[Closed] Do You Hold a Heavy Heart

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 10 Bethas, 2720
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Immensely, Ewing said, with an enormous smirk on his face, looking every bit like the osta that swallowed the hingle. He had, of all things, rocked his chair back, and brought it forward with a decisive little thump.

Chrysanthe stared him down, perfectly able to handle his enjoyment.

What she did not like was the way he turned the question back on her, or the sharp look in his face. He did not, she told herself, care in the least; she’d seen the bright-eyed look on his face at the mention of the story about Prosperton. She was sure he was asking only out of some sort of ghoulish interest, to laugh at her.

Chrysanthe swallowed, lightly. Her gaze flicked up to the bar, where Adelaide was waiting for the bartender, occupying her time by laughing with a woman sitting there. Adelaide glanced back at the table and smiled, warm and friendly, then turned her attention back to the bar.

It would be easiest, Chrysanthe thought, to tell Ewing her lack of enjoyment – such as it were – was entirely his fault. Adelaide was lovely and – interested. Adelaide, Chrysanthe thought, understanding, was interested in anything with a feminine form. But what was the harm in that? She lived here in the Rose; Chrysanthe lived in Vienda. It was, of course, not as if…

Her head was terribly itchy. Chrysanthe resisted the urge to reach up and touch it; she was fairly sure her braids were not yet entirely awry, and she knew the longer she could go, the better. There was a faint, throbbing some of headache across the back of her head; her neck didn’t hurt, yet, used enough to the weight of her hair, but she could feel it coming; that, too, itched.

“I did not…” Chrysanthe glanced down at the table; there was a faint ring of condensation around the base of Ewing’s glass. Her own was still cool to the touch, the ice not quite melting yet; it would, Chrysanthe thought, soon. She felt even less interested in taking the drink back as Adelaide had. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it; she did, it was pleasant and sharp and fizzy.

“I did not understand myself very well in school,” Chrysanthe said, quietly. She didn’t quite look at Ewing; her gaze drifted over, but only made it so far as his glass, and the little circle of water smeared beneath. “I thought,” she pressed her lips together, lightly; she had not worn much in the way of make-up, only a bit of pale pink color on her lips. Even that, she somewhat regretted. She hadn’t bothered to brush over all her freckles, as some maid or another had done for every party she had ever attended; it was spring, and they were as pale as they ever got.

Chrysanthe shrugged, and then felt even more the fool. She rather expected Ewing to laugh at her; she didn’t really want to see it. “One cannot go back. I wouldn’t wish to anyway.” Chrysanthe lifted the glass, and took a rather more substantial mouthful than she had to date, swallowing it as she set the glass back down with a thunk. She grimaced, faintly, and sat back a bit hard against the wooden booth.

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 10, 2720 - Evening
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Ms. Palmifer began to speak, and Charlie kept his eyebrows aloft where he'd left them. Her lovely date was still at the bar, where Charlie felt she might remain for a bit longer. He was frankly trying to puzzle out if it was her date Ms. Palmifer was interested in, or just being on one. He sort of thought it felt a bit like the latter; he'd done it enough to know.

Ah. Now, that, he hadn't quite expected. That was honesty, in the same way that going on about cutting her hair had been. But now Charlie was awake and alert and just a little bit drunk, not tired and covered in grease. Also, every time someone passed too closely behind his back he could feel their field brushing up against him. This sincerity was making him itch. What had she gone and told him that for, anyway? She didn't even like him.

"I can't say as I understand the experience," he said breezily. There had been very little for him to figure out, really. It all came together rather quickly, at least as far as that was concerned. Other things maybe took a little longer, but that was the vagaries of youth for you. Charlie was a little surprised to hear such a thing from Ms. Palmifer, though. She struck him as a fairly driven individual. Those tended to know what they were about. He tapped his foot on the floor, a few times in rapid succession. Itchy.

He leaned in then, lowering his voice as if he were about to discuss a great secret. He looked at Ms. Palmifer, face very serious. Almost grave. "Don't tell me, Ms. Palmifer," his voice a stage whisper of horror, "that didn't persist after school, did it? Ms. Sculpted Eyebrows here isn't the first, is she?" Charlie was fairly certain she wasn't. At least he hoped to the Circle she wasn't, because that was extremely depressing. He dropped the serious face and grinned in a way that almost a leer, but not quite.

