up his things, sidling around tables until he reached Diana's. With a pleasant smile, he set his things down across from her and held out a hand. "Hey there. You all alone, a good looking lady like you?"
Her lips twitched. Was this boy really trying to-- no, he had to have another angle. Either way, she would play along with him for now. She should have been annoyed that he interrupted her alone time, but maybe this could be another way to kill time.
Diana shook his hand firmly. "Good evening. I have a son or two your age," she replied. "Did you want a mother tonight?"
His eyebrows shot up, and Ira grinned. "Haven't been much into that sort of thing myself, but I'll give anything - anyone - a try. Will you spank me if I'm bad?"
He swept the long tails of his jacket back before he sat, then leaned his chin onto one fist and smiled dreamily at the woman across from him. Flirting with Lieutenant Stark. What an evening. "I never knew my mother," he sighed, "So there's something there, too."
"I'm sorry you never knew your mother, but I would sooner throw you into the gaol than spank you. Would you try that?" Her tone wasn't serious, but her eyes were. She would haul him off if he stepped over the line.
Closer, she noticed his wooden finger and nodded at it. "Did you have a small accident as a child?" Did he have a story that would attempt to tug at heartstrings or would he brush it off?
His smile only widened at 'gaol'. "Oh, this?" Ira held up his hand and wagged his wooden finger back and forth. It'd been nice of Cretin to leave enough of his finger that they could attach something to it. It still ached some nights, more when it was cold, but as far as little fingers went it was still mostly usable.
"Accident. My father, he was a woodcutter. Tried to teach me, I wasn't bad at it, but you know how a boy's mind wanders. Looked up at some birds one day when I was chopping and thwack!" He struck the side of his hand against the cover of his book, hard enough to make it jump. A few others in the tavern glanced over, startled by the noise. "Off it came."
Ira slouched back into his seat and smiled lazily at the Lieutenant. "What about you? You ever lost anything?"
Ah, was he not taking her seriously enough or trying to get a rise out of her? Diana nodded and listened to his story with the attentive face she usually reserved to anyone reporting some kind of ridiculous complaint. That he seemed so carefree about it did somewhat earn him a modicum of approval. However, she hardly believed his story and was only amused when he theatrically hit his book.
"What a careless mistake on your part. You should have paid more attention." Those were honest words, though they didn't have much sincerity behind them.
She finished the last of her wine before answering. This boy was quite free with his smiles. "I've sustained quite a few injuries in my life, but nothing lost quite like you. It makes me less of a storyteller, I assume."
"If I had a silver piece every time I thought that to myself, girlie," Ira crooned, "I'd be a rich man." It wasn't the axe he should've watched, but Cretin's eyes. He'd watched them saw his finger off, watched how fingers can get evenly sawed through as easily as a holiday ham.
He tapped his prosthetic against the table, eyebrows lifting lazily at Stark's response. Lost nothing? That's not how he'd heard it. He'd heard she'd lost pretty important things. Babies, husbands... "Didn't mean limbs," he said with a shrug, and leaned back in his chair, letting it creak back on two legs.
Did he really call her girlie? Did he not know who she was? A part of her doubted that. Her smile was thin as she considered just how unprofessional she could be that night. "You can call me Lieutenent Stark or Lady Stark or nothing at all," she told him sweetly and showed teeth.
Diana pressed her lips together, smoothing her expression to neutral. "Either way, I have no exciting tale to tell you. I'm sure if you asked enough people, they'll tell you something different, but you won't hear anything from me." She picked up her fork and idly twirled it in her fingers, slowly but skillfully.
"Oh, yeah. I've heard different." He returned the smile, unperturbed by her coldness. He wondered idly what the others would say when he told them he'd had a candlelight dinner with Lieutenant 'Stoneheart' Stark. I'm sorry ASOIAF nerds I had to. They'd be impressed, maybe.
Ira tipped his chair back further, rocking back and forth on the back legs as he watched her, lips set in a crooked smirk. "So what brings you here alone, m'Lady? Awfully pretty girlie like you, seems you should have a man to look out for you. Or at least, you know..." he trailed off, and shrugged. Ira squinted, nose wrinkling, and then continued, "I mean, isn't it embarrassing for people to see you like this?"
"Whatever you've heard must be exaggerated." If she imagined stabbing him with her fork, would it stop her from doing it? It was glaringly obvious he was trying to get a rise out of her now, but even though she knew, her past would always be a sore spot. All she could was keep her expression neutral and imagine pain.
