Is there a debt here?

Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Fri Jun 07, 2013 9:15 am

Long and exhausting. This day had been those things, a number of days before this had been those things. Probably many days coming would be the same.
For now Clayton was waiting.. he had been waiting, but he was enjoying it because there was nothing going on around him for a change. There was brandy and bread and parchment on the table in front of him.. but his eyes were on a smaller square of paper in his hands, in his lap. And he stares at it for a long time before he simply marks an X on the small 3x3 grid, folds it up and tucks it back in to his pocket.

Clearly the person he was looking for is not coming.. or she is in the kitchen and he wouldn't set foot in there. His brandy is finished the bread pushed away before Clayton gets to his feet and moves to pay his tab.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Sun Jun 09, 2013 2:49 am

She knew him.

She knew him because there had once been a party. She knew because she had once masqueraded as an older girl, with chin held high and hoisting her skirts just like that, thinking rhetoric gave her some air of propriety, might hide the murky stains of sweat from the armpits of her dress or the streaks of dirt from her bonnet. But a low-streets girl was always a low-streets girl, whether in Jernoah, where the sandstone buildings and glass shingles seemed to shine like brilliant jewels, or in Myrken Wood, where the mud squelched beneath the hell and a skirt could never go without its filth-browned hem.

Yet, while a potion's silver tongue might eventually fade, magic left its mark, an oft-indelible blemish that did not adhere to natural laws of time or energy. And when the seamstress, dipping bread into stock and turning chin away from her book, saw Clayton, her heart started to stumble toward excitement in her chest.

Months ago, Berdini the Councilor had given her another glass after hers had fallen; she'd been such a clumsy girl, but there'd been another stem for her, its liquid sharper, sweeter. And Clayton, she had suddenly thought him so dashing, so interesting...

"What are you writing," she said as he paid his tab. "What are you putting on that paper?"

A curious, girlish smile she tried to hide in her mug of broth. An initiation of conversation.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Sun Jun 09, 2013 10:44 am

He leaned on the bar. Clayton liked to lean, but he didn't do it.. not very often because slouching would tend to give people the wrong impression, but right now he leans.. both elbows perched in the edge of the bar and his face sinks into his palms, after a moment both hands scrubbing through his hair while he waited for the coin to be taken.
It takes a moment for him to realize that he is the one being spoken to, both eyes squinting in Gloria's direction and there is a long moment where he stares at her.
That ball... it had been a long and very interesting night with drinks and dresses and yelling. But fun. Who would have thought something so neat could be done in Myrken.. a whole night with a party and no one, that he knew of, had been stabbed or decapitated or gutted.
"Gloria, isn't it?" He almost felt bad for not being positive.. not being sure that he was right. and if he could, he would feel bad if he was wrong. "That depends on which paper you're asking about." Clayton's gaze slides to his table for a quick second while he talks, but then back to the seamstress.
"Those over there are some plans for repairs I'm doing for someone. The other.." he pats his pocket, "Is just a game." He shrugs. "No words. What are you reading?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Mon Jun 10, 2013 5:32 am

"Gloria," she confirmed, "it is."

He had a hum to him, a warm energy that seemed to echo more between her ears than it ever emanated from him -- but regardless, the girl had a teetering smile, mischievous in its breadth. He recognized her. When he asked her what she was reading, she pushed aside her plate and turned the book on its end, standing it as if it were a soldier so that he might read its title: How to Ensconce and Enchant With Words: The Guidebook for Being a Confidence Man.

"My instructor believes it is a book by a hack. A novelty. That there are as many cons within its words as it tries to teach." She finally flattened the book on the table and covered it with her hands, the gloved one drumming its fingers across the leather-bound bookface. "But that is enough reason alone to read it, to know if it has any merit at all -- and to discredit it only after I've the proper means to criticize it."

It was good to see him; it was fine to see him, and though she'd never been impressed with much of an interest in him before, she was suddenly hinged on his words, sliding closer, dragging her book with her.

The residue of the potion still clung to her veins, attaching her eyes to him -- Do you see how pretty his hair is, she wanted to blurt out. It might not be a happy death to drown, but I could -- I could drown in the black centers of his eyes...

"A game," she said, "should not be played by oneself when there are others around to share in the joy. But you--" a bare finger on her other hand waved like a baton. A lesson in observation. "You lean against this bar as if it is holding you upright. You put your face in your hands. Those are the staples of drunkards, Messa, but you do not have the red cheeks or the wet eyes of a drunk man.

