”Sir,” she calls him, and he smiles simply to avoid loosing the laughter that collects on his lips. If only she knew, that it was the savage twin she spoke to, the one that concealed a snake beneath his skin, always preparing itself to strike. His brother would love being called sir, of that he had no doubt; and he had to remind himself that today he was his brother, so today he loved owning that title, too.
“They must be important reminders,” he says, and his green eyes look between her and the notice board, “to be written in such a secret code.” It only makes his curiosity grow stronger, and his imagination runs rampant, imagining all the things they could say, all the things the Scarab might not want its patrons to know.
The problem is at the bottom of the lake, he imagines one to say, and They’ll bring the package in with the morning’s deliveries. It’s absolute torture to take his eyes off those notes, but he manages. And when he sees her chewing on her lip, his smile turns sharper. ”Can you read them?” he asks, and while his tone is innocent, it’s the only thing about him that is.
He’s not expecting her to offer him a glass, its amber liquid sparkling in the light in a way that tempts him sorely.
”Well,” he takes the offered cup, its porcelain warm from the tea, ”how can I say no, with a reputation like that?” He holds it close, breathing in its warmth, and is about to lift it to his lips -
”Although,” he lowers it slowly before he can take a drink, ”they say it’s rude, to drink alone.”
He smiles again at her, his teeth white and pearlescent. And in the time between them he imagines a string, pulling them closer, wheedling her secrets out of her (secrets for him to take back to his brother, to use, to hoard.) "I don't suppose you have another glass?"
Toulouse can hear the music of the lounge still drifting through the air around them, low and sensuous.
“They must be important reminders,” he says, and his green eyes look between her and the notice board, “to be written in such a secret code.” It only makes his curiosity grow stronger, and his imagination runs rampant, imagining all the things they could say, all the things the Scarab might not want its patrons to know.
The problem is at the bottom of the lake, he imagines one to say, and They’ll bring the package in with the morning’s deliveries. It’s absolute torture to take his eyes off those notes, but he manages. And when he sees her chewing on her lip, his smile turns sharper. ”Can you read them?” he asks, and while his tone is innocent, it’s the only thing about him that is.
He’s not expecting her to offer him a glass, its amber liquid sparkling in the light in a way that tempts him sorely.
”Well,” he takes the offered cup, its porcelain warm from the tea, ”how can I say no, with a reputation like that?” He holds it close, breathing in its warmth, and is about to lift it to his lips -
”Although,” he lowers it slowly before he can take a drink, ”they say it’s rude, to drink alone.”
He smiles again at her, his teeth white and pearlescent. And in the time between them he imagines a string, pulling them closer, wheedling her secrets out of her (secrets for him to take back to his brother, to use, to hoard.) "I don't suppose you have another glass?"
Toulouse can hear the music of the lounge still drifting through the air around them, low and sensuous.
the motherland don't love you,
the fatherland don’t love you.
so why love anything?
the faithless; they don't love you
the zealous hearts don’t love you.
and that's not gonna change.
ut deo.
@aghavni
at last <3
enfanir
