the leviathan in the early night
Gideon seemed to relax soon enough, even if they didn't quite move away. Didn't like to talk about it, they said, and Lars could believe it. The question certainly hadn't been well-received, and he gave a small, barely-there nod. No more questions like that then, not if he wanted to go home undamaged, as Gideon might put it. Lars forced himself to relax his body as well, breathing out the tension that had taken up residence in his shoulders and his arms, and leaned forward again so as not to offend by leaning away. That was just another stupid thing, he reminded himself, because being closer meant less of a chance to get away if he irritated them again.
They worked the docks? Lars supposed that wasn't all that strange; he went down to the docks often enough himself to sit around and watch the men work, the waves rise, the sun set. He just hadn't taken Gideon's pretty face for that sort of hard work, but it made sense. The docks were a fine enough place for anyone looking for work, ugly and pretty, young and old. He could've ended up working down there himself, but despite being rather strong compared to his galdori counterparts, Lars was not made for manual labor like that. Even working the gardens in Brunnhold had been a struggle for the man, and with the way he took to bruising and bleeding so easily, it was best not to work in an environment where he might drop very heavy things on himself. Gideon, though, Gideon looked like they could manage it just fine. He didn't let himself follow that thought for long.
Gideon looked confused, then, and their words alerted Lars to the fact that he'd just spoken aloud - sometimes he couldn't quite tell. It was bothersome thing, that, and by 'that' he meant -
Don't start, Lars. You don't feel safe with them either, I was just trying to get us out.
"Great," said the passive, pale gaze darting over and down to the counter, where Gideon's fingers tapped oddly against the surface. Another drink might not be the best idea for himself, seeing as one was enough to get him fairly intoxicated, but apparently he was leaning into the more reckless side of himself tonight. Lars lifted his head, looking around for Sally, but was unable to catch her attention just yet. Gideon's voice dragged his attention back to them, and Lars blinked, his expression unreadable.
What did he do? Well, he didn't know how to answer that. I'm a prostitute? I'm a tumble? There wasn't a word he'd found that sounded right, that sounded like it wasn't something dirty to be ashamed of. He thought about lying, but there wasn't much else that he could say - he didn't work down at the docks, obviously, and that ruled out plenty of jobs in the Rose, nor did his delicate frame lend itself to sailing, or fighting in the Arena.
Lars was able to get Sally's attention then, as he glanced in their direction, and he motioned toward the empty cups, before dipping his head in gratitude. It worked well enough, seeing as the barmaid went to fill two more glasses and bring them over, looking to Lars with an expectant (and was it... annoyed?) look. He reached into Yulis' pockets again, only finding half of what he needed, and then reached into his own for the rest. He slid the coins over the counter, left hand going to grab his drink and pull it closer to him.
"I work at the Mad Queen," that should be enough, he decided. It wasn't blatant nor was it denying any of the facts; someone that didn't know the Queen could just assume him some sort of bartender, or cook, or anything else really. He didn't think he needed to elaborate.
"I - 'm sorry," he slurred just a little, lifting his glass to take a good swig before continuing, "about your clothes, I mean. I'm - do you want me to wash them? For you? I'm... really good at cleaning stuff. And clothes. Or I... think I am," his eyes drifted down to his free hand, which rested upon the counter. It was cold, now, that hand, and he moved his fingers to keep it warm, "I used to clean a lot of clothes. And stuff."