Returning the Favor [Odessa/Private]

What kind of person forgets a necessity? Well, she assumed it was a necessity, to him. She didn't smoke, and what was in the box smelled too strong to smell appealing. At least not when it was in the box. It followed him like a cologne, and in a way was even more fitting. But not for her-- which was why she couldn't imagine why he'd leave it there unless he'd forgotten to pick it up. Dimitrie had confirmed-- he wasn't the type to leave something like that as a gift. Also it seemed to her friend that it was a miracle he didn't counterfeit any of the money to save a few cents.

And she'd come to the conclusion that she had no reason to be angry with him... but she could be cold. She'd give herself that much. Still, she wouldn't keep something that wasn't hers. Informed where Diederik was staying by another carnival worker, she headed for the inn on the boardwalk. Figures he wouldn't stay anywhere near the jurisdiction of the Frenchman (although she didn't understand the animosity-- he was a smart man who knew alot).

As she approached and entered the building, it was extremely apparent this was where he was staying-- even though he most likely wasn't taking part in the... festivities. As soon as the door opened the noise multiplied in decibels. It seemed the main floor was a bar (or so she thought-- they all had drinks and were laughing but there were too many people for her to see if there was really a bar somewhere around them. She also saw a couple of fights in motion. So it was a bar.

Being no stranger to these types of people or this type of place, she headed into the crowd without trepidation. She managed to get through most of the crowd, kicking away hands and laughing jovially at but not entertaining cat calls. Right as she was about to step out of the mass and onto the steps, she was grabbed by the waist and pulled onto someone's lap. Perhaps any woman without ill-repute would have found it dangerous-- but that wasn't the rules she had to abide to. It was an advertising opportunity. "Stay, Blondie, I'll buy you a drink or five." She heard from behind her.

She giggled like she'd never heard it before. "Drinks don't pay the bills, Mister."

Another laugh boomed into her ears. It smelled like gin. "Well, how much?"

"More than you could afford, I'm afraid."

The man punched the arms of the others sitting around him. "And what if we all split the check, huh?" A resounding cheer.

Well. She was stupid, but she had quite the hand at situations like this. "Sorry-- closed for the night, but," reaching into her blouse (where else would she keep it, a purse would get stolen) she pulled out a card with the name of the brothel printed on it and handed it to him, also pulling out the blue and white box from the same place and flashed the name on the back. "If you tell me where he is, I'll give you a discount later."

Silence. The silence of killed business. But at least it got her what she wanted originally. She was released from the deckhand's arms and told in a mumble it was one of the last doors in the upstairs hall. She kissed his cheek with a thank you and left the crowd for the next floor.

She smoothed out her clothes on the way down the hall before reluctantly knocking on the door after taking one last glance at the box. It wasn't like she needed it for anything. Best just to return it. She still felt as if she should just leave before the door could open. And she was almost planning on it, if her feet would only move. She could give the box to someone else, or even throw it away. But being reluctant to go back to the bar and sure even with her height that jumping from a window was not an option... she waited.

She was right to think that he wasn't taking part in the festivities. Even just the noise that seeped in through the floors and the closed door was starting to get on his nerves; in no way was he going to expose himself to a full dosage of the cacophony. But he let it be, since it had been some time since the crew was able to relax and enjoy themselves.

Being the captain, he thankfully got his own room--though there was little indication that he was a man of much influence, based on the interior. It was rather starkly bare, with few signs that anyone had been staying there for more than an hour or so, rather than a couple of days. His trunk, worn and clearly of low-quality, was hidden in a corner, it's contents kept inside. The small table was bare, the dresser clear of personal belongings, and the bed (conspicuously too small for a man of his height) was made. The only personalization that had been done was a medium-sized box that sat on the floor next to the nightstand, open and revealing of it's contents: dozens of smaller boxes, all identical (except for the image painted on their lids) to the one he'd given her. There was just one empty space where it was clear one was missing. And then, on the nightstand itself, a wooden metronome in the shape of a pyramid, undecorated save for a large pearl that served as the pendulum weight.