"You did not," Charlie drew back again with the ghost of a mocking smile lingering on his face, "answer my question." Which was sort of an answer by itself. He couldn't quite find it in him to laugh at her any more than he had. Even then, he wasn't laughing at her, not really. Not that she could likely tell the difference, but it mattered to him at least. Really, it didn't matter at all, the whole "knowing yourself in school" bit. He had only needled her about it because it seemed like an amusing thing to say. He traced out a wet design on the table from the condensation puddling around his glass, keeping one blue eye on Ms. Palmifer and the other on his art.

"Looking back is for sad people," he declared, "I try to consider the past as little as possible."

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 10 Bethas, 2720
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Ewing dismissed it, as she had expected; not, Chrysanthe thought wryly, as cruelly as he might have. She had half-expected him to laugh outright. By comparison, making light-hearted and dismissive remarks was practically kind. She could not have said why she still found it quite difficult to look at him. Of course, she hadn’t expected any better – she had expected far worse – so she could not, possibly, be disappointed by the outcome.

He was an irritating sort of man, Chrysanthe told herself. His chief flaw, Chrysanthe decided, was his enormous self-preoccupation - bordering, she might have said, on self-absorption - which utterly blinded him to considerations of others. She had sorted that out perfectly well during the night she'd spent on the Fourcault machine with him; she had no idea how she'd managed to forget it, even briefly.

He went on; Chrysanthe’s gaze flicked back over, unwittingly. She raised her eyebrows now. “That,” Chrysanthe said, firmly, “is firmly none of your business.” There was still quite a bit of her drink left, but Chrysanthe felt rather incapable of taking another sip. Charlie was smirking, and she felt unexpectedly embarrassed; her cheeks were rather hot.

Ewing pointed out that she hadn’t answered his question. Chrysanthe traced her tongue over the inside of her teeth. He was rubbing his finger over the table, dabbing at the ring of moisture from his glass and spreading it out against the wood. It was absurd; like something a child would do, Chrysanthe thought. She sat very still and upright, and turned her gaze back to her glass; a drop of condensation slid down the side.

“Those who don’t learn from the past,” Chrysanthe said, slightly more sharply than she’d quite meant to, “are doomed to repeat it.” It was one of those sayings which people were always repeating, and which she should firmly have described as pompous. She could absolutely see herself having said at some point that she’d never repeat it, although it might well have been some other similar phrase. She none the less delivered it as evenly as she could, her hands together in her lap.

Adelaide came back, stepping around Ewing and sliding in to the booth once more. “Did you miss me?” She asked, with a laugh.

“Of course,” Chrysanthe said with a smile; she didn’t look at Ewing at all.

“I didn’t ask again,” Adelaide smiled. “I thought I’d have it be a surprise, this time. Didn’t you like the gin fizz…?”

“Yes, very much – it’s excellent,” Chrysanthe glanced down at the cocktail. “Just out of practice, I suppose,” her smile felt thin, although she had no notion how it looked. “Too many nights in the factory.”

Adelaide smiled. “There’s no rush, really – we’ve got all night,” there was the faintest edge of a grin to her smile. She turned to Ewing, raising her eyebrows. “What did you order, Mr. Ewing?” She grinned. “I shall be sure not to recommend it; it seems you don’t care for it much after all. Or perhaps our company is simply distractingly charming…?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 10, 2720 - Evening
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Regret, that's what Ms. Palmifer seemed to be feeling. He could see it in her face; she regretted saying what she had said. And well she should; being honest in his general direction was not usually advised. Charlie could have told her that, if she'd asked. Nobody ever asked him though, they just said things, and then seemed disappointed with the results.

His foot started tapping again; he still felt itchy on the back of his neck and all between his shoulder blades. It was her fault, he thought, for having said that to him. You weren't missing much, he almost said, but there was nothing more boring than hearing someone else's tales of youthful romance not ending well. Also, that was possibly too close to being very near an apology for Charlie's comfort. Instead he listened to her scolding and rolled his eyes.

"Ms. Palmifer, darling, what you know about my past could fill a thimble. I have learned plenty. Just because--" His speech was cut off. Ms. Nicebrows had returned, all smiles and "did you miss me"s. He could have gagged when Ms. Palmifer answered in such a firm affirmative. She had seemed less ridiculous at the factory. Uptight, yes, and a wet blanket--but not quite so vexingly foolish.