"Sadness, then," the seamstress ventured. She was beside him, curious, examining. "Are -- are you sad?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Mon Jun 10, 2013 2:21 pm

There is a short nod.. one corner of his mouth tugging up in a grin. "Gloria.." He repeats, the tip of his thumb dragging gently over his lower lip. The man pauses, then.. his only movement is his eyes blinking as he stares at the title of the book for a long few seconds before he bursts in to laughter.. one hand thumping palm down on the bar top. His head droops forward.. irony ringing in his ears.
"All confidence men are hacks. Jokes. ..-Cons-." Still smirking, he looks at her.. brows flared a bit. What should he do? Should he toy with her.. like he toys with everyone? With words or with -sipping-. ..No. He can't. She's too young, and Clayton might be an ass but he is not cruel (all the time.)
"But you should let me know how that turns out for you, this learning. Let me know if I have to keep my eyes open for you to keep you from stealing my business.." She would probably have not a clue what he is talking about. He didn't care, though.. he rarely made sense to people. It made his life easier.
She comes closer and he turns, lifting one leg to slide in to a seat but sitting sideways, to face her.

Then a shrug, "Had I realized you were there Miss Gloria, I would have certainly had you over for a round. You may have given her a run for her money better than---" But he stops.. because she accuses him of being sad.
"Old habits, Seya. Just like I drum my fingernails when I'm cold. I lick my lips when I'm curious. I rub my face and hang my head when I pay a tab.. a reminder that I drink too damned much." His head tilts.. he peers at her with squinted eyes. Why is such a plain young girl holding his attention?

"To answer you.. no. I have not been sad in many.. many years. And what about you? Do you hide behind your mug when you smile because you are, in fact, shy? Or is it something you've become used to for whatever other reason?"
And he is not a liar. As his last word leaves his mouth, so does his tongue to wet his lips.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Mon Jun 10, 2013 3:26 pm

"Learning always turns out well," she clarified, "and I highly suggest you keeping your peepers open and, as they say, a nose to the grindstone, because I am altogether too clever, altogether too smart for an average street-brain. You will not see me coming; I will sweep all of your so-called business right out from beneath you." There was the smile again, a flash of it, both playfully challenging and timid, its edges visible from around her tin mug.

No, she hadn't a sense of what he was speaking about, but he must have business -- it was how a man could afford ale, after all. She felt magnetized, as if every word he spoke was a hook in the collar of her dress, drawing her nearer despite her dragging heels.

"It is like an old habit," said the girl from behind her mug, tilting an eyebrow as she slanted the cup out of the way, letting its bottom fall against the bar. "Shy? Perhaps. Perhaps embarrassed -- and perhaps," she added, as she turned and leaned against the counter, "I do not wish to knock unsuspecting men over with my beauty."

But no, no, the girl was not so daft to be unaware of her limitations. Her teeth were like little bleached stones, as ragged as the rest of her. The mug often hid the gap where one tooth was missing from the bottom row--

"A run for whose money?" the seamstress inquired, scarcely missing a shard of his conversation -- she never seemed to look away from him, often leaning closer, closer still. "What -- what does that even mean."

She nudged away the book and the mug both.

All confidence men are hacks. And so were the women.

"Retract your earlier face-rubbing and head-hanging. I believe I might have enough time for a round. Or would you tell me that interrupting my studies to speak to you was all worth naught?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Tue Jun 11, 2013 12:05 am

"Even if you are learning a dangerous thing the wrong way?" He grins, looking at her through his eyelashes, head tilted down still or again. There would be no way for him to know what it is the book said, but he was willing to bet he knew a better way to be a -Confidence Man-. Willing to bet he could do better than anyone who read the words of what was probably, like her instructor said, a total hack.
Peepers, she says, and Clayton laughs again. A reminder that she is just a girl, even if some of society would say differently.
"Will you now?" He feigns shock, a hand covering his heart and eyes close as she shakes his head for a moment. "My heart will just crack right in two!" He breathes the words dramatically then one eye pops open to look at her, and he chuckles.
One of his arms slips over the back of his chair.. leaning back now instead of on to the bar.

