(Untitled)

[pointed_spoon]

"mutter mutterconspiraciesmutter muttersteal the clothes off an old mans backmutter muttercapitalists"

And then there's the clink of gold deposited on a smooth surface.

And then there's just Dworkin.

Comments

[song_tra_bong]

And there's Mary Anne a few barstools down.

She's nursing a glass of sangria, still puzzling over who paid off her tab and fairly oblivious to Dworkin's presence.

Though her shoulder itches.

[pointed_spoon]

Which means, of course, it gets a sharp jab from a bony finger as he's quite immediately behind her.

"Scratch any itches recently?"

[song_tra_bong]

She jumps a little in her seat, but manages not to spill her wine.

"Not recently, no."

[pointed_spoon]

"Good."

He settles onto the stool next to her, taking a sip from his own goblet.

"One would hate to think of bending the laws of this fine establishment."

[song_tra_bong]

"What about breaking them?" she muses.

[pointed_spoon]

broken

"Consider it a clean cut. An amputation. No limbs left to become gangrenous and fester and rot your body away."

[song_tra_bong]

She suspects they aren't talking about rules anymore.

"Even amputations get infected."

She knows; she saw enough of them.

[pointed_spoon]

"Not if you burn them."

He does too. He's caused enough of them.

[song_tra_bong]

She takes a deep breath, albeit a slightly ragged one. She has bad memories of burning flesh, ones older and closer to home than what Arithon showed her.

A sip of wine (to help forget).

"True enough."

[pointed_spoon]

"The smell gets to you, mind."

He continues to speak, apparently oblivious to discomfort.

[song_tra_bong]

Apparent and actual are often very far apart.

She snorts into her glass.

"Not if you pass out first."

[pointed_spoon]

"That wouldn't do at all."

He presses the back of his hand to her forehead, courteously checking her temperature.

"Fainting fits. Tch."

[song_tra_bong]

"Haven't had one in years," she assures.

"Thanks for your concern, though."

[pointed_spoon]

"One does what one must."

He sips his wine, and for a brief and horrible and lovely instant, you can see that he and Julian have the same eyes.

Funny old world.

[song_tra_bong]

She sees very well. Her breath doesn't quite catch, but she commits the image to memory.

"Still, thanks all the same."

Funny old world indeed.

[pointed_spoon]

He doesn't answer.

Just stares at her with Julian's eyes.