Still, when Ms. Thureau-Dangin turned to him and smiled, he smiled back. The very picture of tilted self-assurance, as was always his way. "Well it's always a delight seeing our Ms. Palmifer, here. Having done it twice now, I can say so with utmost certainty. I don't remember what this is, actually--I asked the bartender to surprise me." Charlie had asked the bartender a bit more than that, and he'd turned decidedly red but said nothing else about it. Which was disappointing, though mostly for the bartender. He simply didn't know what he was missing.

"Something with rum in it, I think--it's quite good, actually. I suppose not all of us can match your pace." He smiled dazzlingly at Ms. Thureau-Dangin, and then looked to Ms. Palmifer.

"Do you mean to say that nobody has taken you around our beautiful city, Ms. Palmifer, to leave you so 'out of practice'? That's deeply unfortunate. There are so many fascinating things to see." The edges of his thin mouth sharpened again. He stopped drawing his little pattern on the tabletop. "Many educational lessons one could learn."

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 10 Bethas, 2720
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Chrysanthe might have mustered an eye roll at darling, if she had felt in the mood. She did not. At least she understood now that it was entirely about Ewing, and not in the slightest about anyone around him - let alone her. Adelaide interrupted whatever it was he had been starting to say with her return, and that smile which at least made Chrysanthe feel the evening not entirely lost.

Our Ms. Palmifer, Ewing said cheerfully. That did not really rankle; it simply wasn’t worth it. Adelaide’s soft laugh did, a bit, although Chrysanthe managed to keep smiling.

Adelaide’s eyebrows lifted very high indeed at Ewing’s comment; she began to say something which was at least half a too-sharp laugh, but Ewing had already turned away, and the comment sort of sputtered out beneath the laughter; Adelaide smiled on, as if it had been a joke she was entirely a part of.

Chrysanthe settled back against the booth. She had a rather - she couldn’t quite have said what Ewing was getting at. “I in fact arrived in the Rose on the morning of the seventh,” Chrysanthe said, thoughtfully.

“So I suppose you were my introduction to this charming city’s nightlife,” she smiled at Ewing, and took another sip of her drink; this one was smaller, and more comfortable, and did not much change the level of it. She set it down. “Quite educational, I’m sure.” Chrysanthe said, a bit dryly.

It had been a day like from an Ever where time stood still; she had come off the airship early in the morning, having left Vienda in the middle of the day before. She’d brought a novel to read on the airship, at least, and despite the snoring of her cabin mate she had slept some.

Enough, Chrysanthe thought, looking down at the glass in her hand and tilting it lightly off the table, letting the liquid angle inside, that she had thought it wise to begin the project straight away. It was hard to regret it when it had worked - all that exhausted, all that misery, had accomplished its goal. For a moment, there was an entirely different smile on Chrysanthe’s face.

Chrysanthe wanted to tell Adelaide that - how good it felt to have succeeded - but she thought it would be almost cruel. She ought to have said it to Charlie, perhaps, but then - it wasn’t as if he had asked either. Chrysanthe eased the glass back down; another droplet of condensation slid down the side. Her smile was only polite once more.

“How long have you been here in the Rose?” Adelaide asked, turning to Charlie. “I should say the Kaleidoscope is really the best bar there is, here.” Something pinched slightly on her face; she smiled, and it loosened once more. Her gaze swept over Charlie. “Don’t you think?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 10, 2720 - Evening
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Why he was needling Ms. Thureau-Dangin now, Charlie wasn't actually sure. Probably just because she was there, and accordingly convenient. Just her poor luck to be in the path of his attention. Being in this bar was making him jittery, which he disliked thoroughly but wasn't, somehow, managing to leave. His foot kept bouncing quietly against the leg of his chair.

Charlie took another sip of his drink, more normal in size than his deliberately small ones before. The ice had weakened it; his head still spun a little. The glass he set back down very deliberately in the middle of the pattern he had been drawing--which was, he realized with a grimace, not abstract at all but rather the design for something he had been working on that morning at home. Obliterated now under the bottom of the glass; good riddance.

"So you got the highlight, then--that's good." There we go, that was more like it. His easy self-satisfied air had returned to its rightful place, surrounding him like a cloak. None of this itching desire to say something nice, or even just something sincere. Which would be absolutely horrible, and terribly tacky of him. Charlie smiled again at Ms. Palmifer and Ms. Thureau-Dangin both. "Although I lament to say I was not at my best, given the hour."

