Day Job [Jakarta/public]

This was perfect. It was a sign. Suddenly someone showed up to do the job that he was putting off?

"Perfecta!" He exclaimed, with a beaming smile. Jumping up, he rushed to grab a large stack of papers and books, and dropped them into Niels' lap. "These have to be done... Or gone through... Or fixed... Or... Or something. Within the next few days. And then you can come back here and get more of it." There was alot. The owner before his cousin seemed like she actually knew the ethics of working, but after Bourbon took over the work seemed to stop.

"Go find the British girl-- Miss D'Arcy, for your pay, when you can." He barely managed to keep out a 'thank you'. "...Now get out, please. I'm busy."

--------------------

He bent down to bow before her hand (he didn't do with kissing hands-- he never knew if that was acceptable or not), he smiled. It was nice to see a girl with some class, for a change.

"I used to work for him. I might, still. He's my older brother." He wasn't sure if he should say everything. To his credit, he didn't know she worked there as well. "You see, he's... Kind of obsessed with a woman that works here. He's convinced that after a while they can leave the country and get married. Frankly I think he's coming undone." He shrugged. "But I guess he should do what he wants. What if I'm wrong."

Then, he frowned. "I hope I'm not wrong. Otherwise I have to take care of the contracts..."

Right. Well, no one said life was easy. Or fun. He was just glad his pitch had worked so well. Maybe too well.

He'd been wanting to say that he had one minor stipulation: for legal ownership of Citra to be transferred to him. It wouldn't do to have them selling her, or something similarly nightmarish, while he was there. But judging by the sheer amount of work that had to be done...the management was probably incompetent enough that no one would notice or care if he went ahead and did it, himself. He could probably even convince his new boss to sign the necessary documents, if he didn't quite say exactly what they were.

And unlike Amador, he had to force out a, "Thank you," while lifting the heavy stack of work. "I'll be back shortly with all this..." He said as he exited the car. The sooner he got all of it done, the sooner he could get on to sorting through the rest. Who knew, maybe it was enough to last him the entirety of the year they had to wait to get their house back.

--

Well, that was...certainly interesting. She was about to politely ask how his brother's being obsessed with some girl here corresponded to him having to take care of the contracts. But at that moment, his brother walked out, and she got an inkling of an idea.

"Ah!" She exclaimed, spotting him. Rushing toward him (with a slight limp-like gait, but this was no time to worry about such things), she stopped in front of his path, demanding, "Where on earth do you think you're going with this, sir?" She waved at the papers, "These are very important documents; they don't belong to you!" It was all of the work she'd been trying to force a certain Spaniard to do.

Niels, for his own credit, managed to stop and keep the stack from falling on who he could only assume was Miss D'Arcy (it still did not explain what she'd been doing, before, or why), "Er, yes, actually...these are mine. I've just been hired to sort through all of this." With a slight strain in his voice, he stepped around her, "Sorry, if you'll excuse me, this is kind of heavy... We'll be properly introduced later?" Without waiting for affirmation, and having not even seen his brother (to be fair, he couldn't see much of anything, around the stack), he headed straight for Citra's car. It might have been wiser to drop the papers off in his car first, but...priorities. He stuck to them.

Darya, meanwhile, was bordering on outrage. He hired a man to do his work for him? Another drain on their resources, and for what? So he could be lazy--what did he think they needed him for, then? She was about to go set him straight...but it seemed she'd rushed a little too much; she ended up tripping over.

She managed to break her fall with her hands (just another reason why she always wore gloves), but it seemed there was nothing for it but to wait it out. With a frustrated huff, she sat upright. On the ground. 

If she still had her maid, she would have been helped to her feet and escorted to a place where she could sit properly, but no such luck, anymore. And she was far too proud to ask for help from the one available person there--especially given that he only had one leg, himself.

Judging by all the paperwork... He did have the job. And the woman he had been talking to seemed to be the real one in charge. Unfortunately she didn't look to be very good at it. That, and walking. She looked worse at it than even he was.

After his brother had disappeared from view, he made his way to the woman. "...Are you alright?" Why was she limping? Should he help her? She was just... Sitting there. "...Miss D'Arcy...?"

--------------

Citra had tried waiting, but after she'd gotten breakfast, she still had felt worn out and aching. So she had gone back into the same bed, curled up and went back to sleep. That would take a few hours. She thought-- she didn't really know.

However, she'd had some terrible dreams that actually involved the man she was going to marry, and ended up just attempting to sleep, for the while afterwards. Nothing had happened like that before-- where could it have come from? Nerves. That was it. Although, it still put doubts in her mind. She didn't want him to come back too late-- she felt she had to make sure she had no more doubts.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, somewhat stubbornly, "I'm just thinking about what I'm going to do with that man." She waved a hand at the car she'd previously been hanging off of, as though it's owner had upset her too greatly to even point directly at it.

It was fairly obvious that, unless she was just both incredibly clumsy and eccentric (which she wasn't), her thinking wasn't all that was going on. But she was highly reluctant to admit to her condition--especially since she didn't know exactly what it was, or why she had it. It seemed like something to be ashamed of. Something that people would gossip about, something that would make her seem weak or ugly. But then...of all people, this person was probably not one who would care, or judge. Besides the obvious reason, he didn't seem that malicious, anyways.

Finally, she informed him, "This isn't a place I would normally sit, mind you. I just...have to rest, before I move again." Was that too strange? Did it make her seem like some sort of animated statue, with limited capacity for movement? Sitting up a bit straighter, with the blush of a wounded self-esteem, she added, "Don't think it's strange, because it isn't! This just happens to be a bad moment, of sorts--" A bad moment that happened with annoying frequency.

--

When he finally made it to her car, his arms were aching. As such, he only knocked briefly (rude) before letting himself inside--and immediately setting down all the papers with a gasp of relief. With a grimace, he stretched out his fingers and elbows, looking around. "I'm back, I got the job! Hello?" Where was she?

Making his way to the back of her car, he finally realized that she was lying down. She made for such a tiny bundle that he hadn't spotted her, at first. Kneeling down next to her bed, he touched her shoulder lightly, glad that she was still there (a part of him had convinced himself that she could have disappeared completely, in the relatively short time he was gone) but worried, nonetheless, "Citra, what's wrong? Are you alright...?" Was she sick? Injured? Depressed? Why? Why? Why?

"I don't know," He mused, still watching her cautiously. "If he's useless, might as well make him feel important-- otherwise he'll try and find a way to be important, and ruin things." It made sense.

And if he was useless and difficult, that meant he would have a better time talking to her about the contracts. Once she was done trying to explain himself-- really, he didn't care, he had nothing to compare her to-- he nodded and responded with an "Okay."