"What would you be embarrassed for? Or shy about?" He skips right over what he assumed was a joke about her appearance. He wasn't here to poke at her, even if she was picking on herself a bit. That was not his.. M.O. But the game. Whose money, she asks. And for clarification on an expression he'd heard many times before but.. not once in Myrken. And again, he grins.. a hand slipping in to his pocket to pull out the battered and worn paper.. unfolding it slowly like it might shatter or fall apart under his touch. The first question remains unanswered, for now, however, "It means.. uhm.." He pauses, blinking down at the parchment. "To challenge. To push back against, I suppose." There is a sidelong look for Gloria, one corner of his mouth still perked up, a reminder to not scowl more than anything. "Roughly." He shrugs a little, flattening the paper against the bar between them. "And retracted, per your demands..
Clayton clears his throat, "Time spent with me is never a waste, Menna Gloria. Have you seen this game before?" On the paper.. tic tac toe. Whoever is X is losing.. taking up space in the grids at the bottom left corner and the middle of the top row.. the Os taking their places in the far right and middle boxes of the grid.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Tue Jun 11, 2013 1:54 am

"Bones and Stones," she said, looking upon the page with interest. Yes, she knew the game, if by a different name, and from a land with wholly different means. "The first to order their bones -- or their stones -- in an uninterrupted lateral, vertical, or slanted row wins. Usually two arkhat to four being the prize.

"I bet you I can best you," said the seamstress, taking up charcoal, turning over her tome, and scraping a cross-hatch on the leather along with her first play.

X|_|_
_|_|_
_|_|_


She turned the blunt edge of the charcoal pencil toward him. His turn. "I've everything to be embarrassed or shy about; I am no fine catch, ser, scarcely equivalent to a farmer's last resort, if you understand my meaning. No prince will have the strength to sweep me from my feet, and I would be quicker to bloody a man's nose than -- than show him what is under my clothes."

Those were not common words; they were immodest, lubricated by the dormant potion still wickering in her veins. Her pupils were wide, dilated, curious. The girl was left wondering how many hours she had been fawning over him, imagining all the words she'd written in delicate and conflicted letters to express her overwhelming adoration for him -- had he ever read them, he must have, else he would not have called her Menna, spoken to her with old Jernoan-tongue, or maybe he burned the letters, maybe he hid them away, stored them in an old cobbler's box for a day of rain and contemplation and...

But she had never written letters; she had never written him any, did not even know his name. Yet, she felt she had--

"Order me an ale," she ventured, leaning her elbows on the bar, the torn fabric of her sleeves letting her elbows squeak against the lacquer. "If you believe you drink too much, then I will -- I will have your share.

"And then you can tell me how exactly you think I am leaning things the wrong way, and why you are a man who can tell me exactly that."
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Tue Jun 11, 2013 3:19 am

-I'm simply terrible at this game.-
Those are the words that would normally have come out of his mouth. But this girl, Gloria.. he is compelled to leave her with some kind of boost. Even if it is something so simple as being the Bones and Stones champion of the day.
"I happen to be almost a master at this game, I'll have you know. Only one has ever beat me.." He nods, tapping a fingertip to his temple a couple times before he takes the charcoal from her, listening as he draws his -stone- on the grid..

X|_|_
_|_|_
_|O|_


..Her words leave him shaking his head a bit, holding the charcoal back out to her. He could fix that. Fix all of that. Give her confidence, give her pride instead of her strength or right along with it like he had done for so many before.
She could leave his side thinking of herself as royalty.. not as someone or something one level higher than a sheep. Give her what she would need to know it would take a strong someone to sweep her from her feet because she was worth it. Worth the lands and the gold and the love. With no need to think about things like bloodying noses or reading books about.. jobs.

But it wouldn't happen like that. "Everything? I refuse to believe it. Not catching the eye of a sack of testosterone with a sword or a crown should not leave you feeling anything less than mighty. You know yourself.. you should flaunt that fact with pride. How many others do you now that are so willing so admit what they think are their short comings?"

There is a one-shouldered shrug as his eyes travel from the seamstress to the bartender and he nods, "An ale for her.. and a brandy, please."
Payment is dropped to the bar and he stares at the coins as he speaks again, "People who drink too much don't tend to stop once a partner presents themselves, after all." And Clayton sniffles a bit, the pad of this thumb flicking at the tip of his nose.. his throat is cleared, and once again he is looking at her with his head tilted to the side.

