Roalis 44, 2720 - Evening
Hog's Run, Basin Court
Hog's Run, Basin Court
At first he thought he'd never get told anything, and he was prepared to be irritated about it. Nevio told him though, after dragging out the dramatic pause a little longer. Charlie's face lit up all at once, his grin bright and wide. "The serial killer! Well isn't this just the smallest of worlds after all."
Was he surprised? Charlie couldn't quite decide. He had vague memory of mention of a scrap, before; he hadn't really been listening, but it was amazing what the mind retained. Waiting to be recalled with proper prompting. Either this was the one (and Charlie's instinct was right), or the man had a thing. Which was what it was, Charlie couldn't bring himself to much care one way or the other. That had been a fun evening though. What he remembered of it. He was fairly certain he had fun, mostly.
Gracious fucking Lady though, the look he got for that one! You'd think they were married, with a fucking look like that. All thin-smiled and sideways, like Charlie didn't know a goddamn Look when he got one. Smile or not, he knew when he was being glared at somewhere underneath. Charlie was almost affronted; it hadn't been his idea. He'd just been sitting there minding his own godsdamn business. He'd gone along with it happily enough, sure, but if there was some weird shit here, that was their weird shit. Charlie wasn't going to worry about it.
"I don't know that there was much opportunity, for introductions or returns. We really only met the one time." Charlie shrugged, leaning against the bar. He couldn't really decide which one of them to look at, so he looked at his gin instead. Then he had some of it, because gin was for drinking, not for looking at. Even bad gin.
The Look was annoying him. Normally they didn't; normally he rather deserved them and wasn't sorry to earn them, either. But he didn't know what this one was even for. It really stuck in his fucking craw, getting glared at by some strange foreign scrap without even knowing what for. Handsomeness only took one so far; it tended to stop, in Charlie's view, when the assessment wasn't mutual.
He looked over at the sour-faced one (Charlie never had gotten a name) with the most self-satisfied smile he could muster. And he could look very, very self-satisfied. He was highly practiced at it. The letters of it were written across every delicate line of his face and poured into his drawling voice. "Which is a shame, because it was quite the time. Enough to break one of my cardinal rules; I do try not to fuck the same man twice."
There. Maybe he could really earn a Look, right? At least then he'd know what he did or didn't do or whatever the fuck. It was true, anyway, and he felt he should say something. He was already having a bad night. The cigarette had improved it only mildly. Getting a rise out of a stranger might improve it more.
Was he surprised? Charlie couldn't quite decide. He had vague memory of mention of a scrap, before; he hadn't really been listening, but it was amazing what the mind retained. Waiting to be recalled with proper prompting. Either this was the one (and Charlie's instinct was right), or the man had a thing. Which was what it was, Charlie couldn't bring himself to much care one way or the other. That had been a fun evening though. What he remembered of it. He was fairly certain he had fun, mostly.
Gracious fucking Lady though, the look he got for that one! You'd think they were married, with a fucking look like that. All thin-smiled and sideways, like Charlie didn't know a goddamn Look when he got one. Smile or not, he knew when he was being glared at somewhere underneath. Charlie was almost affronted; it hadn't been his idea. He'd just been sitting there minding his own godsdamn business. He'd gone along with it happily enough, sure, but if there was some weird shit here, that was their weird shit. Charlie wasn't going to worry about it.
"I don't know that there was much opportunity, for introductions or returns. We really only met the one time." Charlie shrugged, leaning against the bar. He couldn't really decide which one of them to look at, so he looked at his gin instead. Then he had some of it, because gin was for drinking, not for looking at. Even bad gin.
The Look was annoying him. Normally they didn't; normally he rather deserved them and wasn't sorry to earn them, either. But he didn't know what this one was even for. It really stuck in his fucking craw, getting glared at by some strange foreign scrap without even knowing what for. Handsomeness only took one so far; it tended to stop, in Charlie's view, when the assessment wasn't mutual.
He looked over at the sour-faced one (Charlie never had gotten a name) with the most self-satisfied smile he could muster. And he could look very, very self-satisfied. He was highly practiced at it. The letters of it were written across every delicate line of his face and poured into his drawling voice. "Which is a shame, because it was quite the time. Enough to break one of my cardinal rules; I do try not to fuck the same man twice."
There. Maybe he could really earn a Look, right? At least then he'd know what he did or didn't do or whatever the fuck. It was true, anyway, and he felt he should say something. He was already having a bad night. The cigarette had improved it only mildly. Getting a rise out of a stranger might improve it more.