Mentally preparing himself first, he used his cane to help steady himself as he got lower to the ground. Finally, when he couldn't use a crutch anymore, he just dropped, and landed with a thud on the ground next to her, one leg tucked in, the other straight out, with metal peeking through the bottom of his pant leg.

"As long as we're down here I might as well ask: could I get some more time to figure out the contracts?" He didn't like talking down to people.

------------------

She had finally gotten to sleep again, but she didn't feel much better. Which was why she was glad when he brought her awake, albeit a little groggy. Turning over to face him, she touched his hand and mumbled, "I was asleep...Do you have a job...? How much will they pay you...?" That was what she was really worried about. He would probably take nothing if they offered it. Then how could they afford things? If he took nothing just to be around her... Then quite frankly he wouldn't be around her anymore.

"Perhaps." She mumbled reluctantly, "It's just the principle of it all..." Maybe it was for the best that this new person had been hired; at least some work would actually be getting done, no matter who was doing it. But still, it did not alleviate all of her frustration with a situation that was clearly wrong.

Looking away when he sat down, so as to not shame him, she replied sharply, "Exactly how much more time, Mr. Van der Haven? My lackluster manager aside, I appreciate punctuality." She may have been young. She may have been a woman. She may have been 'somewhat' disabled. But she didn't tolerate losers, and she didn't accept failure. Not even in minute forms, from nice-seeming, one-legged men.

Absent-mindedly rubbing the key in her purse, she added with a sort of hopeful uncertainty, "That...that's understood, yes?" If there was one thing she'd learned from Shirazi and her adopted father, was that to get people to do what you wanted, you had to be firm. You had to push for the best, and expect it. But...she wasn't always sure if she was doing it correctly.

Sneakily (or, attempting to be sneaky), she glanced sideways to see if he was properly intimidated.

--

Oops. He'd woken her up. "O-oh, sorry--er, yes, I got the job. It's a...bigger job than I thought." Hopefully the resultant workload wouldn't drive a wedge between them in a similar manner as before. "I don't know about the pay, yet. I have to go discuss it with the owner, or...whoever she is...later..." 

Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back towards her. ...Well, more towards her. Brushing a strand of her hair aside (he touched her face and his hands weren't even shaking, oh god--), he ventured again, worried, "Did you, um, not sleep well...after...I mean, are you sure you're alright?" He had a thousand worries on his mind (chiefly, had she heard yet that their secret had leaked out--it didn't seem like it, and he dreaded if and when she did), and wondering if there was some awful reason why she hadn't gotten up yet, wasn't lessening any of them.

"Look..." He began, trying to twist to see if she was even listening, but then gave up--she didn't seem to be. "I don't know what kind of person you think I am, but I'm not out to deceive you." If he was, how would he make money?

Unlike his brother, he couldn't use intimidation as a means to keep a client, so, of course, he couldn't be late. "I just need time to understand the contracts... I'm not exactly a lawyer." He did pick things up quick, though. Alarmingly quick. Sometimes he would think about if he'd actually chosen a carreer. He'd be successful, but he wouldn't have been happy. He wasn't really happy on the ship, either. He hadn't quite figured it out yet.

When she looked back at him, taking a break from (obviously) trying to be intimidating, he couldn't help it. There was something about her face-- she really wasn't doing it right. He broke out into a laugh, but quickly covered it up, and cleared his throat. "U-understood. Yes. Completely. I'll get it done as quick as I can." After all, he didn't have a woman, and there was nothing else to distract him in this place. "I promise."

--------------

"Don't do any work until you know what they'll pay you." She advised. She almost added for him not to do it at all-- he might lose himself in it, again.

Going red-faced at his question, she frowned and mumbled, "Don't talk about that, it doesn't matter...!" Although she had worried about it, too. There was too much more to think about. "It just... Made me tired... So I went back to sleep." She wouldn't tell him about the nightmares, but one other thing concerned her. Sitting up, she tried to elaborate (English still wasn't the best for her. Neither was her Dutch), "I did go and get breakfast, though, and some of the girls from the..." Her face went red again, and she cupped her hand to whisper in his ear just the one word, "...brothel... looked like they were laughing at me... And doing this--" She brought her hand close to her neck and made a motion that, to anyone else, might look not unlike someone pulling on a tie. "I don't know what it meant... But I don't feel that good about it."

And had he seen Diederik before he left? Did he know the man had seen her, and just never told him? For years?

She clicked her tongue, "Now, I'm not blaming you, so there's no need to get jumpy about it. But the fact is that someone was late, so someone has to make up for it." That was the way things worked. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but it wasn't hers, either. And since he was the one currently representing the enterprise he worked for, he was the one who was going to have to step up to the plate and do what had to be done. And do it right.

Hence why she flushed slightly and quickly looked away again when he (obviously) stifled a laugh. "I'm not exactly a leader or an 'owner', either. So don't have the impression that you're the only one learning on the go." It wasn't easy, by any means. But she didn't cut herself (or anyone else) any slack, for it; nothing less than better than the best was good enough. Still, she couldn't help but smile wryly, "But I will hold you to that promise, sir. If you exceed expectations, then I might even be impressed." Might.

Testing herself first by wiggling her toes inside of her shoes, she got up and said decisively, "I'm done thinking now, I believe." Dusting herself off carefully (so as to not agitate her lungs), she looked to him pointedly, silently wondering if he needed help getting up.

--

"Er, ja, well, I'm going to get it sorted out as quickly as possible, anyways," he assured her. It wasn't in his nature to not be productive; he didn't know if he could stand not doing anything, knowing a humongous stack of work was staring right at him. Even if he wasn't getting paid to tackle it.

Biting his lip, flustered, he quickly apologized, "Sorry! Sorry...I just, I worry, you know..." She knew. She probably knew too well. And now he was wondering what exactly she meant by saying that it made her tired. Wasn't that natural? But it wasn't natural to be bedridden over it--was he just over-thinking this? Then there was a new worry: who all had seen. Truth to be told, it didn't matter to him, but if she was upset or hurt by it, then it was a problem. He almost automatically reached to adjust his tie, but restrained himself. Instead, he frowned and looked perplexed, "Well, I can't imagine why..." Who said lawyers were good at being not entirely truthful? "But...don't pay attention to them." He took her hands and squeezed them gently, "They're not very respectable women, are they? Maybe they're only jealous, because you're beautiful and proper."