Diederik himself was busy with finishing up a shave. It was late in the day, but he hadn't had any reason to go out, and therefore hadn't gotten around to making himself look presentable. Not to mention, his mind had been preoccupied with what to do about business now that Bourbon was around...and then there was the incident from the brothel. As expected, it had been nagging at the back of his mind since he left.

Focused on the straight razor in his hand, the sudden sound of knocking at his door caused him to jump, accidentally cutting himself on the side of his jaw. Cursing, he dropped the blade with a clatter, grabbing a towel to wipe away what little shaving cream remained, and to staunch the bleeding.

Assuming it was one of his men, he got up and opened the door without bothering to inquired into who it was, irritatedly asking, "Ja, wat wilt--" When he saw her standing there, though, he stopped mid-sentence in surprise. For a moment, he stood there as though frozen, body asking for a command from a mind that was only coming up blank. Finally, he stepped aside, clearing his throat, "Come in..." He certainly hadn't been expecting for her to go looking for him, and for what reason?

Almost immediately after she had knocked on the door she could hear a clatter and a curse from the small room. Well, she hadn't known it was small until the door was opened. Even she would have had trouble staying in there, but him... how in the world did he even have the money to pay her?

He was bleeding. She bit her lip to make sure she wouldn't ask about it. That constituted a conversation no matter how little he said back and she wanted to try not to be there for a whole conversation.

She watched his expression carefully when he realized who she was. Was his silence out of not wanting to speak or not having anything to say? When he finally did utter something she put a hand out with the box (though... was that a whole multitude of them she saw in the room?) to stop his words. "No... I don't think I could." Turning the box around in her hand she said as if it wasn't obvious to him, "I think you forgot this. It has your name on it. If I didn't return it to you I wouldn't feel right." She waited a moment before saying more assertively, some unknown emotion something like impatience but... also some emotion that seemed to push her own back, "Take it."

With nothing else she could say (oh, there was alot she wanted to say... but all of it conflicted somehow), she stood, arm still outstretched with the box in hand. "Please take it back..." She was unsure of whether or not she was talking about the box.

He frowned, forehead furrowing upon finding out what she was there for. If he'd wanted it back, would he have left it there, to begin with? It was so unlike him to just give things away, and here when he did, it was just brought right back to him. Figured. And the way she was speaking...it wasn't outright angry, per say, but it was different from before.

He didn't touch it, "If I'd forgotten it, I would have gone back for it right away." Feeling small trickles of blood oozing from his fresh wound, he left the door open and went back in, putting the towel to his face again. "Sell it, if you want. It's not worthless." It's what he would have done, anyways, if it'd been given to him and he didn't want it. He didn't know what to feel about her bringing it back. Not good, but not bad, either. It didn't particularly matter to him what she did with it. What bothered him was that she'd misinterpreted his leaving it there; the gesture (which had admittedly been subtle, or even outright obscure) had been lost. So it was, in the end, pointless.

Picking up the razor from where he'd dropped it, he snapped it shut and put it into a drawer. Turning back to face her, he waited, with an air that suggested he expected her to either come in or walk away.

He had just... given it to her? She was only used to getting gifts to people who she'd known for a while in the business. It seemed... odd... that she would get something from him.

She trudged in as if her feet weren't following her mind. "But I don't... smoke..." One last feeble attempt at trying to turn down a gift that to her only meant how adept she was at the carnal arts. "There's stuff in here... anyways..." She stood by the ones just like it, as if readying herself to replace it where it belonged.

In her churning heart about being reminded that perhaps this career was the only one ever suited for her, she remembered how it had felt the other night... differently, but with the same heaviness. He wasn't a malicious person. He didn't seek out their family. Most likely he didn't even want to take her sister. But they both relied on sin for money, didn't they? As long as someone else was willing to commit to the sin. He wasn't a despicable man, and she wasn't some whorish harpy, as the rest of the world would have believed. The only unfortunate part was that they happened to meet in the middle.