Diana also had a small hope the boy would tip back in his chair a little too far or the chair legs would falter somehow and give him a little fall or scare. "It might be embarrassing to you, but I'm comfortable with it. Are you afraid of being alone?" She paused before adding, "What's your name?" She should at least have a name to associate with this annoyance.
"Perry," he lied smoothly, tipping an imaginary cap to Diana. "Perry Black. And scared? Scared's got nothing to do with it. 'M not scared of nothing. Just-- You do get what I mean, don't you? Lady eating alone, that either means she's used to not and can't give up the habit, or she's imagining someone sitting there across from her. So which is it?"
The chair creaked as he rocked it again, and Ira's smile grew wider. "Who you picturing sitting here, m'Lady Stark?" This was fun. She wasn't even doing anything. It was like taunting stone. If at first he found it dissatisfying, now it was just a harder game, a bigger challenge. Eventually, he'd make her crack. If only the rest of the tavern would shoot to their feet and applaud when she snapped, they way he'd crow for his victory in his head. Women were too easy.
His answer almost made her smile. The boy was foolish or downright idiotic to say he feared nothing. That or he cared for nothing, not even himself. "Is that right? You'll die young, Mr. Black," she told him pleasantly.
He would view it as a victory if she left, so she had to stay. What would make him leave? "No one. I don't have a very good imagination."
At least she knew now that he knew who she was.
Die young? Ira pulled his lip between his teeth to hold back a bark of laughter. That was one thing he doubted; he was a liar, a thief, and above all, a survivalist. So long as there were people to trick, Ira Paranov would stay alive and well.
"That's too bad. Life must be awful boring without an imagination. Or companionship. Or-- what else don't you have?"
Such confidence would only lead to what he obviously wanted to laugh at. It actually made her smile, though it was a brittle smile. What she would give so she could throw him into a cell for a legitimate reason.
The boy was idling off his mark. If he wanted a rise from her, he should have concentrated on her family. "A death wish," she answered easily. "Which is what you have."
Ira's grin broadened, and he gave a genuine bark of laughter and let his chair thunk forward. "Oh-ho! A death wish? How so, m'lady? For talking with the deadly Lady Stark?"
He swiped his tongue across his lips, black eyes twinkling. "Come at me then, m'lady. I ain't afraid."
Her smile was cold. She would come at him, just without violence for now. "No, Mr. Black. It wouldn't have to be me. It could be anyone. I'm not deadly tonight, just suggestive. How does a room made for you and a few other special individuals sound to you for the night?"
Standing up, she went to Ira's side and looked down at him, still smiling. "If you'll try anything, does a door lined with bars appeal to you?" Diana took one step back. "I'll give you a minute to decide."
"As a matter of fact, it doesn't." His smile didn't diminish. In a way, he'd won. He'd gotten her to respond, to get up, to threaten. Ira drummed his fingers against the tabletop, aware of how the dull thunk of his wooden finger made some of the other diners turn and stare. After a moment's visible consideration, Ira tore out the page he'd been writing on in his notebook and carefully tore the bottom away from the rest. This he folded and set upright against the table before he gathered up his things and stood.
"You'll have to... imagine me there. Think of it as practice, yeah?" He tipped an invisible cap to her, bowed deeply, and then sauntered off through the tables towards the door.
When: sometime last week
Where: a tavern
Rating & Warnings: PG? Ira is a troll. Diana is a bitch. Ginga is a nerd.
Tonight, at the tavern, he was a student. It was an easy disguise, an easy cover. If anyone recognized him, it was 'oh! I've just, I've forgotten so much French I thought I'd try reading an old book for practice'. If they didn't, well, he looked every inch the serious young man. He had a pen tucked over one ear that he took and tapped against his lips as he 'read' certain passages. Sometimes he scrawled notes, but these were mostly doodles, or comments on the conversations being carried on around him.
'back left: tailors wife. that LAUGH !'
He underlined 'laugh' several times. Bored and uninterested - everything he overheard amounted to the usual; the marital problems of unimportant people, comments on the food, shouts for more drinks, the sharing of tales of female conquests by drunken young men - Ira looked up and around, lips pursed. When his eyes settled on a woman sitting alone a table away, his eyebrows shot up. Diana Stark. Wasn't that just sad. Did she imagine her dead husband sitting across from her? Cita's balls, Ira thought. If he was that lonely, he wouldn't go out of his way to show it to the world.