But just as she didn't know what the prostitutes knew, he didn't know what the man who frequented them knew. Diederik rarely gave any indication of such things, and he especially hadn't, after Niels had found her again. Needless to say, he would have been considerably upset if he discovered that his older brother had failed to speak up, the entire time. Not that it was all that surprising.

He couldn't stop smiling, even though maybe he should have. She really had no idea of the kind of person she was talking to. But then again maybe he didn't know enough about her. "You're new to places like this... Aren't you?" She seemed too smart for it.

But, he dropped it. He didn't want her any more 'angry' at him than she was already. "If you give me the time, I won't disappoint you." He wouldn't disappoint a manager... And he certainly wouldn't disappoint a woman. What was he, his brother...s?

After she got up, he realized there was no way he could. He had sat to make her feel better about sitting on the dirt, and hadn't thought of how to get up again. He grinned nervously, eyes darting from his legs to her. "I... Don't... I don't think I'm done thinking yet."

--------------

"I don't know if you know this, Niels... But I'm small." Her feet didn't even touch the ground as she sat on the edge of her bed. "You aren't. Okay?" She wondered how he even stayed in love with her over facts like that. But he did still love her, and had proven that she couldn't shake that off.

At least now, she was glad about that. A smile grew on her face, until she was beaming. Beautiful and proper. There were no two better words. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "You mean that?" Of course he did. She just wanted to hear it again. But then... She felt sad about it. "Niels..." She began into his neck. "If you never found me... How long would you keep looking?" She dreaded to think how long Diederik would keep the secret.

Uh-oh. Warning bells went off in her head. "Yes..." She answered cautiously, "I moved here from Middlesex--near London." Did he mean she sounded new--as in too sophisticated for this place, or not enough? In that, it was obvious she'd only just recently mastered reading and writing, and mathematics? That one could tell she'd been born a street rat in Abadan? She'd put a lot of effort into masking these facts, ever since her fortunes had taken a drastic positive turn.

But he was smiling, so maybe that wasn't how he'd meant it (unless it was just a very well-disguised smile of contempt). Unnerved, she likewise dropped it, figuring that as long as he did what he said, it wasn't a problem.

It seemed she was not the only one unnerved, though. The quick movement of his eyes, indicating his legs, was not lost on her. She wouldn't make him ask for help; if it were her, she would have expected someone to have understood what she wanted, without her having to shame herself. Without hesitation, she leaned over and picked up his cane, placing it into his hand so that he'd have something to get leverage with for when he was pulled to his feet. Which she proceeded to do, gripping onto his free arm with both of hers. Her condition may have rendered her time as a manual laborer short, but that time had certainly not left her weak. There was still some muscle in her.

"There we are," she exhaled, tucking a stray strand of hair into place as though it were nothing. Most privileged girls probably wouldn't have been able (or willing) to do that, but it was one of those nuances of the world of the upper-class that she was still unaware of. "Now, I think it's time for some tea. Won't you join me? I think it's only right, if we're going to be doing business, in the future." Well, it was only right, in her opinion. It was never not right to have tea with anyone you were associated with.

--

It took him a moment to understand what she meant, but when he did, his face must have turned about ten shades of progressively deeper red, in quick succession. "S-sorry," he attempted, incoherently, beginning to feel the tremors coming back. Until she threw her arms around him, anyways, upon which the shakes were surprised right out of him. The blush stayed, though.

"Of-of course I do," he stammered, bewildered that the simple truth could have garnered such a positive reaction, "You're the most beautiful, proper woman I know." It was difficult getting over his embarrassment enough to express such sentiments, but the fact that it was received so well was encouraging, in itself.

...And then her voice changed to something unhappy-sounding. Why? Why? Why?

"I'm not sure...forever, I expect?" For anyone else, it might have been the kind of sappy thing a man would have said to appease his girlfriend. But for him, it was just an honest statement. He was too awkwardly naive to know what else to say, in such a situation. And he almost certainly would have searched forever. (And his brother almost certainly would have kept it a secret, forever.) If he didn't find her, he'd have been miserable, but even more so if he hadn't at least tried.

He hadn't expected her to help him up. She, who'd been having trouble staying afoot herself just moments before. Well, he supposed he didn't know how he was going to get standing, otherwise. Swaying a bit when he finally got up, he braced himself with his cane, looking a bit surprised. "Right, then," he exhaled. "Thank you."

Looking down at the pant leg that hid the prosthetic, he decided he should probably tell her (as if she hadn't already guessed), "It's just... This leg doesn't work so well. Uh... Well, it's just not there anymore." He supposed if she really wondered, she'd have asked by then.

Tea? He was supposed to be getting back to tell Diederik what happened... But he would probably have to wait until... The in-between time. So he decided he should make him wait. Because he was having tea. With a woman. If he just changed 'tea' to something else... He'd never know. "That sounds just fine to me." He nodded with yet another smile. Because he was having tea (and fake something else) with a woman.

----------------

It had been too long since the last time someone said something like that to her. And the fact that it had come from a man who had given up his life to find her because of these attributes... Well, they must have been true. "I never realized how hard it was to be without you.." When he told her what she could and couldn't do, she didn't want him. But when he suddenly came back to proclaim a love he already had, how was it that she just ate right out of his hand? She didn't think about it.

Forever. In despair for her until he died. While his brother knew, and never told him she might have only been a mile away. "No..." She shook her head, voice laced with sadness. Her fingers weaved almost comfortingly (for him or herself?) in the back of his hair. "You wouldn't. Tell me you wouldn't... You would stop and love someone else..." Why did she feel bad, now, when back then, she was glad diederik would never say anything? It felt terrible. "Say it, Niels."

He was wrong in his guess that her wondering would have caused her to ask; she respected privacy too much for that. But she did wonder. How did he lose it? What did it feel like? Was it the same as when she couldn't sense her feet, anymore--when they, for all intents and purposes, vanished? Probably more than anyone else, she could empathize with an amputee.

That wasn't to say she knew how to react when he up and outright said so, though. Heavily-framed eyes blinking with surprise, she fumbled quietly, "Well, I..." What could she say? Clearing her throat, she looked away, "Well, I suppose I wouldn't have been so quick to pull you up, if I hadn't guessed as much." Perhaps it was that, for someone as proud as her, it was downright puzzling that someone would so openly admit to a weakness, like that.

But she moved on quickly, and when he agreed to having tea, she brightened up easily enough. "Wonderful! My car is just over here--" It was a short enough walking distance, thankfully. She didn't have to stumble very far to harass Amador on a daily basis.