Still staring at the box, she carefully sat on the edge of the table, hoping or not hoping he would hear her. She had no reason to be angry. And he was honest-- so shouldn't she be honest too? "Years ago I heard our mother sold my sister to a man who were going to take her to America..." She traced the blue patterns on the box with her fingers, as if outlining lines on a map. "She was sick... she couldn't see... Mother said it would be better for her... and people would take care of her. America was great...everyone had money and everyone was healthy... and they accepted all people. So I let her go. She shouldn't have even been out of the house..." Just finally speaking about it to someone, no matter if they were facing her or not, was a relief in itself, but her words came out strangely apathetic... as if any emotion would let the guilt seep in again. "I was stupid... I am stupid... I decided to go too... so I took a boat, just like she did... it wasn't so bad. My sister was very smart. I knew she must have been a scientist-- she was one...but an American scientist... one of the good ones-- and that she was happy. So why couldn't I do what I wanted to be happy?" Her words wavered over the next few memories, as she realized that they really weren't as innocent as they seemed.

"I got off of the boat and a man came straight up to me and said I looked like a moving picture star. They only showed the news on screens at home. I told him I didn't know what that was, so he took me to one with stars. After that... I really wanted to do that. So I asked him how and he said... 'You're in luck, I work for the movies', you just have to take a test." She had to laugh at herself. She was possibly the biggest idiot there was. "...So I slept with him in front of a camera. The camera never worked, and then he kicked me out of his house. It's silly, isn't it..."

She stopped to breathe for a moment. The worst of it wasn't over yet. But at the past all she could do was laugh-- she shouldn't have. It wasn't like she learned anything from it. "So I walked and hitchiked, thinking I'd get to where the movies were made. But I ran out of money. And I thought if I snuck into the carnival I could stow away there until they traveled far enough. But... Sonya... my sister was there...and she was frightened so badly. I was too... what was I supposed to do? I was too afraid to save her. I could hardly support myself, let alone another person-- a blind person."

A small, sentimental smile grew on her face, remembering the best part of her journey (if not hardly only a little better than the rest). "But Dimitrie found me. He was very nice. So were the other girls. And he told me, 'You look like a star, you know that?' and I said, 'Yes, people have said so'. He asked me if I wanted to be one... but I knew what he really meant. I said yes to keep an eye on my sister. She's gone and happy now, with a man who loves her, I think." After a moment, "...but I don't regret much."

She didn't realize he had no idea why she had been upset the previous night. But she had told him. And felt all the better for it. She did smile, genuinely, this time. "Thank you..." That sounded unbelievably pathetic-- she made it about the box. "But I don't smoke."

He looked at his chin in the mirror as she spoke, as though to see if the cut was still bleeding. But it became apparent, by the time the story ended and the blood had clearly congealed, that his attention wasn't really focused on what he was seeing. He'd met people who were close to those he took away, friends and family of those he turned into merchandise. He'd also heard a lot of stories with unhappy endings. Neither one left him walking away feeling very good.

When she finished, he didn't say anything right away. Instead, he took a moment to go over to the chest next to the nightstand, pulling his pipe out of a drawer that sat under the section holding the little white-and-blue boxes. From these, he selected one (revealing another layer of them underneath the top), and opened it, taping and pressing it's contents into the bowl of the pipe in several layers. Walking back over to the vanity, he rummaged through one of the drawers for a box of matches. Striking one, he let it sit in the tobacco for a moment, before taking a drag on the aromatic contents. The room was filled with silence and mint-scented smoke.

Finally, he spoke up, holding the pipe between his thumb and first two fingers, looking her full in the eye, "I sold your sister to the freakshow." She'd probably figured out that much by now, but he needed to say it himself--to show that he was man enough to own up to his own crimes. "There were a lot of them, that trip. I only remember her because I never had a sightless person on my ship before." Or since.