It had been a rather satisfying night, he thought. Even if he had gone through every cigarette he had, and even if he now knew the plot of a novel. Not that he would ever tell Ms. Palmifer so, but it had been very nearly fun, and not just because she was so delightful to torment. He rather liked battering himself against a problem until it gave way, at last, beneath the onslaught of his natural genius. He wondered, idly, if her plans had worked as she had hoped.

"A few years," Charlie answered with an easy smile. This was at least a personal question he could answer. "Retired my greens and came directly here. Spirit of adventure, and so on." Charlie had not run away, he insisted (even on the inside of his head). There was nothing to run from, he had simply wanted a change of pace. The Rose certainly was that, and he was happy to be here, and everything was great.

There was something pinched on Ms. Palmifer's date's lovely face. It was gone quickly enough, but he had to wonder what it was. He made a great show of looking around the bar. Even he had to agree it was a very nice place, with good strong drinks that were well-made and a charming, elegant atmosphere. Charlie hated it. Except the drinks, and the unfortunately reticent man working bar this evening. Those were both excellent.

"It is a very lovely bar," he conceeded. "Very much like something one might find in Vienda." That might have been a compliment, from another mouth. Charlie's mouth was the one it came out of, though, and he said "Vienda" with a pinched edge. He took a small sip of his drink, which had just now returned to the level it had been when he sat down. Before all the ice had melted into it.

"I do spend a bit more time on the waterfront," Charlie went on, "and I quite like the Black Dove or the Leviathan--they have a rather different clientele, of course." Less gollies, for one thing. Not none, but distinctly less. Which, of course, was the appeal. Nobody politely invading his space every time he encountered them.

"How are you finding the Kaleidoscope, Ms. Palmifer?" He looked to Ms. Palmifer, raising his eyebrows in invitation to comment. He didn't really care what she thought about the bar; it was just a bar. He wondered if this had been the sort of spot she'd expected or wanted to be in, though. Probably. It was a very proper, upright sort of place, not for one to show up to with grease under the fingernails.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 10 Bethas, 2720
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

There was a quiet tap-tap-tap sound coming from Ewing’s chair, as if he was drumming his fingers or something, although he wasn’t. He smirked, as though there were nowhere Chrysanthe would have rather spent the night than cooped up in the Pargeter factory, watching him work on the machine, telling the whole of Francoschietto with his occasional little quips, her hands and shoulders aching and her throat sore.

Chrysanthe could not have said why she wanted to smile at the thought of it; it surely wasn’t a fond memory. It was only, Chrysanthe decided, that the machine had worked. That, of course, she was grateful to Ewing for – and that he had gotten it working by daybreak, working hard with scarcely a rest to get all the rollers back in place. So he had a work ethic; that scarcely meant he wasn’t a self-righteous prick.

“Only those not of the Rose think it a place for adventure,” Adelaide said with a dissatisfied little pout. She smiled at Chrysanthe, inviting her to agree.

Chrysanthe shifted; she smiled, faintly, and looked back down at the glass on the table.

“Quite so,” Adelaide went on, breezily, at Ewing’s remarks on the Kaleidoscope, without the least indication she had credited the faint sneer in his tone. “Goodness, the Black Dove!” She giggled. “Slumming it, I suppose,” she wrinkled her nose, faintly.

Chrysanthe’s hands came off the table, and went to her lap. Her lips were together, a small straight line; they came apart, and she smiled. “Oh,” Chrysanthe had little wish to be in the middle of this, whatever this was; she felt thoroughly uncomfortable. She thought perhaps she should have taken Adelaide’s side and rather vigorously.

“Yes,” Adelaide said, smiling at Chrysanthe and rather pointedly not looking at Ewing, “you like it, don’t you Chrysanthe?”

Chrysanthe looked at her former classmate, with all her lovely dark red hair, the rather pointed arch of her eyebrows, and her full, smiling lips. She looked at Charlie, with that little smirk still on his face; she doubted he cared in the least. Naturally, she did not care at all what he thought of her.