When she opened the door to her car and stepped inside, she immediately left her heels off, next to some potted fruit plants, near the door. "Shoes off, if you can; the rugs are very valuable," she told him. And it wasn't only every square inch of space on the floor that was covered in ornate carpets, but the walls as well (although those were better categorized as being in the silk tapestry family). There was only one couch (a divan, to be precise), and a few wooden chairs placed almost haphazardly against a wall; a few fluffy sheepskins on the floor told where she usually sat. Everything was low to the ground, even the table, which might have appeared as a large coffee table, to the average European. 

But of course, she was British. Of course.

"Sit down," she waved a hand at the divan, not quite thinking that, considering his leg (and maybe his height), it might not have been the easiest seat for him. But she was already busy putting together fruits and cucumbers into a bowl, nuts, tokhmeh, cookies, sugar cubes, nougat... Was it enough for one guest? Just barely.

Setting the china out, she took extra care to put things down gently; too-loud clinking could potentially irritate her ears. And she hadn't gotten around to taking her earplug out, or putting the other one back in. As she busied herself with steeping the tea, she ordered, "Please, go ahead and eat something--it'll be a few minutes for the tea." Little did he know, he'd just accepted an invitation to have food pushed onto him ceaselessly for the next couple of hours, or so.

Taking off her gloves (unlike her shawl, she didn't mind removing them in front of others so much--the discoloring of her arms wasn't nearly as bad as the burns on her back), she asked pleasantly, blissfully unaware of the answer she was about to get, "So tell me, what exactly is the business you work for? I haven't yet become acquainted with all of the various outside groups that we get our supplies and whatnot from." 

--

He wondered if this was all one very prolonged dream, it was all turning out so well. Or maybe he'd died, and this was heaven. She realized how hard it was to be without him. She couldn't be without him, was what he heard--the feeling was mutual. If compliments was all it took, then he was happy to shower them on her. It was a ludicrously easy thing to give, in exchange for her fidelity.

It surprised him, though, that she was practically begging him to say that he would have settled for someone else. He couldn't fathom why she wanted to hear that, if she really did (women were tricky, in that one never really knew what they actually wanted to hear), or what the right answer was. So he just replied truthfully, "I don't want anyone else. I want you." Her fingers in his hair alone sent tingles down his spine. Why would he ever give that up? "I love you; I can't stop." A blessing and a curse, for both of them.

He stepped into the car... And had a bit of culture shock. But wasn't she British? She'd specifically stated that fact. Well, maybe, since she'd thought it necessary to sit on the dirt to think, she thought she could walk on the walls, too. Because he was basically held captive, he decided not to voice the concerns.

He took of his shoes like she'd asked, leaning against the wall, leaving one socked foot and one wooden and metal appendage barely resembling a foot. He dropped on the divan the same way he'd dropped to the ground before, and surveyed the food. Didn't she say just tea? Not knowing what a few of the options even were, he opted for the cookie-- it would be easier for her to see that he'd taken something.

....And then almost choked on it, with her question. She had to know, it wasn't like it would be beneficial to not say so. "We, uh... We deal in the whatnot..." He cleared his throat. "...people. Well, not me, specifically. My brother runs the business, he started the business. He would be here... But he had other things to do." He figured her expression wouldn't be that welcoming by then, so he just kept talking. "Don't say anything yet, just listen, please--" He had a good reason. He thought he did.

"I was going to different schools for a long time, I didn't know what I wanted to do with myself. I got caught in a fire a few years back, and I realized if I don't do something, I'd waste my life-- who knows how much I'd have left? So I joined up with my brother to travel. I don't like what he's doing, and he doesn't seem to care. You don't know him yet but... You'd see why I wouldn't try to stop him. So I just try to make the... Passengers less afraid. They're usually not wanted by their own families. So that's what I try to be for them." He liked it too-- he didn't have much of a family, either.

It might seem odd to reveal so much so early, but he had to. She probably still didn't see it as a remotely good thing. At least he tried to salvage what he could. Maybe he should have dragged Diederik there-- he'd look like an angel, compared to his brother.

"That's... What I do here."

---------------------------------

She drew away from him slowly, trying to find a hint in his eyes that would say she didn't have to tell him. There was none of that. Just a devotion so deep that she didn't know if it was good or bad. She took his face in her hands to break the news to him-- she didn't know how he would react. "You can't say that...You don't know..." She began, almost regretfully. She couldn't keep it from him. He had a right to know. If their relationship had soured over almost nothing before, she couldn't let lying do it faster. "Back when I was first here... I was still very... Hurt, you know. I didn't want to see you. And you remember, when you found me here, unsaid you were tracking me? ...I... That's because... After I arrived here, I saw your brother." She didn't know their names well. "The scary one. I saw him. And... He saw me. Back then I was glad he didn't tell you... But now, you have to know." If he hadn't come by her by chance, he never would have.

She brushed the bangs that always hung over his forehead away. "I'm sorry, Niels..."

She was about to inquire into what he meant by that, perfectly unaware that it was anything more sinister than something along the lines of a transportation system for performers, who couldn't otherwise afford it. It was actually a somewhat charming idea. ...At least, she thought it was, until his choice of words made her suddenly uncertain.

Smile wavering as he began--for reasons she couldn't imagine--telling her his life's story, until it faded into a bewildered frown. What on earth was he going on about? Perhaps he was mentally ill...though a feeling of sympathetic alarm did strike her heart when he mentioned being caught in a fire. It struck a little too closely to home. She didn't have a chance to react to it, though, as he continued to describe his brother and passengers being afraid-- ...Afraid? Afraid and unwanted? Suddenly it was terribly clear that they were nowhere near on the same page.

Hesitantly, she finally ventured a confused, "...What? I'm sorry, I don't quite..." Searching his eyes for some sort of sense, she requested clarification, "What sort of 'people' do you mean, exactly?" For all the strength of her personality, she was still naive. It didn't occur to her to think of the prostitutes or the freaks; she knew they existed, but they didn't figure in her mind. They didn't belong to the old world she lived in (at least, she'd been too ignorant and secluded and young to understand they existed), and it seemed powerfully wrong that they should belong to this new one. This sparkling, bright, and comforting new world... They only served as a dark notion that perhaps there was evil everywhere.

But...this man didn't seem evil. She blinked at him in confusion, with a doe's eyes--wondering if it was staring at a hunter or not.

--

At first, he just stared at her, clearly stupefied. It was too much of a shock for him to even know how to react, immediately--so he just processed the information, point by point.

She knew Diederik was there, for starters. She'd known all that time, and hadn't made any move to contact him. Okay, well, he could forgive that. He didn't want her talking to Diederik, under any circumstances. And it wasn't like she could have explicitly known that he'd been trying to find her, back then.
...But even if she had, she said she hadn't wanted to see him. Well, that was understandable. It hurt, but he wouldn't hold it against her--it was his fault, after all. She wanted to see him now, that was all that mattered. Everything else was water under the bridge.

