[ It's probably her own fault she can't say no; whether it's to her sister, her unlikeliest of city-saving miscreants, or... whatever this tall, oddly pale, and grass-stained lump of luck happens to be. Owner of exactly one coat, detritus spat up from the ocean onto the grand harbours. Surviving and thriving. Whatever. He's asking her to go back out after she's already tucked tonight's winnings into her jewelry commode and plaited her hair for sleep and—
Well, there's curiosity, isn't there? Nothing would get the azatani clucking quicker than her accepting a gift from someone who can barely afford to give her one, and she doubts it's so clear cut as all that. He knows she wants for nothing material. And the frays between acquaintance and friend are nebulous, muddy, mystifying.
So, yes. His evasive hints are like an ungentle hook in the mouth. And she's a mere minnow, isn't she? ]
Sable House.
Order the safflower tea and whatever you care to drink. Tell them it's on the Verbena account.
[ A fun little code for the account of the madam of the flower house. Which, by the way, is Anahid. ]
[ Clandestine meeting spots? Coded tea? Ooh, this really is beginning to sound like a bit of covert capering—which works just fine, honestly, much as he'd rather avoid being out in the streets carrying what he's carrying. However he should spend his time—let loose at the end of a long leash to explore, or getting into such hypothetical tight spots he ends right back up in another cell (Light forbid, he'd rather take his chances jumping into the ocean)—he has a strong suspicion there are eyes and ears everywhere, multiplying every time he turns his head. Some having stepped off the same ship with him.
Less chance anyone would bother looking too hard for him on that side of town, though—or maybe wouldn't think too hard about him occupying that side of town. ]
Thank you.
I was just feeling thirsty. See you soon.
[ The one thing that seems to ring true for all cities everywhere: they still heave and sigh and bustle even in the pre-dawn, never sleeping. Once long, loping strides carry him inside—and he pauses, squinting, carefully looking around before before following through on the instructions—he sets the long, rectangular box tucked under his arm onto the table he's directed to. Sturdy; well-made; good quality. One could say the exact same about Two Rivers woolens, but the box is probably the most pristine thing on him. ]
[ He beats her there, as she expected he would. Making the climb down the hill from her Avenues townhouse on the heels of the Gloaming bell had been a slow, exacting process, even for her—whatever amalgam she is now. The piddling concerns of azatani finding unholy matrimony with the space created by a few dead criminals, and a business (a district?) hard won with blood she's yet to get off her hands, in true Lady Macbeth fashion; a growing reputation that is slowly winding around her name that's given her a buffer of safety. Clandestine capering, with the possibility of cavorting? Maybe. Probably not. But it wouldn't be the most unlikely thing anymore.
To announce herself, her coat is laid neatly on the table. Anahid is pleased to see her tea arrived ahead of her, smiling brightly and honestly. ]
Good morning.
[ Well, it is!
Anyway, she's far too polite to prioritise the box over him, but something he said earlier was only remembered on the walk over. ]
Did someone unexpected actually end up in your bed, or was that merely your attempt to scandalise? [ Sadly, it's not easy to do that to her anymore. ]
[ He looks up to see her, gaze tracking her familiar form as she moves to sit. It is getting to be that scratchy-eyed hour, isn't it? ]
And good morning to you. What's your secret? You're looking as fresh as a rose.
[ A sleepless rose, perhaps—as true as it is she's as put-together as ever. She doesn't look to have hit the pillow yet, either. A little of a night's events dusted under the eyes, not yet slept off.
Given he's the one asking the favor, his complimentary greeting owes something to his gratitude. In answer, he nods his chin—a wordless gesture at the rectangular garment box, moved to the side to allow her the space to pull her tea toward her. Something had ended up in his bed, yes. ]
You're looking at it. And I'd like to get rid of it. That's where you come in—I was hoping you could take it off my hands. My unwanted gift, your gain.
[ Anahid takes a second to smooth down her skirt so it's tucked neatly beneath her before sitting down. Her eyes aren't yet narrowed by sleep demanding its due, but there is a faint crease to her forehead that might not have been there a year ago.
He's given her undivided attention regardless. The tea has a kick of kumquat to it, putting some colour back in her cheeks. Her cup is set back down with a gentle clink. ]
That's very kind, but I cannot accept a gift from you.
[ A gift from an unmarried man, never mind someone unburdened by azatani wealth considerations? She might as well walk naked through the Avenues.
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no subject
[ It's probably her own fault she can't say no; whether it's to her sister, her unlikeliest of city-saving miscreants, or... whatever this tall, oddly pale, and grass-stained lump of luck happens to be. Owner of exactly one coat, detritus spat up from the ocean onto the grand harbours. Surviving and thriving. Whatever. He's asking her to go back out after she's already tucked tonight's winnings into her jewelry commode and plaited her hair for sleep and—
Well, there's curiosity, isn't there? Nothing would get the azatani clucking quicker than her accepting a gift from someone who can barely afford to give her one, and she doubts it's so clear cut as all that. He knows she wants for nothing material. And the frays between acquaintance and friend are nebulous, muddy, mystifying.
So, yes. His evasive hints are like an ungentle hook in the mouth. And she's a mere minnow, isn't she? ]
Sable House.
Order the safflower tea and whatever you care to drink. Tell them it's on the Verbena account.
[ A fun little code for the account of the madam of the flower house. Which, by the way, is Anahid. ]
no subject
Less chance anyone would bother looking too hard for him on that side of town, though—or maybe wouldn't think too hard about him occupying that side of town. ]
Thank you.
I was just feeling thirsty. See you soon.
[ The one thing that seems to ring true for all cities everywhere: they still heave and sigh and bustle even in the pre-dawn, never sleeping. Once long, loping strides carry him inside—and he pauses, squinting, carefully looking around before before following through on the instructions—he sets the long, rectangular box tucked under his arm onto the table he's directed to. Sturdy; well-made; good quality. One could say the exact same about Two Rivers woolens, but the box is probably the most pristine thing on him. ]
no subject
To announce herself, her coat is laid neatly on the table. Anahid is pleased to see her tea arrived ahead of her, smiling brightly and honestly. ]
Good morning.
[ Well, it is!
Anyway, she's far too polite to prioritise the box over him, but something he said earlier was only remembered on the walk over. ]
Did someone unexpected actually end up in your bed, or was that merely your attempt to scandalise? [ Sadly, it's not easy to do that to her anymore. ]
the great dusty tag excavation extravaganza
And good morning to you. What's your secret? You're looking as fresh as a rose.
[ A sleepless rose, perhaps—as true as it is she's as put-together as ever. She doesn't look to have hit the pillow yet, either. A little of a night's events dusted under the eyes, not yet slept off.
Given he's the one asking the favor, his complimentary greeting owes something to his gratitude. In answer, he nods his chin—a wordless gesture at the rectangular garment box, moved to the side to allow her the space to pull her tea toward her. Something had ended up in his bed, yes. ]
You're looking at it. And I'd like to get rid of it. That's where you come in—I was hoping you could take it off my hands. My unwanted gift, your gain.
[ A recycled gift, then. ]
does that make you indiana jones
He's given her undivided attention regardless. The tea has a kick of kumquat to it, putting some colour back in her cheeks. Her cup is set back down with a gentle clink. ]
That's very kind, but I cannot accept a gift from you.
[ A gift from an unmarried man, never mind someone unburdened by azatani wealth considerations? She might as well walk naked through the Avenues.
On the other hand, her curiosity — ]
What is it?