"Sit down--let me unlace your boots." She makes it sound like an invitation, rather than an order. That's one of her skills, making her 'guests' feel as though they're the ones in control of her. But damned if she doesn't top from the bottom.
River takes a seat and proffers a muddy boot, leaning back onto the bed on her palms. "I don't know what to make of you," she muses out loud. Most of the whores River had encountered were tremendously dull creatures, with tired eyes and greedy hands, not like the cunning woman in front of her. Not many people brandished candle-holders quite as long as she had. "Tell me, how does a young Irish woman end up in this part of London?" And in this trade to boot.
"That's not a question I answer, ma'am." She carefully unlaces the boot and gently cleaves it from River's foot. "My reasons don't matter. Only your satisfaction."
And then she grabs the other boot, repeating the process. Though this time, once the foot is freed, she removes the stocking as well and begins to rub the top of it with her thumbs rolling in gentle circles.
River hadn't expected a real answer, but sometimes the non-answers were just as fascinating. 'My reasons', the woman had said. So something personal, perhaps, she'd made a conscious choice in her life, River speculates. Either way.
River watches her a moment before withdrawing her foot from Abigail's hands. "No need for that."
She stands, taking that as something of a dismissal. "What do you need, then?" Her eyes are liquid and gentle in the candlelight as she stops looking at River as an annoyance.
River smiles amiably. She likes to be an annoyance, it amuses her. She pulls her other stalking off, adjusts her shift about her, and lays back on the bad, crossing legs at the ankle.
"There's a type of moth in the city--most of them are white, but some are born black. The white ones are dying out because the birds can spot them against the sooty buildings and trees here in the city. Soon, I think it'll be a species known for being black, with the occasional white one."
She's not sure if that's the type of interesting River means, but it's pillow talk a scientist had once shared with her. Nothing like engaging the mind once one's done engaging the body.
"That's fascinating." River actually means it, propping her head on her elbow and mulling that one over. First and foremost, it was fascinating to her that this is what the other woman had decided was interesting to share. Science. Odd. And then the moths themselves-very fascinating. "I hadn't ever thought of that... What's your name, dear?"
Normally, she told her guests to call her whatever they wanted to. Most of them had no trouble with it, giving her a fantasy name or the name of the girl they pretended she was. This time, though...
"Abigail." Her voice is low, as though she's sharing a secret. She sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at River with a warm smile.
"Hello, Abigail," River rolls the name out, appreciating it and committing it to memory, so when she rethinks about the night she spent hidden away in a whorehouse somewhere in London, her unlikely hero would have a name.
"River," she offers without prompting, forgoing her usual fakes as well.
"River. That's a beautiful name. I could find some joke to make about men wanting to dam and tame you." But she's rather pluck at a curl, tucking it back out of River's face. Do pardon her for leaving the thought unfinished.
"Rivers wear down even the hardest stone over time." She chuckles, laying down beside River, on her back to face up toward her now. "And turn all the roughest edges smooth."
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And then she grabs the other boot, repeating the process. Though this time, once the foot is freed, she removes the stocking as well and begins to rub the top of it with her thumbs rolling in gentle circles.
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River watches her a moment before withdrawing her foot from Abigail's hands. "No need for that."
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"Tell me something interesting."
Brown eyes fixed on blues, challenging.
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She's not sure if that's the type of interesting River means, but it's pillow talk a scientist had once shared with her. Nothing like engaging the mind once one's done engaging the body.
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"Abigail." Her voice is low, as though she's sharing a secret. She sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at River with a warm smile.
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"River," she offers without prompting, forgoing her usual fakes as well.
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"I think you just made it," River muses. "Although this River has a proclivity for... breaking dams."
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