Well, almost everything. Diederik had seen her. He'd known. He'd known all along, that she was there. For how long, Niels didn't know, but any amount of time was too long. Heart pounding with fury, he pulled away from her, standing up so that he could pace for a moment. There was nothing to take his anger out on--Diederik was back at the inn, fucking his whore. Safe from any verbal attack. The greedy bastard was too heartless to make his own brother happy; all he wanted was a good lawyer who'd work for cheap. And he knew that as long as he never said anything, he'd always have one.

Rounding on her, he demanded, "How long ago was this??" But, catching himself, he drew back, taking off his glasses so that he could knead his temples in frustration. Inhaling and exhaling a few steadying breaths, he controlled his tone so that it was considerably less harsh, "I'm sorry, I'm not angry at you, it's not your fault. It's just...ugh, that asshole--!" Stopping again, he shook his head, waving his hands as if to wave away the anger, the stress. It was hard to wave away the hatred, though.

"It doesn't matter," he tried to talk himself down from it, aloud, "It's all past--we're here now, he's there. We don't have to see him again."

The way his foot tapped madly, though, it was clear that he knew that he would indeed be seeing Diederik again. And that he wasn't going to get over it in the meantime. And though there was a level of danger involved in crossing his older brother's path (even if he'd thrown the first punch, to begin with), it was Niels alone, advocate and employer of justice and the law, whom he'd ever exerted any amount of caution around. It didn't do well to bully someone who could call attention to any of a hundred known reasons to put him behind bars. Physical strength and frightening personality aside, Diederik could never beat him in a legal battle. The next time they met, they'd almost certainly be putting that caution to the test.

She didn't understand. Why didn't she understand? He was the smoothest of talkers, but not at things he couldn't justify. He hated what happened, and he tried to lessen its effects as best he could. It hardly made him feel better, and from what he'd heard of the people he 'helped', they never felt better, either.

"Not people I mean...!" He tried to stress, though it wasn't quite making sense. "...People my brother... means... Look-- Look, I'm not even a real part of the business..." Ambroos trailed off, wondering if, if he babbled on enough, she would just drop it. But it was important information, wasn't it? "We... My brother... sells people." He finally said, quietly. "The... the people that live with the animals."

Rotating the cane in his hands, he added, "I don't like it..."

Of course, then he would get questions like 'why don't you quit?' and 'why don't you stop it?'. Well, he wouldn't. And he probably couldn't. Everyone had their place, his was doing something good for people (he hoped) in the absolute worse situation. Sometimes moreover, though, it was to keep an eye on his brothers. He couldn't wean Niels off of his life-destroying-yet-sustaining obsession, but he could at least make sure he never hurt anyone or himself for it. Well, now he couldn't. And for Diederik... there must have been some reason he was destroying himself with smoke and booze (and most recently other people's anger). The one time he'd tried to ask Vesna about it, she'd told him not to worry, that she was taking care of him. She didn't seem to be doing it well... or the right way. And if he ended up suddenly dying (he's already proved he could suddenly lose an eye), as well as Niels (who knew what he would do if things didn't work out again), where would that leave the youngest? What were his odds?

----------------------------

It wasn't if she hadn't expected the reaction... in fact, she'd overestimated it (though she didn't know what was going around in his head). Shrinking away when he began to yell, on reflex, she waited for another round of it... but nothing came. She almost smiled... but it wouldn't have been appropriate, considering the other emotion in the room. A little more was added to the evidence that he had grown up, like he said. That things would be different. "It doesn't matter," She tried repeating, reassuringly. Getting up, she attempted to pull him back to her, still a little unsure of his mood. "Come on... sit down-- tell me about your new job..."

For all that had happened, she realized she hadn't done much talking with him. Perhaps it was better. If marrying him was her only route to another life (not that she turned her nose up at it-- if he'd changed for the better, he was practically a perfect man), she didn't know if she wanted to jinx herself by asking about it before jumping in-- but she would be going either way. Taking a glance at the clock to see how many spaces after the six he'd been gone, she realized it was getting close to the number she knew work always started at. It would be a true test-- men lined up to see if they could kiss her, and while not many ever got the chance, she would have to kick out the man who had to wait weeks to first do the same. ....She would sneak him out at the very last moment. He didn't need to know until then.

After he was near an available place to sit, she took her show clothes out of storage and began digging around in the small vanity, and tried to make pertinent conversation. She was still unsure of what it was he actually did. She knew the words, at least. "Will you still... do lawyering, here?" Mostly.

Her look grew stranger and stranger as he made progressively less sense. Right when she was at the point where she was about to demand he make himself clear, he finally came out with it. For a moment, she looked shocked--practically scandalized, even. But she quickly regained her composure, and responded without missing a beat, "Well, why didn't you just say so? If we're going to be doing business together, you ought to be more direct."

Did the confession dazzle her? Not really. But it didn't put her off as much as it could have, either. After all, through all the deliberating, he'd at least made it clear that he didn't agree with the morality of it.

Standing up to go fill the teacups from the samovar on the counter, she informed him frankly, with her back turned, "I was sold, too. At a very young age--to work in a large household. I didn't like it much, because I should have been free, but it made me strong. And it led to a much better place." If it'd never happened, she'd still be a peasant. If she was even still alive.

Placing the cup of cardamom tea, it's contents swirling with cinnamon, in front of him, she reclaimed her seat. Apparently, that was all she had to say about herself. The rest was nothing but weakness. Or, what she assumed people would perceive as weakness. Sipping her tea delicately, though, her eye on her purse (which sat on a corner of the table), she asked quietly, seemingly out of the blue, "Do you believe in heaven, Mr. Van der Haven?"

--

Forcing himself to push it away from his immediate train of thought, he allowed himself to be pulled over to cool down. Once he started to give in to sudden attacks of stress, it was difficult to not allow himself to blow up under all the pressure--when he was younger, it was not only difficult, but nigh impossible. 'Relax' was simply not in his vocabulary. But he wouldn't let himself lose her trust again, already, just because of Dick van Asshole.

Taking some very deep breaths, he got his voice relatively calm, "Sort of... Most of it's busywork, but some of it's legal." It was pretty beneath him, honestly. He liked to have a lot to do, but not when it was going to obviously be totally mindless. "I don't care, I'll do whatever they want me to--when we go back to Den Haag, I'll go back to my old practice. I want to be in the courtroom again..." There was a note of definite passion in his voice, whenever he mentioned the law. Before her, there had been quite a lot of jokes about his love for justice. Mostly from Diederik, and mostly pointing out that his only love had no reproductive organs.