"Learning how to truly manipulate someone is not a skill you'll learn from a book like you can with sewing or mathematics. Anyone can swindle, sure. Just like anyone can be duped.. and exploited because people, in general, are very stupid and willing to be used. But not everyone can be a cozener that can take something that is such a part of someone, inside," Like they're confidence, ".. and turn it against them. And use it to win." The words roll out of his mouth like he is talking about how many hands tall his horses are, and then, dramatically even though he's not trying to be.. he looks around a bit, voice dropping to a whisper. "And I can tell you exactly that.. because I am very.. very good at what I do." He smiles. He doesn't grin or smirk or chuckle. Just smiles at her, one of his feet bouncing on the rung of the barstool, and arm moving over the back of his chair to hang.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Tue Jun 11, 2013 5:20 am

Her fingers were thick from yellow calluses and her knuckles stained with coal and ink. She accepted back the charcoal, tapped its edge against her lip, and then made a definitive mark, a challenging move, bones encroaching upon stones with the deliberate tease of a stalking beast.

X|_|_
_|X|_
_|O|_


"I suppose your streak is about to end, Messa," the girl said, taking up the ordered ale before rubbing a fingertip on the inside scoop of her ear, and then thrusting the edge of that digit down into the foam -- an ineffective trick to softening the head on the ale, meant to rid the amber from its foam. She sipped, then thrust the mug at him as if she were presenting a challenge.

"I am prideful when I must be. Scarcely a soul alive could say he or she was better with a needle than I; I even saved a Councilman's life." The words were so easy to say, erupting out of her with unusual confidence, but she'd not enough ale to yet be bloated with mead-strength. "I could -- could clobber most men in a contest of muscles. One does not survive in Jernoah by mere subsistence. There is -- is a saying: One will inevitably be cut by the sand, until he learns to cut back. I -- I may not have pretty teeth, or good milk-breasts, but I've hard knuckles. A willingness to scrap."

She did not smile behind her mug of ale or its glass-bottomed base -- no, she set it down with a clap against the bar, and grinned fully at him only after.

The girl felt intoxicated already, lighter on her feet, her eyes occasionally tilting toward his hair, his hands, and lingering perhaps for longer than even she might have thought proper.

"What is it you do," she asked, mounting an elbow on the bar and resting her chin within her hand. Interest was written on her face as if scrawled there by the charcoal itself; she was enamored of him, emboldened by him, and instead of taking her seat, she was near -- closer than she should have been, than any girl should have allowed herself to be. With her broader motions, the dusky skirts whipped across the tips of his boots. "Are you a man of words? A confidence man?"

The charcoal was offered.

"Are you any different than others, ser? Or are you too, as you say, very stupid and willing to be used," before she smacked her lips at the drink's bitter aftertaste. "Ale tastes better when someone else pays for it. And it is your turn, Messa--"

A tilt of her head, asking his name. Engaged. Profoundly intrigued.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Tue Jun 11, 2013 1:14 pm

Eyes focus on the grid, the stones and the bones, while Gloria makes her mark and his head bobs in a short nod.

"Just make a promise to me that you will not tell the whole town when you obliterate me. I have a reputation to uphold." If he wore a tie he would have straightened it then.. but no. Instead his shirt is simple with a very floppy collar, the first couple of buttons left undone and the fabric hangs loosely over his shoulders. Comfort is more a priority for him.. in Myrken, at least.

His glass is taken in his hand, held loose in his fingers as he swirls the brandy around.. watching it threaten to spill over the edges of the cup. As it turns out, the glass is held too loosely and more than once as he swishes his drink, the bottom of the glass hits the counter.

He turns to her again, listening, eyes narrowed a bit. He knew she wasn't empty of the only emotion he really promoted, the fact that she was able to say it without a stumble clued him in more to things like that pride that he refused to search for inside of her. And he nods.
"Having a Councilman in your debt must be a nice thing to have in your pocket. A security to add to your list of muscles and fists." Again his head tilts to the side. And he smiles back at her.
"I had an older sister, once. You remind me of her. She used to pummel me, no matter how hard I tried to beat her. Arm wrestling, Rocks Cloaks and Daggers, archery.. everything." He mimics her action.. resting an elbow on the bar top.. hand running through his hair to muss it up a bit before his cheeks comes to rest in his palm and he is so unaffected by her closeness. He may have even leaned in a little more towards her.