He could have said something in his defense, but he didn't bother. And likewise, he didn't comment on her story. He had a feeling she hadn't told it to him because she wanted him to render some kind of judgement (whether it be positive or negative) on her life. So he didn't.

Replacing the pipe in his mouth, he spoke around it, arms crossed, "The box is an apology." Meaning he wasn't going to take it back. "Sell it, if you don't smoke."

She didn't know what she was expecting to gain from all of this. But she was realizing it was probably not a good idea. If only there was a way to rewind it all. She wouldn't embarrass herself like this, she wouldn't have ended up telling her whole story to someone who didn't need to hear it. It was probably mortifying enough for him-- having a prostitute seek him out.

"I thought so," She nodded, only meeting his gaze for a moment. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Her life was supposed to be tracked by a chronicle of strangers; not people who gave her things or people she couldn't stop herself from saying idiotic things to.

She didn't try to give it back to him, but she wouldn't keep it. She smiled at him, memorizing his face for probably the last time. "I'd keep it if I thought you did anything wrong." At least that was what she had gleaned from this mess. So, as if to erase the whole situation, she replaced the box in the empty space with the others. It looked like she never had it-- like nothing had ever happened.

Straightening herself up to brave the bar again, she laughed at herself sadly. "I'm sorry for bothering you," And after a moment of thought, "...and I guess making you cut yourself."

"I'd keep it if I thought you did anything wrong."

...What?

It was at this moment that he'd unfortunately drawn in a mouthful of smoke, and accidentally inhaled it in surprise, causing him to break into a fit of coughing. Discarding the pipe on the table with a clatter, he had a hand to her arm--stopping her from leaving--before he even knew what he was doing or saying.

"Vesna--don't--" he had to speak around coughs, "I mean, stay here--hold on..."

He told a moment to clear his throat, still gripping her lightly, just in case. When he'd gotten himself under control, he still fumbled over his words, face flushed as he did so. It was quite a sight, such a grown man getting embarrassed like he was still a young teen.

"I did do something wrong, but you--you didn't--this is nothing," his hand flickered up towards the cut on his face, as though that was what he really meant, but then lowered to show that it wasn't, "Don't leave yet--that is--I want to see you--"

If she left now, he didn't know if he could bring himself to go back again. But...it struck him too late that maybe she didn't want to see him.

Letting go, face redder than ever, he mumbled, "Not that I'm forcing you..." Not that there was much he could say to defend himself, there, he remembered with an inward cringe. He made his whole career out of forcing people to go from and stay in places they didn't want to.

It took her a minute to process that he was speaking at all-- from the coughing, and the fact that it was the first time she'd heard her name come out of his mouth. She thought he must have wanted her there because that smoking was finally killing him-- hence the coughing. Not knowing what she could do, she just stared up at him, looking fearful. ...Which probably didn't help his fear of thinking he was forcing her.

She held her breath until the coughing stopped, exhaling with wide eyes when she was let go. A nervous giddiness came over her when she realized she didn't need to panic and that she wouldn't have to see someone die. "Maybe you shouldn't talk to much-- it gets scary." But then again, it was a mystery-- what would he say if he did?

Nevertheless, the fact that he remembered a prostitute-- and would ask her to stay, and that he wanted to see her-- how could she refuse? She still thought the cut was her fault-- not to mention, had she made him choke on smoke? She sat on the table again and gave him a small smile. "I hurt you when I came in, I hurt you when I was about to leave-- to get away from the guilt I might as well just stay right here."

She watched small, needly rays of sun pass through not-so-well-kept curtains, the smile still on her face, as if she replied his embarrassment in her mind. "Diederik... Can I tell you something?" She already had. And chances were she wasn't going to wait for him to affirm it, or maybe he wouldn't affirm it at all. "It's hard to break the habit of earning something for... What I do. But... I like you-- alot-- more than anyone that's been in that room," It amazed her to realize it seemed she was as bad at expressing emotion as he was-- after all, she hadn't needed it for a while. "I don't want you to pay me-- well I do... But not in money." He had been places she could only dream of (though perhaps she confused 'impoverished' with 'exotic'), was in a business quite like hers, and, though it was unseemly to say so aloud, with him she had actually felt something that she hadn't since she started in the business.

