strawberry and flavour of the day with caramel and fresh peaches
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Three Birds
Rating: G
Challenge: Strawberry #24: ink, FOTD: autoschediastical
Toppings/Extras: caramel, fresh peaches
Wordcount: 564
Summary: Robyn Walshe encounters Jimmy Breen for the first time.
Notes: More from The Moonquartz Mystery. Introducing Jimmy Breen, who begins as a bad-guy. Autoschidiastical: something improvised or extemporised. As the kings of extemporisation, this is a very Jimmy-and-Cairo flavour of the day. Fresh peaches: The Moon in Aries forms an opposition to Saturn today, making it seem hard to move forwards with your plans.
“Uh-oh. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a couple of slackers...” a sing-song voice rang across the chapel. Robyn Walshe and Cairo Sparks turned to stare as a lone figure wound his way between the seats and walked towards the raised platform they were stood on. His patent-leather shoes clipped smartly against the floor.
Having seen quite a few of the notorious criminal family by now, Robyn could easily recognise the man as a Breen. He had the same lightish hair that wavered like straw from the top of his head and a sparse few freckles dotted over his face. The man approaching them now also had a childlike and honest face, with gleaming and innocent eyes. His hair looked a little too light to be natural but too dark to be worth dyeing that colour.
A picture of innocence.
“Jimmy,” Cairo hissed.
Jimmy the Fiddler, Robyn remembered. One of the most successful and infamous conmen in the solar system.
“Now, what’re you two doing hanging around in here, then?” Jimmy asked, tilting his head with an indulgent, compassionate smile and leaning his arms on the stage. He had the black silhouettes of three birds tattooed flying up his right forearm, slightly cloudy behind a faint thatching of whitish hair.
“She’s new,” Cairo said. “I wanted to show her the chapel. Is that alright?”
Robyn was impressed with his skill. But they say that liars are the best of all at spotting fellows of their kind, and Jimmy did not seem one bit fooled, even though he nodded slowly like a benevolent mentor trying to seem understanding.
“I see,” he said. His Irish accent seemed different from the others somehow, seashell soft and reassuring. It was the sort of voice that could be put to good use reading bedtime stories and singing melodious tunes about running brooks and bandy trees in some pastoral vale. “Very kind of you. Cairo, right? I’d recognise that smell anywhere.”
And then he grinned slowly.
Robyn heard Cairo swallow. It seemed that Jimmy was very good with names.
“And you are?” he asked, turning his attention to her. His eyes were a deliciously gentle grey-green, calm and temperate as a pair of eyes could be.
Her real name was already rolling to her lips before she realised. She caught it just in time.
“Phoebe,” she said.
“Suits you,” Jimmy said. She had no idea whether he was telling her that he saw straight through her or if he was being genuine: his face was utterly deadpan. All she could do was watch as the conman put his arms onto the stage and heaved himself up, muscles making the little birds inked onto his arm flex. In one almost inhumanly elegant movement, he brought himself to his feet. “I believe there was an Amazon called Phoebe. Fits in with your physique very much.”
It was not the first time that Robyn had been called an Amazon, and she was rather certain that it wouldn’t be the last. She ignored his smirk.
“Thanks, I guess,” she replied flatly.
“There was another Phoebe,” Jimmy said, ponderously tapping his chin. There was a gleam in his eye: Robyn could tell that he was enjoying this. “One of the Titans. Traditionally associated with the moon, I believe...”
Shit. He knows.
He was still smiling at her.
“I think you’d better come with me. Don’t you?”
Title: Three Birds
Rating: G
Challenge: Strawberry #24: ink, FOTD: autoschediastical
Toppings/Extras: caramel, fresh peaches
Wordcount: 564
Summary: Robyn Walshe encounters Jimmy Breen for the first time.
Notes: More from The Moonquartz Mystery. Introducing Jimmy Breen, who begins as a bad-guy. Autoschidiastical: something improvised or extemporised. As the kings of extemporisation, this is a very Jimmy-and-Cairo flavour of the day. Fresh peaches: The Moon in Aries forms an opposition to Saturn today, making it seem hard to move forwards with your plans.
“Uh-oh. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a couple of slackers...” a sing-song voice rang across the chapel. Robyn Walshe and Cairo Sparks turned to stare as a lone figure wound his way between the seats and walked towards the raised platform they were stood on. His patent-leather shoes clipped smartly against the floor.
Having seen quite a few of the notorious criminal family by now, Robyn could easily recognise the man as a Breen. He had the same lightish hair that wavered like straw from the top of his head and a sparse few freckles dotted over his face. The man approaching them now also had a childlike and honest face, with gleaming and innocent eyes. His hair looked a little too light to be natural but too dark to be worth dyeing that colour.
A picture of innocence.
“Jimmy,” Cairo hissed.
Jimmy the Fiddler, Robyn remembered. One of the most successful and infamous conmen in the solar system.
“Now, what’re you two doing hanging around in here, then?” Jimmy asked, tilting his head with an indulgent, compassionate smile and leaning his arms on the stage. He had the black silhouettes of three birds tattooed flying up his right forearm, slightly cloudy behind a faint thatching of whitish hair.
“She’s new,” Cairo said. “I wanted to show her the chapel. Is that alright?”
Robyn was impressed with his skill. But they say that liars are the best of all at spotting fellows of their kind, and Jimmy did not seem one bit fooled, even though he nodded slowly like a benevolent mentor trying to seem understanding.
“I see,” he said. His Irish accent seemed different from the others somehow, seashell soft and reassuring. It was the sort of voice that could be put to good use reading bedtime stories and singing melodious tunes about running brooks and bandy trees in some pastoral vale. “Very kind of you. Cairo, right? I’d recognise that smell anywhere.”
And then he grinned slowly.
Robyn heard Cairo swallow. It seemed that Jimmy was very good with names.
“And you are?” he asked, turning his attention to her. His eyes were a deliciously gentle grey-green, calm and temperate as a pair of eyes could be.
Her real name was already rolling to her lips before she realised. She caught it just in time.
“Phoebe,” she said.
“Suits you,” Jimmy said. She had no idea whether he was telling her that he saw straight through her or if he was being genuine: his face was utterly deadpan. All she could do was watch as the conman put his arms onto the stage and heaved himself up, muscles making the little birds inked onto his arm flex. In one almost inhumanly elegant movement, he brought himself to his feet. “I believe there was an Amazon called Phoebe. Fits in with your physique very much.”
It was not the first time that Robyn had been called an Amazon, and she was rather certain that it wouldn’t be the last. She ignored his smirk.
“Thanks, I guess,” she replied flatly.
“There was another Phoebe,” Jimmy said, ponderously tapping his chin. There was a gleam in his eye: Robyn could tell that he was enjoying this. “One of the Titans. Traditionally associated with the moon, I believe...”
Shit. He knows.
He was still smiling at her.
“I think you’d better come with me. Don’t you?”