Before he answers, the charcoal is taken in his free hand and twirled between his fingers, "In a way, yes, you could call me either of those things." A man of words. A confidence man. He preferred his real name, though, as a job title.
"It is my job to.." he pauses for a moment, how best to say it without saying it. "..to let people know and understand their worth and to help them use it. I guess you could call me a professional flatterer. Or a coach." For life. Then he nods, "Yes, Gloria. I am much different than the others. I am not stupid, though sometimes I allow parts of me that are not my brain to do my thinking for me." Like his fists or his mouth. "I am, however.. occasionally willing to be used. But only by those who wont realize that I am using them back, and that I'm better at it than they are." The game is considered for a moment, his tongue gliding slowly over his lower lip as he makes his move.. lays his stone.

X|_|_
_|X|_
_|O|O


"Not so fast there, deary.." He chuckles. Clayton might be no good at this game, but he wasn't going to lose so quickly.
"Anyway... it's a much better job than I used to do. I am also a part time carpenter." He nods, and enjoys the latter much more than the prior.
He laughs, chin tucking down and his eyes close for a moment, "Clayton Thayer. And I agree.. everything is better when it doesn't come from your own hard work." A sip from his glass followed by a sharp breath taken through his teeth.. feigning the tightening of the throat some people feel when they drink something so harsh.
"What is it you do? Besides playing hero to councilmen and scaring all the bullies away."
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Wed Jun 12, 2013 3:08 am

"A carpenter," she said, with curiosity. "Do you mean hammers and nails, the raising of roofs? Or perhaps you are stating it figuratively, with the awareness that I am smart enough to see your meaning.

"You aren't going to win," she reminded him, taking back the charcoal to slice a slanted cross in one of the lower squares.

X|_|_
_|X|_
X|O|O


"Really, you cannot," the seamstress said. "To win would require you to do two moves at once on your next turn. And unlike the rules of life--" a tilt of her mug,"or carpentry, the laws of Bones and Stones cannot -- cannot be subverted. So I wonder, do you submit now, and we say the game is done? Or -- or do you make a last futile move and bolster your pride in your final moments like some swordsman in an epic poem fighting until his -- his last breath?"

She pushed the charcoal at him, a stockinged foot slipping out of a blood-spattered clog so that she could stand on a toe and raise her height just a bit more beside him. The girl was broad and tall for her age, but in his shadow, she still felt like a mushroom growing alongside a towering oak. "I did not for once think you a fool. Did your sister inspire this in you, Messa Thayer. This desire to act as, how you say, a professional flatterer--"

He did not need to flatter; his eyes were hooks and the seamstress was impaled upon them. Her blood pumped in wild cycles through her veins, driving her heart to reckless speed. She teetered on his words until she was balancing, arching up on the point of a dark toe as it peeked out from her torn sock and holding herself steady against the bar.

"I am a seamstress," she told him. "I matter little. But you -- you."

The question was sudden. She sounded confused.

"Why do I think that you are very handsome?"
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Wed Jun 12, 2013 5:45 am

"Yes." He states. Simple.. yes. And it takes a long moment of staring the their game board, waiting for her move, for him to clarify exactly what he meant. "A little of both, I think. I build things.. stables, houses, furniture. Or fix them, if they're in need of repair. Another -old habit- is what I believe I should call it more than a job, but.." A one shouldered shrug. No words, though, about any kind of hidden meanings, because he is staring at the game again.
"I see that.." Is mumbled, but one corner of his mouth is still quirked up.. a small grin. But then he laughs at her words, at the way she speaks. It's endearing.. she shows her mind, how she can use her tongue.
"Oh it would be a lucky day for you if I was to kneel down and surrender," It would not.. because then this poor girl would have something like Clayton.. well never mind. He wouldn't think about that. The charcoal is taken, held between his thumb and his index finger and poised like he was a child playing swordsmen with a stick.. he even gives it a flourish in the air.

X|_|O
_|X|_
X|O|O



..Making his final mark, the charcoal is set down in front of her and Clayton turns in his seat, hands separating the fabric of his shirt where it is unbuttoned, "Just make it fast.." as if she might stab him with it and end an epic battle. But he can only hold his composure for a moment before he is chuckling, still unbothered by her closeness.
He did loom over most people.. his shoulders and chest and back showed the hours he spent swinging axes and pounding hammers.. being born with a broad upper body was just a tally on his side of the board. A move in his favor.

