[Wild Roses]
Title: cufflinks
’Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Kickback, Aodh
Prompt: 63C "negotiation"
Word Count: 413
Rating: PG
Notes: same notes as previous. Still after the wars, the viewpoint voice still anchors with larathia
It shouldn't really have come as a surprise that the little bastard had wandered over to his own out-of-the-way table, hands full of the good glass tumblers this place stocked, slid one across the scarred-up wood as he sat down, slinging a leg over the arm of the other chair facing the doors.
Did, though, and he smelled the glass cautiously before taking a sip of his own. Still not the best--the cayenne was too old, the barrel it'd been aged in used for something else beforehand--but more than drinkable. Not the right grade for a bribe or an offering, but decent enough for a conversation.
"'s a gang down Eighteenth tha's getting more aggressive," the stranger said, like he was mentioning it looked like a cloudy afternoon in the making.
"That so," he replied, as unconcernedly, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. Lit one without bothering with the lighter, this time, watching the stranger's slanted eyes crinkle a bit at the corners from beneath the brim of his hat.
The stranger waved the hand that wasn't balancing his glass on his hip, not quite laughing. "Hassled one of the accountants comin' home. Might've known what they were doing, might not--the suit w's old enough he wasn't much impressed. Purple tacks on th' cuffs," he added, setting his glass down on the table to rifle through his pockets.
The edge of the hat hid the involuntary surprised blink, and he took another sip of his whiskey, letting it linger at the top of his throat while he watched the stranger hand-roll a cigarette.
"Got close enough to spot the cufflinks, didn't get involved," he said after swallowing, half a question. He should have heard, if a Stranger'd got involved in a local fight. Unless every witness and participant had died, and if that'd happened, why mention it?
"Not my territory," the stranger replied easily, flicking his tongue along the edge of the cigarette paper to seal it, then lipping it into the corner of his mouth. "N'sense sticking my hand in to get't chopped off, oui?"
He reached forward, palm cupped to cradle a lighter-size flame, and the stranger pulled his leg back to the floor to lean in, hold the tip of the cigarette against the heat, eyes half-closing.
Leaning back again, exhaling a slow stream of blue-tinted smoke as he hooked his leg again, "Merci, 'sieur," then paused. Shook his head, laughing at himself, "Thank you."
"No problem."
’Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Kickback, Aodh
Prompt: 63C "negotiation"
Word Count: 413
Rating: PG
Notes: same notes as previous. Still after the wars, the viewpoint voice still anchors with larathia
It shouldn't really have come as a surprise that the little bastard had wandered over to his own out-of-the-way table, hands full of the good glass tumblers this place stocked, slid one across the scarred-up wood as he sat down, slinging a leg over the arm of the other chair facing the doors.
Did, though, and he smelled the glass cautiously before taking a sip of his own. Still not the best--the cayenne was too old, the barrel it'd been aged in used for something else beforehand--but more than drinkable. Not the right grade for a bribe or an offering, but decent enough for a conversation.
"'s a gang down Eighteenth tha's getting more aggressive," the stranger said, like he was mentioning it looked like a cloudy afternoon in the making.
"That so," he replied, as unconcernedly, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. Lit one without bothering with the lighter, this time, watching the stranger's slanted eyes crinkle a bit at the corners from beneath the brim of his hat.
The stranger waved the hand that wasn't balancing his glass on his hip, not quite laughing. "Hassled one of the accountants comin' home. Might've known what they were doing, might not--the suit w's old enough he wasn't much impressed. Purple tacks on th' cuffs," he added, setting his glass down on the table to rifle through his pockets.
The edge of the hat hid the involuntary surprised blink, and he took another sip of his whiskey, letting it linger at the top of his throat while he watched the stranger hand-roll a cigarette.
"Got close enough to spot the cufflinks, didn't get involved," he said after swallowing, half a question. He should have heard, if a Stranger'd got involved in a local fight. Unless every witness and participant had died, and if that'd happened, why mention it?
"Not my territory," the stranger replied easily, flicking his tongue along the edge of the cigarette paper to seal it, then lipping it into the corner of his mouth. "N'sense sticking my hand in to get't chopped off, oui?"
He reached forward, palm cupped to cradle a lighter-size flame, and the stranger pulled his leg back to the floor to lean in, hold the tip of the cigarette against the heat, eyes half-closing.
Leaning back again, exhaling a slow stream of blue-tinted smoke as he hooked his leg again, "Merci, 'sieur," then paused. Shook his head, laughing at himself, "Thank you."
"No problem."