Like Marisol, Raymond also did not waste his words. He never said more than he intended to say, exactly as he intended to say it, and the perception of wastefulness in his unfettered tongue became the very aid to disguise how little he actually gave away.
He could see her edgy stiffness at the growing press of unfamiliar bodies around them - likely less trained eyes than his could, so intensely had she focused on the act of centering herself inside an imaginary space meant for a housecat - but he didn't act on the private amusement it offered him. He wasn't there to make her self-conscious over a bit of a crowd, but maybe she'd show just how much pressure it took to truly crack her careful composure.
And anyway, the interaction was engaging. Raymond wasn't about to walk away from that just yet, especially when she brought up how everything was dangerous in the right context. Truer words perhaps had never been spoken, and he laughed heartily enough to turn the head of a passerby whose fleeting glance seemed envious of the quality of their conversation.
What she said next puzzled him, mainly because in his life and his work he had learned pretty quickly that not everyone worth taking out wore a curly mustache and a 'kick me' sign on their back. Some of them looked like everyone else; some of them were liked. But all could be laid bare by crawling like a cockroach into the right crevices of society. The red stallion put all illusions of dignity behind him and had not bothered going back to collect them. He would do anything, rub shoulders with anyone, if it got him closer to his goal.
"If you don't mind me asking," he replied in a tone that plainly suggested he personally didn't care if she minded him asking but still somehow managed not to be a complete ass in the delivery, "How do you expect to spot any vipers without walking through some tall grass?"
He could see her edgy stiffness at the growing press of unfamiliar bodies around them - likely less trained eyes than his could, so intensely had she focused on the act of centering herself inside an imaginary space meant for a housecat - but he didn't act on the private amusement it offered him. He wasn't there to make her self-conscious over a bit of a crowd, but maybe she'd show just how much pressure it took to truly crack her careful composure.
And anyway, the interaction was engaging. Raymond wasn't about to walk away from that just yet, especially when she brought up how everything was dangerous in the right context. Truer words perhaps had never been spoken, and he laughed heartily enough to turn the head of a passerby whose fleeting glance seemed envious of the quality of their conversation.
What she said next puzzled him, mainly because in his life and his work he had learned pretty quickly that not everyone worth taking out wore a curly mustache and a 'kick me' sign on their back. Some of them looked like everyone else; some of them were liked. But all could be laid bare by crawling like a cockroach into the right crevices of society. The red stallion put all illusions of dignity behind him and had not bothered going back to collect them. He would do anything, rub shoulders with anyone, if it got him closer to his goal.
"If you don't mind me asking," he replied in a tone that plainly suggested he personally didn't care if she minded him asking but still somehow managed not to be a complete ass in the delivery, "How do you expect to spot any vipers without walking through some tall grass?"
Raymond.
"he's an outlaw loose and runnin'," came the whisper from each lip
"and he's here to do some business with the big iron on his hip."
"he's an outlaw loose and runnin'," came the whisper from each lip
"and he's here to do some business with the big iron on his hip."
@
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