For a moment, he just watched her getting dressed--the sight took the remainder of the edge off of his mood. Sometimes he wondered vaguely if part of her appeal was precisely that, when hooked, he couldn't think of anything else. An anxiety that made him forget his other anxieties. Perhaps he should have considered psychiatric counseling.

It didn't strike him until after a minute or two of what she was getting ready for--for some reason, a part of him automatically assumed that she wasn't going to work anymore. He'd already shifted into the mindset that they were married; that she didn't have to work, because she'd be watching their children. Biting his lip, he ventured tentatively, "Um... Are you...are you still going to--?" He didn't want other men kissing her, or even thinking they could kiss her. He didn't even want them looking at her if they thought they could have those thoughts. But he didn't want to make her upset, either, and if she still wanted (or had) to work, then what was he supposed to do?

He laughed short and unhappy. "I think you know why I didn't outright say it." He saw the look she had right before she pretended not to.

It was right to sputter out his moral views, it seemed. It wouldn't have been good to say he sold people, so starkly, to someone who had gotten sold. But her life had turned out better for it? What was he supposed to say? 'I'm sorry' didn't exactly fit. "Oh... You must have been lucky... I don't think people here get that chance." He could recall a million examples, it seemed. One girl went blind before she even got off the boat. Things weren't going to get better. But having the tea in front of him gave him the chance to think of something else to say. Taking a sip, he cleared his throat before inquiring, "Were you an orphan, or...?" They didn't sell people in England, did they?

Finally, something he could answer without having to stutter like some kind of Niels. "Of course I believe in a heaven-- the heaven..." He dug around his pocket, and, when he found the rosary, held it out and dropped it in her hand. "Why wouldn't I? Do you?"

-------------------

Putting the finishing touches on her dress, she frowned and advised, "Make sure you make it sound important, when you talk about your salary-- don't call it busywork..." She trailed off, rummaging through the drawers, "Where is... Lipstick..."

She froze when he spoke up again, though. There was a certain trepidation in his voice, as if he wanted to make it a statement. Speaking with almost the same nervousness, she turned to face him, but didn't-- instead she looked down and twisted the lipstick up and down in her hands. "I don't know, Niels.... It... I get money for it. It doesn't really hurt anyone..." She shrugged. "Besides... I think I like it. It's just... It's fun..."

She hoped he would understand. "I still want to marry you... This is just what I do, for now..."

"Hmm...perhaps not," she replied simply, with little hint as to how she felt about the matter--though it should have been obvious. It was unfortunately something she could not change. The freaks were a cheap source of revenue, and counted as a large portion of the carnival's overall "attractions". As it was, her only job was to make sure the money was good; she couldn't make changes that would counteract that. Same went for the prostitutes. That power, for better or for worse, resided with the manager.

Popping a sugar cube in her mouth (it wasn't quite like qand, but it passed), she sipped her tea through it, expertly. She never could get used to stirring the sugar directly in--let alone with the addition of milk. It wasn't until she set her cup back down that she responded, choosing her words carefully. "Yes, I was an orphan." (There was a slight emphasis on 'was'.) "My new family is the D'Arcy's; I was adopted not very long ago." The briefness certainly left something to be desired, but her tone was so finite that it suggested that 'something to be desired' was the best he could hope for, at the moment.

Startled when he dropped the necklace (or so she assumed that's what it was) in her hands, her attention immediately went to it--it didn't look very fragile, but it would be awfully embarrassing if she dropped it. She broke dozens of her own belongings from not focusing on her fingers, when her brain decided to forget their existence.

Holding it up to inspect it as she spoke, a corner of her mouth twitched upward--at some points with a light irony, "Yes, I do. I believe that many people go to heaven--people who are sold, for example. Or people who stumble or fall, when they walk. I believe that they all get a 'chance', eventually." As an off-hand remark, she added, "This is a pretty thing. What is it?" She recognized the Christian cross (she personally didn't follow any denomination, but nevertheless believed in a God), but not the significance of the whole item.

--

"Ja..." It was degrading to have to pretend like he thought such a mediocre job was 'important' to him. But then, he'd sold all his shame when he agreed to work for Diederik, so it should have been nothing new.

When she turned around, he had the wild urge to shake her by the shoulders. "Fun!?" He couldn't stop himself from blurting out, and, then, demanding, "Is it really, or is it just that they won't give you a nicer job? Tell me the truth." But the only truth he would accept was the one he'd just suggested. There was no way she could like it, otherwise; it, too, was beneath her. The only way he could justify it was that she was forced into it, and was making the best of her circumstances. And in that case, he would most certainly try to find a way to change that, as soon as possible.

His expression softened, though, when she tried to reassure him. He slipped back and forth between Jekyll and Hyde, "That's exactly why... What kind of fiance would I be, if--I mean, I don't want other men..." He couldn't even say it, that they would be kissing her. He'd worked so hard to earn that privilege himself, after all.

Her crypticness was a bit unsettling. Usually, people he knew said what they meant. Unless they didn't want to. In which case, they said nothing. And in cases where they had to say the latter, it sometimes came out in a sputtering mess. And he'd heard of absynthe through a sugar cube, but... Tea? His earlier thoughts about her mental health might actually have a basis.

It was also strange they way she worded her family situation. 'Not long ago'. "Well-- if you don't mind me saying, it must have been not long ago-- you look much too young to be in a place like this. They must have adopted the right child." She didn't look much like a child, physically. But he could see it-- he used to be that age, he still remembered (why were his brother's words about hot young women ringing in his ears?).

"Saint Giles is the patron of cripples--" He remarked, obviously knowing the fact by heart. "But I don't think heaven is just for us and some others. I don't think there really are 'chances'. You just have to know where your morals are headed." No matter where you were or what you were associated with. "I'm sorry-- I don't quite understand what you mean..."

Thank goodness, he was quickly returned to something he knew. "Each bead represents a prayer. It's a sequence, it helps to remember it." As always, he attempted, "you can keep it, if you'd like." He could always get another.

-------------------------

She jumped when he accelerated to incredulity, looking alarmed, but most of all hurt. It was fun to be able to smile and laugh and give affection when before she was afraid to even look at any other male sideways. He didn't have to know that. "I don't have to explain myself!" She shot back, fighting the urge to out-yell him. It wouldn't have ended well. "I shouldn't have to. Tell me-- what better job do you think I should have taken? I could have been a prostitute, Niels! Wouldn't that be 'fun'!?" (Her attempts at calming herself down weren't working well-- she was practically shaking with emotional strength gained over the years, bubbling to the surface for the first time) "Tell me what would be better for me-- you've always known, haven't you?"

