“Secrets for secrets, perhaps?” He laughs, shaking his head, and charms. “I do believe yours are worth far more than mine.” Not a lie, Anatoly knows secrets, of course, but the best, most powerful ones are also the most dangerous, the ones he dare not use until he is assured of his own strength, his own safety. The smaller ones he as offered are still humorous little anecdotes, gossip and tall-telling and fairy stories, but hardly worthy of a proper exchange of secrets.
And this woman knows Secrets. She looks at him under demure lashes with eyes brighter than the jewellery draped across her skin and stares into his soul. Her entire package is one of clever lies and misdirection and magic made true. Cassandra, false-true prophet once more in living skin and, oh, he would believe her. She looks at him with the promise of Secrets he will want to keep even from himself, and those are always the very best to uncover.
No, not secrets, he decides. Here with another like him for the first time in years he’s hardly about to waste first impressions on offering to trade whispered gossip for the Secrets in her smile. What then? No one like him will ever hand away anything for free, to do so smacks of ignorance or unspoken favours, and while one is rude the other is plain foolish.
Unless. “I would ask for a story. The best you’re willing to tell.” A story doesn’t have to be true after all, for all the glimmer of truth in the details. It’s like the little secrets, the gossip that he’s offered in that way, some of it might not be true, at least not fully, but look a little deeper and you’ll find something that bleeds. “Would you think that a worthy trade?”
And still he eases into and does not find ease in her presence. They are dangerous things, the both of them, dressed up in their finest pretenses with no where to go. They know too much and never enough, caught against each others familiarity and wondering how deep they could crawl into the others skin before they even noticed, wondering what the other would do when they did.
He plays up the devil may care attitude in his smile, the intensity of his stare, the almost-threat in the tilt of his chin. She stares right back at him through a smile that sings of heat or blood or both and promises she already knows everything he’s ever been and everything he could ever be without saying a single word.
All the best liars tell truths.
And this woman knows Secrets. She looks at him under demure lashes with eyes brighter than the jewellery draped across her skin and stares into his soul. Her entire package is one of clever lies and misdirection and magic made true. Cassandra, false-true prophet once more in living skin and, oh, he would believe her. She looks at him with the promise of Secrets he will want to keep even from himself, and those are always the very best to uncover.
No, not secrets, he decides. Here with another like him for the first time in years he’s hardly about to waste first impressions on offering to trade whispered gossip for the Secrets in her smile. What then? No one like him will ever hand away anything for free, to do so smacks of ignorance or unspoken favours, and while one is rude the other is plain foolish.
Unless. “I would ask for a story. The best you’re willing to tell.” A story doesn’t have to be true after all, for all the glimmer of truth in the details. It’s like the little secrets, the gossip that he’s offered in that way, some of it might not be true, at least not fully, but look a little deeper and you’ll find something that bleeds. “Would you think that a worthy trade?”
And still he eases into and does not find ease in her presence. They are dangerous things, the both of them, dressed up in their finest pretenses with no where to go. They know too much and never enough, caught against each others familiarity and wondering how deep they could crawl into the others skin before they even noticed, wondering what the other would do when they did.
He plays up the devil may care attitude in his smile, the intensity of his stare, the almost-threat in the tilt of his chin. She stares right back at him through a smile that sings of heat or blood or both and promises she already knows everything he’s ever been and everything he could ever be without saying a single word.
All the best liars tell truths.
@Al'Zahra - i'm sorry for the wait!