But his hands falls back to the bar, one of them closing around his glass to drag it closer to him again and his head shakes. "No. When my sister was alive I was just a carpenter and.. very content with it." The words are something like a confession, but she might not know it because they're said with the same nonchalant attitude he always has. "She only made me want bigger muscles." He tacks on, whispering.. his head tilting forward so they're faces could -almost- touch.. eyes leveled to her. And he grins a bit.
He was toying with her.. he knew it. But it wasn't on purpose and it's not like he was dragging the girls mind through the mud or something.
"A seamstress matters very much, Gloria. Or we would have the whole of the town running around in the nude." And he blinks a couple times, "Which.. I suppose in some cases wouldn't be -so- awful but.." In others would be awful.

The.. that was sudden. And it leaves him blinking again, holding his breath for a few seconds.

"..Do you want the truth?"
There was no way he could know about the potion, of course. He had a different kind of answer for her..
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby Rance » Wed Jun 12, 2013 7:16 am

"Seams are an old habit for me too," she admitted. "My single expertise."

They were both the purveyors of particular trades, sharing words over a mere game. Just make it fast, he requested, but the charcoal seemed hesitant. She could have marked those final bones into their winning place. It would have been a bloodthirsty attack, to sweep him low, a swift death, one to help him avoid his misery--

but the potion decreed--

--a girl could not do such a heartless murder, even through Bones and Stones, to one they adored so greatly.

So many letters. So many she had never written. Fabrications in the mind, that she'd stayed up beside long-guttering candles to scrawl him songs and poems and How-do-I-love-thees; she'd picked him flowers, worn them in her black hair to offset its sharp sheen with muted reds and periwinkle, and sometimes she danced with a doll, forgiving its stunted arms only to imagine that they were his -- long and strong and embracing -- so she was not just a clumsy girl anymore, but a sweeping force of dance and bliss

and

and

and

so much better than his beautiful lady, the whore who laughed and drank and crumpled over him at the ball -- and other nights not spent with letters were passed with loaves of bread that the seamstress rammed her knuckles and thumbs into as if imagining the seeded sourdoughs were Snowy's supple neck.


He was so near, their noses almost touching. He spoke things about muscles and a seamstress. There was a vortex in his eyes, sucking her in, a sweeping sandstorm that she wanted to reach out to touch, lose herself in. Thayer's words were muffled, as though she'd crushed pillows against her ears; she watched his lips, and though a voice inside her whispered--

a kiss means a child, your hips as a hammock for a heavy womb, your useless breasts for milking, your rhetoric gone, your purpose in life shattered, produce and produce and produce and produce--

--she ignored it. With her veins. With her guts. He was a seam that needed mending.

"Tell me your truth," she pleaded.
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Re: Is there a debt here?

Postby breeevil » Wed Jun 12, 2013 9:37 am

It was who he was to use that simple question against her.. his nature. He had to say things that had potential to make her think, to make her keep him in her mind. Gloria wasn't someone he could wiggle in to his debt, if anything he was in hers after what he had made Snowy do and say to her at the ball. The white woman didn't now it but Clayton had never delivered on her demands for him to buy the seamstress a dress.. and since lately he has been wanting to kneed his own fists in to Snowy's face.. he thought it unlikely that he ever actually would. Besides that, who buys a seamstress a gown?

"The truth is.. that you are supposed to." He says in barely a whisper.. if she wasn't exactly as close to him as she was she probably wouldn't have heard him. One of his fingertips dips in to his glass.. swirling around in his brandy and while he keeps staring back at her that fingertips drags over his lower lip, his tongue dragging right behind it.

"Because I kept you from drinking something that was added to your glass at the ball. You've almost beat me at Stones and Bones." Because he wouldn't be properly doing his job if she didn't. Because she knows more about his family than anyone else in Myrken at this point, Treadwell included.
"Or maybe because my hair is the color of sand and I've spent my life chopping and hammering, so I look better than most.." He grins, thinking back on the expression she said a little while ago but also leaving room for his ego in all of his words.
"Is that why you haven't made your mark, Gloria? Am I too handsome to lose?"
His hand moves away from his mouth and to hers.. his fingers slipping between hers so gently that his own digits could be made of pillows. If she'll let him, he will guide her hand back to the paper.. back to their game.
breeevil
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