“I like what they’ve done with the phosphor,” Chrysanthe said, neutrally. She felt something like a pinch of disappointment inside her; she couldn’t have said why. She glanced away from them both, looking up at the gleaming phosphor and patchwork glass lanterns which spilled color all over the place; they were a bit impractical, but lovely in a fantastical sort of way. “And the drinks are rather good,” Chrysanthe gazed at the one in front of her.

“The Black Dove is really an awful sort of place,” Adelaide said, comfortable in her victory. “I’ve never been, of course, but I’ve heard all sorts of things – one hears there are fistfights between those awful, raucous humans,” she shuddered, but very delicately; she was smiling, her gaze on Chrysanthe once more. “What does one even drink there?” She laughed, an oddly sharp tinkling sort of sound. “What’s it called – ah – low tide?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 10, 2720 - Evening
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

No, this woman was distinctly irritating. Charlie couldn't put his finger on why, but she was. Not irritating either in the way Ms. Palmifer was irritating, where he enjoyed taking snipes at her to see if he could get her to say something amusing. Just the kind where he wanted to be cruel. If he had to put a point on it, he thought it was rather that she reminded him of nothing so much as being back in Brunnhold.

Charlie didn't like the way she said "slumming it", even though that's exactly what he was doing when he went to the Black Dove. Or most of the places he frequented. Ms. Palmifer had not agreed, at least, with Ms. Nicebrows on her absolutely ludicrous comment about being "of the Rose". Like she didn't more or less grow up in Brunnhold like all the rest of them. Like she knew any more about the city than he did; he wondered if she was even from here at all, or if she merely lived here now.

Ms. Nicebrows had stopped looking at him, as if he cared about her attention at all. As if he had come here to speak to her, and not Ms. Palmifer, who he also didn't care about in particular. But slightly more than he cared about her dark-haired companion. Ms. Palmifer did glance at him, and he raised his eyebrows. The smirk had not left his face; it was permanently attached, usually.

Her response was such a carefully neutral non-compliment, Charlie laughed. There was a little edge to it. For all that she said she liked the drinks, her was not yet half finished. Charlie had made more work on his own by now, even taking his deliberately small sips of it. Dragging out his time at their table just to be irritating.

"That would explain why you think there's no adventure in the Rose," Charlie said with a sort of smug cheerfulness. He wasn't offended on behalf of the staff and patrons of the Black Dove. Honestly, it was dreadful, although the food was fine and usually people left him alone which he liked. But he disliked Ms. Nicebrow's victorious attitude. The only person allowed to be that self-assured about their proclamations about something they knew nothing about was him. And even then that was only because his instincts were very good, and he should always be listened to. Of course.

"Low tide? Good Lady, no! What kind of man do you take me for?" Charlie clasped a hand over his heart. "I would never touch the stuff. A bit of Chrove's Erse, though--it certainly helps one ignore when one's date is dreadfully dull, if quite pretty to look at." Charlie took another sip of his drink. His foot was still tap-tap-tapping against the chair, as if he didn't know he was doing it at all.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 10 Bethas, 2720
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Chrysanthe knew, really, she should be used to this by now. Not in the Rose, of course; she’s been here for barely a few days. There was something in Adelaide’s tone, though, which put her entirely in mind of the way people’s eyebrows went up – and sharply – when Chrysanthe said that yes, of course, she worked in the Pargeter’s factory in the Dives. Yes, of course, she worked with humans.

She had had to break it to her landlady, Ms. Burbright, very carefully. She’d chosen the boarding house, of course, for its proximity to the Dives, but Ms. Burbright was very firm that the house itself was in Uptown, and did not like to be associated with the Dives, for all she was located within walking distance of the many bridges which spanned the gap. It was a very reputable factory, Chrysanthe had said, sitting in the elderly woman’s parlor, squarely atop some sort of faded rose upholstery, bathed in the scent of mothballs. A number of galdori worked there; no, naturally, she did not expect to work night shifts, and she would, of course, abide by the curfew – when she was not staying with her sister, who lived on Pennyworth Street. Yes – a very nice neighborhood; her brother-in-law was in the steel business. No, she did not stay over often, but her sister did have a young boy, of course, and Chrysanthe wished to make herself available…

Chrysanthe found that she could imagine the same uncomfortable conversation with Adelaide. It was one thing to have it with a spinster of sixty something; it was another entirely to have it with a woman her own age, twenty-five. Not that, of course, she hadn’t; not that she wasn’t used to it. But she hadn’t expected it of the Adelaide she’d known in school, who’d always seemed so – so…

Chrysanthe supposed she hadn’t ever spoken of such things, then.

