Re: Nine to Five [Dulce/Invite]
Posted: 17 Nov 2013, 02:44
The money that Dulce hands me feels far too heavy to be the simple, small amount that I asked for. Although I don’t stop to count it, I know that it is too much. The woman does not give me the chance to extract the amount that I asked for, however; she doesn’t give me the opportunity to hand back what I haven’t asked for. Lacking the means to call her back from the doorway, I am stuck with the cash. She thanks me and leaves, just like that. And that’s fine, normally. I don’t like it when people linger, as if expecting small talk from me. It’s something that I cannot give them, and even if I could, it’s not something that I’d enjoy.
It’s only as she steps out the door and leaves me alone with the wad of cash, however, that I allow myself a shrug of the shoulders. I forget about the incident almost immediately. I can be kind to those I want to be kind to, but my morals aren’t steadfast things that I persistently stick to. If she’s willing to hand over that amount of cash when it wasn’t asked for, then so be it. Some of it can be payment for having a horrible aim—for not being able to tell two heavily tattooed people apart. I wonder, idly, if she’s managed to accidentally shoot anyone else in the interim. I wonder whether they deserve some cash, too.
The majority of it I slide away into the shop’s till. Micah and Velveteen deserve the cash more than I do. I take only a little for myself, though I have no idea what I’ll spend it on. It’ll probably go toward fuel, or ammunition. These are the things that I need most, these days. Or maybe I’ll spend some exorbitant amount on a stupid silk hanky from the auction house. It’s a ******* rort.
I return to my station, where I wipe down the chair with disinfectant, and make sure every surface is absolutely spotless. When the place is clean, I pull the tome from my pocket and read the inscription—not out loud, but in my head. Within seconds I am in the Eyrie. I head for the hut, only so that I am somewhere out of the public eye. I don’t plan on sleeping. I never do, these days.
It’s only as she steps out the door and leaves me alone with the wad of cash, however, that I allow myself a shrug of the shoulders. I forget about the incident almost immediately. I can be kind to those I want to be kind to, but my morals aren’t steadfast things that I persistently stick to. If she’s willing to hand over that amount of cash when it wasn’t asked for, then so be it. Some of it can be payment for having a horrible aim—for not being able to tell two heavily tattooed people apart. I wonder, idly, if she’s managed to accidentally shoot anyone else in the interim. I wonder whether they deserve some cash, too.
The majority of it I slide away into the shop’s till. Micah and Velveteen deserve the cash more than I do. I take only a little for myself, though I have no idea what I’ll spend it on. It’ll probably go toward fuel, or ammunition. These are the things that I need most, these days. Or maybe I’ll spend some exorbitant amount on a stupid silk hanky from the auction house. It’s a ******* rort.
I return to my station, where I wipe down the chair with disinfectant, and make sure every surface is absolutely spotless. When the place is clean, I pull the tome from my pocket and read the inscription—not out loud, but in my head. Within seconds I am in the Eyrie. I head for the hut, only so that I am somewhere out of the public eye. I don’t plan on sleeping. I never do, these days.