"I want to be paid in words." She stated simply. "Words that you speak. It doesn't matter what they are or even if they're about me-- just words." Maybe not even sentences if he didn't feel up to it. He reminded her of her home. This was maybe the only deal where she could get him coming back. For her it was companionship and a void filled that had been long hollow. For him, free services. It was an attractive deal.

She was visibly relieved when he let her go, and he honestly didn't have much hope that she wasn't about to just make a run for it. Why wouldn't she? After knowing what kind of a man he was, she had every reason to, he'd have thought.

But she didn't. And he was, again, surprised.

But not as surprised as when she sat down and made her proposal to him. He initially wondered if he hadn't accidentally smoked something other than tobacco just now--he would have believed that a hell of a lot more easily than that what he was hearing was true. Why on earth would she like him? He just didn't see it. (It was, perhaps, in his humility itself that he couldn't see how humility could be likeable to someone in her position.)

And the offer itself...was far too good to be true. Morality could kiss his ass; it would be a flat-out lie to say he wasn't immediately attracted to the idea. He was accustomed to trying his hardest to be frugal, so when something was handed over for free, it felt like his brain would shut down for attempting to understand it. Although...he had to give a short and bitter laugh, at himself. Not because anything was funny, but because it was almost painfully ironic.

Talk was, indeed, cheap, but he was a poor man only in words. Yet that was what she wanted from him?

More or less collapsing into the chair that was in front of the side of the table she was sitting on, he looked up at her, running a hand through his hair--dishelving it where it'd been combed back. "You're cheating yourself, you know."

A moment passed. Hesitantly, "What do you want to hear...?" It was too good a deal to pass up. If words were what she wanted, he'd have to find them for her.

"You're cheating yourself, you know."

She shrugged. "I dont think that's true..." Already more words. Could it be considered a conversation? "But if it is...You're the one being cheated if you're not going to let me figure that out on my own-- that'll take a while."

Kicking her shoes off, she stretched her legs before folding them at her side, bursting into incredulous laughter when he asked what she wanted him to say. "I don't know. I don't know the things you like to say." She was sure there was something in there. It was in his eyes. Why didn't he say what he wanted to say when he wanted? But she supposed if it was all new to him and apparently so much was at stake, she would help him out. "Tell me one thing you're thinking of, right now. Just one."

It struck her maybe too late (for him, not her) that she'd never given him a set of rules for the deal-- how much he was supposed to say, or about what, or for how long. Oh well.

Running his fingers through his hair again, he said without missing a beat, "I'm thinking it's stupid to be able to sleep with a woman, but not know how to talk to her." That was a fairly long sentence for him, though. Maybe he could do this.

There wasn't really much that he 'liked' to say. What did she really want to hear about? It had to be something interesting...his travels, maybe? Frowning, he looked to her for some kind of inspiration. His focus latched onto her eyes; deep blue, like the clearest ocean. Rubbing the cut on his face absently, he took a brief moment to gather his thoughts, so that he wouldn't trip up all over his sentence again. 

"I'm thinking about the beaches in Indonesia." (What about them? Be descriptive!) "They're not like the ones here. Sand's pure white, and you've never seen cleaner waters." 

On a day when the sea was devoid of any ships, you could look off into that never-ending blue-on-blue horizon and feel like you were falling into the universe. It was the very same feeling he was starting to associate with looking into her eyes--not that he worded it quite so eloquently in his mind. And he certainly didn't say it aloud.

Reaching for his discarded pipe, just so he'd have something to occupy his hands with, he mumbled, "I don't notice the smell of the ocean anymore, unless I'm standing on one of those beaches."

She couldn't figure out what would make a person not like to talk. From what she surmised, he must have had alot to say. It almost seemed selfish, too keep ones thoughts away from people who wanted to be closer to them.

