flavour of the day with butter pecan and sprinkles
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Informer
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: jobbery, Butter Pecan #19: cold
Toppings/Extras: sprinkles
Wordcount: 490
Summary: For Violet Cotton it’s business not-quite-as-usual.
Notes: Went in a bit of a weird direction, but I’ve been meaning to show Isaac’s not-lovesick-idiot stage for a while! Jobbery: The conduct of public or official business for the sake of improper private gain.
The night was painfully, mercilessly cold. Violet Cotton was glad for any excuse to be allowed away from the finger-numbing streets just for a while, but this one was especially welcome. The prostitute glanced across the cramped private room of the inn towards the tall, faintly intimidating man standing stoically on the other side.
“You’re sure it was him?” he asked, dark eyes pushing everything out like mirrors. Violet bit her lip, embarrassed, and nodded.
She didn’t know who he worked for but she felt like less of a snout when she was giving him information-she dimly recalled him from their youth, though she had never had much to do with him and scarcely recognised the gentlemanly fellow in front of her now. One thing she didn’t remember was how distant he was-in fact, hadn’t he always been the softer, more emotional one out of him and his hellraiser friend?
“Yes,” she muttered, a little embarrassed to be giving information about someone she had slept with for money. Certainly, it was her profession, but she didn’t like admitting it to the calm, mannerly person before her. “He’s stayin’ at the ‘Awk’s Feather Tavern in Southwark.”
“Thank you,” he said, and with a leather-gloved hand placed a small satchel of money onto a sideboard instead of into her hands. Violet appreciated the gesture-it made her feel less involved in whatever the dirty dealing was.
Tucking a strand of her fine, limp hair behind one ear, Violet found herself blurting as he replaced his hat on his head-
“Isaac… would you like to stay a while?”
Almost instantly she wished she could snatch the words back, blushing furiously as Isaac Prowse blinked at her, faintly surprised but nothing else, seeming too preoccupied to even have taken in her words.
“It just looks… like it might snow, that’s all,” she added lamely.
“I have a lot of business to attend to,” he said, voice stony but polite-before heading for the door. “Good night, Miss Cotton.”
Instant dismissal, and so annoyingly polite too.
Violet wished he didn’t speak like that because she didn’t think it was right. She could damn well hear his brawling north-London accent hiding beneath every word; not quite shaping the vowels in the same airy way as the upper class, not quite pinning every ‘H’. The finery he wore was understated and plain yet at the same time so much more impressive than her whore’s attire-cheap, scratchy lace with colours far too garishly bright.
“Good night,” she replied as the door closed gently.
The money she received for the information she gave him on various men of the Thames was a lot more than she would have done for the same amount of time with her usual clients but she didn’t have time to waste. Picking up the money, she hovered until she was sure Prowse was gone and then left the private room too.
Title: Informer
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: jobbery, Butter Pecan #19: cold
Toppings/Extras: sprinkles
Wordcount: 490
Summary: For Violet Cotton it’s business not-quite-as-usual.
Notes: Went in a bit of a weird direction, but I’ve been meaning to show Isaac’s not-lovesick-idiot stage for a while! Jobbery: The conduct of public or official business for the sake of improper private gain.
The night was painfully, mercilessly cold. Violet Cotton was glad for any excuse to be allowed away from the finger-numbing streets just for a while, but this one was especially welcome. The prostitute glanced across the cramped private room of the inn towards the tall, faintly intimidating man standing stoically on the other side.
“You’re sure it was him?” he asked, dark eyes pushing everything out like mirrors. Violet bit her lip, embarrassed, and nodded.
She didn’t know who he worked for but she felt like less of a snout when she was giving him information-she dimly recalled him from their youth, though she had never had much to do with him and scarcely recognised the gentlemanly fellow in front of her now. One thing she didn’t remember was how distant he was-in fact, hadn’t he always been the softer, more emotional one out of him and his hellraiser friend?
“Yes,” she muttered, a little embarrassed to be giving information about someone she had slept with for money. Certainly, it was her profession, but she didn’t like admitting it to the calm, mannerly person before her. “He’s stayin’ at the ‘Awk’s Feather Tavern in Southwark.”
“Thank you,” he said, and with a leather-gloved hand placed a small satchel of money onto a sideboard instead of into her hands. Violet appreciated the gesture-it made her feel less involved in whatever the dirty dealing was.
Tucking a strand of her fine, limp hair behind one ear, Violet found herself blurting as he replaced his hat on his head-
“Isaac… would you like to stay a while?”
Almost instantly she wished she could snatch the words back, blushing furiously as Isaac Prowse blinked at her, faintly surprised but nothing else, seeming too preoccupied to even have taken in her words.
“It just looks… like it might snow, that’s all,” she added lamely.
“I have a lot of business to attend to,” he said, voice stony but polite-before heading for the door. “Good night, Miss Cotton.”
Instant dismissal, and so annoyingly polite too.
Violet wished he didn’t speak like that because she didn’t think it was right. She could damn well hear his brawling north-London accent hiding beneath every word; not quite shaping the vowels in the same airy way as the upper class, not quite pinning every ‘H’. The finery he wore was understated and plain yet at the same time so much more impressive than her whore’s attire-cheap, scratchy lace with colours far too garishly bright.
“Good night,” she replied as the door closed gently.
The money she received for the information she gave him on various men of the Thames was a lot more than she would have done for the same amount of time with her usual clients but she didn’t have time to waste. Picking up the money, she hovered until she was sure Prowse was gone and then left the private room too.