“Chrove’s Erse!” Adelaide laughed. “Good Lady. If the Black Dove and Chrove’s Erse are your idea of showing your date a good time, I wonder that you ever have a second!” There was something nasty at the edge of her smile.

Chrysanthe shifted, slowly. Adelaide had always had a quick mind, and a quick tongue. They’d bonded over it, in school; Chrysanthe hadn’t been the only one to eviscerate a sexist man or two. She didn’t remember her being quite so…

Chrysanthe took another small sip of her drink.

The same server from before came and bowed; he set the drinks down. The liquid was a pale, delicate red, mixed with ice cubes, with a cherry resting on the top of each.

“It’s called an old fashioned blush,” Adelaide said; she was ignoring Ewing once more, her gaze fixed firmly on Chrysanthe. She smiled. “An old fashioned made with first blush instead of whiskey. It put me in mind of you, and how sweetly red your cheeks used to get in school.”

Chrysanthe smiled. “How sweet,” she said, after a moment, looking down at the drinks. She swallowed, slightly; something felt caught in her throat.

Adelaide’s hand was curled around the base of her short glass once more.

“Go ahead,” Chrysanthe said, smiling once more. Her head itched, rather awfully. The last few days seemed to have caught up with her; she was rather tired, all of a sudden. “I shouldn’t want your ice to melt.”

Adelaide laughed, and took a sip. The drink, Chrysanthe noticed, matched her lipstick rather well.

Chrysanthe glanced over at Ewing; she couldn’t have said why. It wasn’t quite a glare this time; she wasn’t entirely sure what it was. She breathed in, rather deeply, curled her hand around the damp glass, and took another sip of her gin fizz.

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 10, 2720 - Evening
The Kaleidoscope, King's Court

Yes, definitely put him in mind of Brunnhold. It was the tiresome way she talked about the Black Dove, as if it weren't just a place like any other. Charlie didn't like the nasty way she smiled at him, and he didn't like her laughter either. His smile sharpened. There was some sort of cutting response to this, if he could just fucking find it. Something about how they didn't get second dates, because he didn't want them. Nobody ever proved to be that good a fuck, he thought of saying. They didn't deserve to have him twice; they'd be spoiled for the rest of mankind.

Liquor swirled in his head instead, and Charlie couldn't quite catch anything he wanted to say. No doubt Ms. Eyebrows (they were not nice, he decided, she had over-done them) would take his silence as victory. Well, let her! She could feel as victorious as she wanted. He was still here, and he took no little satisfaction in knowing that he was making her wooing of Ms. Palmifer rather more difficult by doing so. The speed of his foot-tapping increased.

The server approached with another pair of drinks. Pale red with a cherry for a garnish, and plenty of ice. Charlie took a rather deliberate swallow of his own drink. There wasn't much of it left, but he found he'd lost the taste for lingering. Then she said some drivel to Ms. Palmifer about her "sweetly red cheeks"--this time Charlie couldn't stop himself, he laughed and rolled his eyes. The idea of Ms. Palmifer sweetly blushing was just too much.

Maybe she had been sweet, as a schoolgirl. But she wasn't a schoolgirl anymore, and he could not imagine looking at the woman in front of him and describing her thus. Of course, Charlie also didn't want to fuck her. That might be the difference. He studied her intently, looking for any sign of maidenly charms. As he did so, she looked at him with an expression he couldn't read. It wasn't a glare, and she didn't look quite as much like she wanted him to go away.

What the clocking shit was that supposed to mean? He made a face back, willing her to elaborate. Clairvoyance is not my specialty, he wanted to say. Can't you tell? But she'd already turned back and taken another sip of her gin fizz.

"Ms. Thureau-Dangin, what do you think of women with short hair?" he asked suddenly instead, pretending as if he had not heard the insult or anything else. He turned to look at her, unashamed by anything she had said. "It came up in conversation with--with a friend, the other day, and now I'm curious. There are so many who find it shocking or inappropriate. Lacking in femininity." Which was chroveshit, of course--it was just a haircut. It was what it was, and either you looked good with it or you did not. Charlie, of course, looked good no matter what, and the petty concerns of choosing a flattering haircut were beneath him. "But I am rather curious about the female perspective on the matter."