'stark,' he wrote down on his notes. 'pa the tic.' He hid a smile and muffled a laugh in his throat. Really, some people!
The year after her husband died, Diana did imagine him sitting across from her the nights she dined alone. That was no longer the case. While she dwelled, she couldn't afford to be unrealistic anymore. Now, she dined alone simply because she wanted to be alone. It wasn't like her sons wouldn't meet her, and Kaplinsky was a nice dinner partner, but these days, she found more and more she needed time to deal with no one.
Her back stiffened when she felt eyes on her. Alert, her eyes swept the tavern for someone looking at her or quickly averting his gaze or just out of the ordinary. There wasn't anyone except for... a student? Not out of the ordinary, per se, but odd to be studying in a tavern. His time would be spent more efficiently someplace quieter and with better lighting.
There was no basis for her suspicion outside of her instincts, but she kept her eyes on the boy. Would he do anything suspicious?
When he looked up again and found himself meeting the very cold, suspicious stare of Diana Stark, Ira had to suppress another giggle. Caught! Only one thing to do, really.
He palmed his book shut and scooped up his things, sidling around tables until he reached Diana's. With a pleasant smile, he set his things down across from her and held out a hand. "Hey there. You all alone, a good looking lady like you?"
Her lips twitched. Was this boy really trying to-- no, he had to have another angle. Either way, she would play along with him for now. She should have been annoyed that he interrupted her alone time, but maybe this could be another way to kill time.
Diana shook his hand firmly. "Good evening. I have a son or two your age," she replied. "Did you want a mother tonight?"
His eyebrows shot up, and Ira grinned. "Haven't been much into that sort of thing myself, but I'll give anything - anyone - a try. Will you spank me if I'm bad?"
He swept the long tails of his jacket back before he sat, then leaned his chin onto one fist and smiled dreamily at the woman across from him. Flirting with Lieutenant Stark. What an evening. "I never knew my mother," he sighed, "So there's something there, too."
"I'm sorry you never knew your mother, but I would sooner throw you into the gaol than spank you. Would you try that?" Her tone wasn't serious, but her eyes were. She would haul him off if he stepped over the line.
Closer, she noticed his wooden finger and nodded at it. "Did you have a small accident as a child?" Did he have a story that would attempt to tug at heartstrings or would he brush it off?
His smile only widened at 'gaol'. "Oh, this?" Ira held up his hand and wagged his wooden finger back and forth. It'd been nice of Cretin to leave enough of his finger that they could attach something to it. It still ached some nights, more when it was cold, but as far as little fingers went it was still mostly usable.
"Accident. My father, he was a woodcutter. Tried to teach me, I wasn't bad at it, but you know how a boy's mind wanders. Looked up at some birds one day when I was chopping and thwack!" He struck the side of his hand against the cover of his book, hard enough to make it jump. A few others in the tavern glanced over, startled by the noise. "Off it came."
Ira slouched back into his seat and smiled lazily at the Lieutenant. "What about you? You ever lost anything?"
Ah, was he not taking her seriously enough or trying to get a rise out of her? Diana nodded and listened to his story with the attentive face she usually reserved to anyone reporting some kind of ridiculous complaint. That he seemed so carefree about it did somewhat earn him a modicum of approval. However, she hardly believed his story and was only amused when he theatrically hit his book.
"What a careless mistake on your part. You should have paid more attention." Those were honest words, though they didn't have much sincerity behind them.
She finished the last of her wine before answering. This boy was quite free with his smiles. "I've sustained quite a few injuries in my life, but nothing lost quite like you. It makes me less of a storyteller, I assume."
"If I had a silver piece every time I thought that to myself, girlie," Ira crooned, "I'd be a rich man." It wasn't the axe he should've watched, but Cretin's eyes. He'd watched them saw his finger off, watched how fingers can get evenly sawed through as easily as a holiday ham.
He tapped his prosthetic against the table, eyebrows lifting lazily at Stark's response. Lost nothing? That's not how he'd heard it. He'd heard she'd lost pretty important things. Babies, husbands... "Didn't mean limbs," he said with a shrug, and leaned back in his chair, letting it creak back on two legs.
Did he really call her girlie? Did he not know who she was? A part of her doubted that. Her smile was thin as she considered just how unprofessional she could be that night. "You can call me Lieutenent Stark or Lady Stark or nothing at all," she told him sweetly and showed teeth.