He had said more than she expected to, in any case. Sliding off the table, she sat herself over his lap when he became quiet again-- it was like as he talked he became something human... Something was in his eyes when he talked about the ocean, as if he knew something about the world that no one else did. And then he returned to stone. Almost like a fairy tale. Not a very good one.

"I don't think it's stupid..." Then what was it? "It's..." It wasn't like he was shy. Or too slow to know how to speak. She giggled at herself. Maybe she was the stupid one. "I don't know what it is but it isn't stupid."

She lightly kissed the cut on his face-- she still felt bad. Maybe there needed to be some kind of sign to put on someone's door if they were holding something sharp that said not to make any sudden noises. Then it wouldn't have happened. "I don't think you can smell the ocean anymore because your nose is too used to smoke." Said so matter-of-factly. "Go to Odessa, where everything smells like the sea." She smiled with nostalgia. "It's beautiful."

She would hope to coax more words out of him, but she was content that maybe that was all she would get. It was more than he'd ever said to her, at any rate.

((In lieu of what's going on at the brothel, would it be best for me to go ahead and finish up this topic? XD I have a sort-of idea in mind, anyways--))

((go ahead XD))

No, he certainly wasn't shy. 'Shy' wasn't the right word for it; 'reserved' might have been better. He was reserved, in his own way. Enough to not be able to verbally convey as much to her, anyways. And if 'stupid' wasn't the right word for his lack of ability in articulation, then perhaps 'frustrating' was. It frustrated him, at least--although more in a flustered sense than being outright upset.

He couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from turning up, however, when she suggested that his lack of olfactory proficiency was due to the scent of smoke that clung to him thickly enough to cut with a proverbial knife. Setting the pipe on the table again, he occupied his hands instead with her waist and returned the kiss--though to her ear.

"Everything from Odessa... Including you? I don't know...I don't smell any brine on you." It might have seemed like a joke, but it was also the truth. It struck him that maybe he did smoke a little too much (a "little"); all he truly ever smelled was the fragrant smog. Before he could say anything more, though, there was a knock at the door, which opened too quickly to give him much of a chance to tell the knocker to go away.

His brother and first mate, whose previous residence had been The Hague (and was consequently a tad more...lofty than the average sailor, and was therefore condemned to paperwork, being useless for hard labor), stuck his head in, "Kapitein, heb ik een vorm--" He froze, along with his addressee, upon realizing what he'd walked in on.

After a brief moment that seemed like ages of awkwardness, Diederik pulled away from the Ukrainian woman and helped her stand up, responding to his brother without quite turning to look at him, "Go ahead, I'll be there in a moment." The order was gladly followed.

Once the footsteps in the hallway were no longer audible, he exhaled in something like mild exasperation mixed with regret. (Regret for not locking the door?) Escorting her out into the hallway, he promised apologetically, somewhat hesitant, "I'll go visit you tomorrow. In the evening, ja?"

'Reserved' was a word she didn't quite know (figuratively and probably literally), due to where she was raised. On the docks, it was all yelling, in bars, it was all yelling, in homes, all yelling-- but all of it mostly happy. Which was why she couldn't keep a delighted coo from escaping her lips when he kissed her ear and called her beautiful-- as if she wasn't a whore. "No-- take that back, forget it. You never heard it." She proclaimed. "Don't go-- you'll see prettier women for free and forget all about me." Even though she was technically free to him-- except for his thoughts. "Maybe if you stop smoking you would smell it-- then you wouldn't ever have to go to the ocean again." She didn't spend all her time in perfume shops and flower fields like some women desperately tried to make it seem. She was Odessan-- and she was proud for it.

Unlike him, she wasn't affected by the intruder-- well, she was curious about it. "Who is he?" She asked him with no discreteness while the first mate was still standing there. But she was ignored and detached-- but was promised another visit. "Okay... But no refunds. You'll have to tell me something else-- tell me about him, tomorrow." She smiled warmly at him and turned, walking away. And she didn't look back to get a last look, because she knew he would come back.