The small woman gripped the tabletop of the vanity to steady herself, the lipstick tube clenched in her other hand. "I... This is what I want, right now. I don't want to just wait around while you lose yourself to work. I don't want to fight..." Hesitantly, she let go of the dresser and made her way to him, taking his hands. "Let me do this for now... Then we'll get married, and I'll never kiss another living thing, besides you and our children..."

She enjoyed it, though it wouldn't have been something she would have freely chosen in the beginning. Before she'd thought of it as a sacred thing... Here she'd seen everyone do it. It didn't hurt to step out of the box, once in a while. Besides, she could stop when she wanted. It wasn't as if they owned her (or so she thought-- she didn't know what papers she'd signed, in the beginning).

She smiled at him through dark red lips, "Do I look like a child to you, Mr. Van der Haven?" It was said more teasingly, rather than accusingly. She knew she was young; that was an undeniable fact, even if she'd never known her exact birth date.

Taking another sip of tea before continuing (this time without sugar--the bitterness didn't bother her), she looked more closely at the little cross on the necklace as she spoke, "Saint? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Of course, Islam had it's own version of the concept, but she was not even well-versed in the religion of her birthplace. No one had ever taken her to a mosque. No one had offered to show her a church. And she didn't know how to go, on her own. "What I mean is that I think a wide array of people get to a better place, eventually. I, as you say, got very lucky. But I think a gracious and merciful God still cares for the people who don't, too."

Blinking at him in surprise when he offered the string of beads, she insisted, "No, I can't take this--" But, remembering that Westerners didn't do taarof (was it then considered rude to deny?), she added quietly, "I don't know how to pray." She didn't know what direction to face, or what to say in what order, or how to hold her hands and body. And it never looked any less complicated, when she tried to observe others doing it.

--

"There are a lot of better--" He started, but cut off mid-sentence, taken aback at her accusation. ...Hadn't he always known what was best for her? For everyone? Maybe he was the only one who thought so. But he had tended to be like that, for as long as he could recall--both of his brothers would have attested to it.

"S-sorry," he stammered reluctantly, "Alright, I'm sorry... I don't want to fight, either..." But neither did he want to say he was okay with her doing this. Because he wasn't.

When she took his hands, though, there was nothing to do but relent. Exhaling, he agreed, "Okay... Just for now." It didn't mean he would like it, though. He would just have to keep her words in his mind: him and their children. She was still his, no matter what, and it was him whom she'd have children with. Not anyone else, just because they bought into a silly story and some fake fog.

He tilted his head with another smile and a barely hidden laugh-- good natured, though.  "I'm not sure," He mused just as lightly as her question... But was thinking seriously.  She certainly didn't physically look like a child.  He wasn't going to say so, but she was really quite pretty.  Although, he didn't know what she hid.  "I'm still wondering if you really aren't just a girl playing dress-up." It was a joke, but it was half-true.  He knew it-- because he was doing the same.  He was just pretending he knew what he was doing-- at everything.  He didn't know how to deal with contracts, but he could pretend, and fantastically, at that, that he did.  He wasn't even sure he knew how to act like a real person.  But as long as something fake was propping him up, he could fake it, himself. He'd gone to school so many years because he didn't know what he was going to do with his life-- he didn't know what he was even doing with life.  So he'd joined the ship. But he was constantly afraid.  He was afraid of his brother, afraid for his brothers, afraid of failing, like they had, in opposite ways.  He wondered if she was pretending because she was afraid.  

He got a bit more serious, and wondered what he could tell her.  Meanings like that seemed a bit personal.  "A saint is... Someone in the past who martyred themselves for their God.  And the way that they... Lived makes them patrons for certain types of people and problems." It was a ridiculously simple way to put it but, "And sometimes, you don't want to admit your troubles to a 'Father'... You just need a friend to protect you.  That's... What a saint is." It struck him that she hadn't even asked.  "They're for the people you talk about."

"No, no-- keep it," He assured her when she outright an automatically rejected the rosary.  "Keep it... As a token of our business relationship.  I guess it doesn't matter if you pray with it, to you, it'll just mean that I keep my promises." She hadn't asked to learn how to pray, and it was probably better that he not. After all, he wasn't an authority on prayer, only on the existence of God.  Perhaps he was wrong.  "I think prayer comes naturally, when you need it."

--------------------------

Citra smiled reassuringly (or she tried for it to be-- she still felt a little shaken up).  "Besides, I think you've kissed me enough in a whole day and night." On her lips and everywhere. "They only get one each.  Hold on just a moment--" 

She quickly rushed away from him to apply her lipstick, and, without blotting it, stood on her toes and kissed his jaw (she almost had to jump), leaving a bright red stamp.  "Now look, Mas, you'll have a kiss on you all the time!" When she wasn't startled or worried or tired, she was actually quite bubbly.  Patting his chest as if to gesture that time was wasting, she let go of him.  "Now you have to take your papers and go work-- or else you'll scare them away."

The smile dropped instantly, and she was, all at once, incredibly afraid. Probably more so than he'd ever suspected. And he'd seen right through her. Straightening up, she made a good effort at going along with the joke, despite how hot her face felt, "Well...it would be quite a shame to not dress up, when you have clothes." How could he tell? She was able to bullshit with everyone here--even herself, most of the time. Her make-believe was so convincing that it became what she really believed. Until she took down her hair, washed off the makeup, removed the fancy clothes and jewelry, looked into the mirror before bed and remembered: it was her taking the orders, not long ago. It was her who was the slave.

So what place did she have, in the world, to be issuing orders? She wasn't born into this life, so did she really belong to it? Or was it all just a (presumably) never-ending game of "let's pretend"?

And again, here, she'd fumbled somehow. It seemed like this 'saint' business was something important enough that it should have been common knowledge. Exerting what damage control she could, she replied swiftly, "Oh, of course--of course, I know this." She obviously didn't. "I only didn't know the name...just the concept...you see." She hadn't. And now she wanted to know more, but if she asked, it would make it all the more clear how much she didn't know what it was. It would make her look bad.

A pins-and-needles feeling that was just as unwelcome as it was familiar began to flare up in her fingers, and, just when she probably should have been paying the most attention to them, she turned her gaze back to him to refuse again (on instinct). But before she could begin to say anything, the string of beads slipped through her fingers and onto her lap. Her wrists were stumps, her hands were gone--as far as she knew. Wincing, she directed her attention to the depression in her dress where the rosary had settled, and tried to pick them up again. Her fingers couldn't seem to curl around them, and they fell a second time. Struggling to focus on the simple task of coordinating her hand movement, she smiled painfully, quietly, "You'll find that not much comes naturally to me."