Diana pressed her lips together, smoothing her expression to neutral. "Either way, I have no exciting tale to tell you. I'm sure if you asked enough people, they'll tell you something different, but you won't hear anything from me." She picked up her fork and idly twirled it in her fingers, slowly but skillfully.
"Oh, yeah. I've heard different." He returned the smile, unperturbed by her coldness. He wondered idly what the others would say when he told them he'd had a candlelight dinner with Lieutenant 'Stoneheart' Stark. I'm sorry ASOIAF nerds I had to. They'd be impressed, maybe.
Ira tipped his chair back further, rocking back and forth on the back legs as he watched her, lips set in a crooked smirk. "So what brings you here alone, m'Lady? Awfully pretty girlie like you, seems you should have a man to look out for you. Or at least, you know..." he trailed off, and shrugged. Ira squinted, nose wrinkling, and then continued, "I mean, isn't it embarrassing for people to see you like this?"
"Whatever you've heard must be exaggerated." If she imagined stabbing him with her fork, would it stop her from doing it? It was glaringly obvious he was trying to get a rise out of her now, but even though she knew, her past would always be a sore spot. All she could was keep her expression neutral and imagine pain.
Diana also had a small hope the boy would tip back in his chair a little too far or the chair legs would falter somehow and give him a little fall or scare. "It might be embarrassing to you, but I'm comfortable with it. Are you afraid of being alone?" She paused before adding, "What's your name?" She should at least have a name to associate with this annoyance.
"Perry," he lied smoothly, tipping an imaginary cap to Diana. "Perry Black. And scared? Scared's got nothing to do with it. 'M not scared of nothing. Just-- You do get what I mean, don't you? Lady eating alone, that either means she's used to not and can't give up the habit, or she's imagining someone sitting there across from her. So which is it?"
The chair creaked as he rocked it again, and Ira's smile grew wider. "Who you picturing sitting here, m'Lady Stark?" This was fun. She wasn't even doing anything. It was like taunting stone. If at first he found it dissatisfying, now it was just a harder game, a bigger challenge. Eventually, he'd make her crack. If only the rest of the tavern would shoot to their feet and applaud when she snapped, they way he'd crow for his victory in his head. Women were too easy.
His answer almost made her smile. The boy was foolish or downright idiotic to say he feared nothing. That or he cared for nothing, not even himself. "Is that right? You'll die young, Mr. Black," she told him pleasantly.
He would view it as a victory if she left, so she had to stay. What would make him leave? "No one. I don't have a very good imagination."
At least she knew now that he knew who she was.
Die young? Ira pulled his lip between his teeth to hold back a bark of laughter. That was one thing he doubted; he was a liar, a thief, and above all, a survivalist. So long as there were people to trick, Ira Paranov would stay alive and well.
"That's too bad. Life must be awful boring without an imagination. Or companionship. Or-- what else don't you have?"
Such confidence would only lead to what he obviously wanted to laugh at. It actually made her smile, though it was a brittle smile. What she would give so she could throw him into a cell for a legitimate reason.
The boy was idling off his mark. If he wanted a rise from her, he should have concentrated on her family. "A death wish," she answered easily. "Which is what you have."
Ira's grin broadened, and he gave a genuine bark of laughter and let his chair thunk forward. "Oh-ho! A death wish? How so, m'lady? For talking with the deadly Lady Stark?"
He swiped his tongue across his lips, black eyes twinkling. "Come at me then, m'lady. I ain't afraid."
Her smile was cold. She would come at him, just without violence for now. "No, Mr. Black. It wouldn't have to be me. It could be anyone. I'm not deadly tonight, just suggestive. How does a room made for you and a few other special individuals sound to you for the night?"
Standing up, she went to Ira's side and looked down at him, still smiling. "If you'll try anything, does a door lined with bars appeal to you?" Diana took one step back. "I'll give you a minute to decide."
"As a matter of fact, it doesn't." His smile didn't diminish. In a way, he'd won. He'd gotten her to respond, to get up, to threaten. Ira drummed his fingers against the tabletop, aware of how the dull thunk of his wooden finger made some of the other diners turn and stare. After a moment's visible consideration, Ira tore out the page he'd been writing on in his notebook and carefully tore the bottom away from the rest. This he folded and set upright against the table before he gathered up his things and stood.
"You'll have to... imagine me there. Think of it as practice, yeah?" He tipped an invisible cap to her, bowed deeply, and then sauntered off through the tables towards the door.