--

Blushing hotly, he nearly forgot what it was he was so upset about--until she reminded him he had to leave. Clearing his throat, he managed to get out a relatively steady, "Th-thanks... I'll go...I'll go work, now..." Going to retrieve the papers he'd left on the floor, and stumbling over something on the way (he just barely caught himself from what would have been an incredibly embarrassing fall), he added, "I'll be back later...ja?" Several times. Multiple times. Passing by the line of men, and making sure they weren't doing or saying anything they shouldn't have been. And making sure she was still where she said she'd be; he had to know she was okay. But he'd be back 'later' to actually talk to her.

Struggling to balance everything in his arms again, he exited, already mentally juggling his new workload and the task of obsessively keeping an eye on his newly reclaimed fiancee.

He thought about what she said for a moment, and didn't say anything, taking another sip of the tea and looking down at it in thought.

"You're probably right." He agreed finally, acting like he hadn't heard the drop in her voice.  It seemed he had touched a nerve.  "But if the clothes are too big, aren't you worried they'll suffocate you...?" He didn't want to push her, but it was nice not to have to decipher her words anymore.  "That's what I feel, sometimes, anyway.  I guess it's a silly thing to say, it doesn't matter."

Of course she knew about saints, of course.  That's why she wondered about it. He couldn't help but smile knowingly at that.  "You know... I have a book I think you'd like to read.  But unfortunately I don't have it with me." 

It seemed she was having trouble holding the rosary.  Did she just really, really not want it? She hadn't given off that message.  He didn't know what to say or do when she admitted that coordination didn't come easily to her.  What was that supposed to mean? Not wanting to say anything-- not knowing what to say, he quietly got up (as quietly as he could) and walked over, picking up the rosary from her lap, careful not to touch her.  Even more careful not to muss her hair, he bend over a bit and gently slid the chain of beads over her head. "Now you won't have to worry about losing it," He smiled lightly, still not showing that he noticed her condition.  He had the feeling she would hate to be treated like something was wrong.  He finally stood up straight, and eyed her, playfully critical.  As if it hadn't just slipped through her twitching fingers like water. "Although it doesn't seem to match your other jewelry.  I guess you don't have to wear it when I'm not around.  But if I had to say so, I think it fits you nicely." Though it wasn't exactly gold.  

----------------------
She called discretely after him (thankfully people weren't idle and wandering around this time), "It's practice for being married-- you aren't allowed to stutter...!" She wasn't sure if she found it endearing or annoying.  

After she'd spent the remainder of her free time getting ready, she wrapped on the side of the car, indicating to the workers (who she knew were already there) to start the fog and music, and the line.  She remembered Niels could be a little too overprotective, but that was then-- years ago, when he thought (she thought, even, after she'd met them) that she was dim, along with innocent, and couldn't protect herself.  Really it couldn't be said she was any better, but she knew more.  She could only trust he thought it was adequate.  It would be bad if he didn't-- she could say for certain he would use words more effectively, but those men could use their fists.  

The seriousness of what he said was not lost on her, but she couldn't yet decipher what he meant by it. "It is a silly thing to worry about," she seemed to dismiss it, at first. But, eyeing him sideways, and with a small smirk, she mused, "...As I don't believe they make clothes taller than that. Unless by 'bigger', you meant to refer to girth." Where she came from, she was 'tall' (for a woman), at barely sixty-four inches. Maybe to him, she did look like a child. 

And she probably sounded like one when she protested, as though he was going to force it on her, "I...I don't care much for reading, I'm afraid..." It was a skill she'd learned so recently (and in a different language, no less--she still didn't know how to read and write in Farsi), that it could take an hour just to get through a few pages. The slow going sucked all the entertainment out of it.

(It was also, to her secret shame, why she was always having to try and coerce Amador into doing the paperwork. Besides that it was his job, she couldn't even hope to do it herself, no matter how important or urgent it was.)

Blushing when he slipped the rosary around her neck--not because he was assisting her, but because she was unaccustomed to a man being so close--she murmured, "Thank you...I'll always wear it." And she would. Just as she always carried her cheap little key around. She was unaccustomed, too, to receiving gifts. Of course, all of the lavish things she had now technically were, but they weren't given directly to her. She'd typically go out with her nurse or maid, and select what she wanted; the money was what was given to her. (And really, in a sense, she had helped to earn it in the first place.)

So, doing what she'd observed in the household she'd worked in, when the mother or father would give their children gifts, she stood up, still blushing. Putting her arms around his shoulders in a sort of quasi-embrace (thankfully, her heels gave her some leverage, though she still had to stretch), she kissed both sides of his face. ...And then immediately sat back down, hands in her lap, clearly uncertain of what she was doing.

"Please, have some more to eat," she tried to insist, to break what could possibly be an awkward moment. He hadn't eaten much. Why? Did he not like it?

"You don't believe that?" Almost everything she'd said he found himself laughing at. The way she tried to seem coy and graceful was just too sweet and unassuming to be either. "Then you must be glad I came here as opposed to some of my brothers. You wouldn't be able to believe them, I guess." Especially

She didn't like to read? And she was supposedly British? What else was there for a woman like her to do? "So... Miss D'Arcy-- what do you do for fun, then?" He was starting to think she was lying about being British. But why?

He wondered if he shouldn't have put the necklace on her, the way she was blushing. And then, she stood up and kissed his cheek-- both of them. He was just as unaccustomed to it as she was. Red rose to his face and he sat down again without a word, finally mumbling, "...You're welcome."

Choosing not to bring the odd moment up for discussion at the moment, as he remembered there were more pressing matters to attend to. Picking up a few of the... Well he didn't know what they were, but they were edible, and tasted good, he cleared his throat and began, "I have to confess-- I'd rather not do this work. Though I would like to see you again, I have to be honest.... With this work, I don't even know where to start. And about my brother," How to word it while making it seem creepy enough to have to fire him? Oh, it was easy. Because it was true. "He's good at his work without a distraction. But he's only here for the distraction-- this woman-- the small, dark, asian one." She'd probably seen her. "He's completely obsessed. You can't let him stay here. He's going to hurt her" she was probably too young to learn, "and I'm afraid that if she leaves him for that again, I'm not sure they both are going to come out of it alive." It would probably shock her too soon, but that was what it called for. "I'm asking you to fire him-- and then not let him back in." He needed his brother back-- for more than just business.