OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

[wrens]

prompt one | R A I N I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.

 

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[johns]

[ There's a girl with big glossy curls and dark owl shades and shorts that come up to just about there click click clacking her way down the sidewalk in his direction. The heels of her shoes kick up splashes in all the puddles and her hips manage to draw the attention of passersby with their sway, but she doesn't seem to pay any of that attention because she seems to have eyes just for Carl. Her lips, which are slick with lipgloss and the color of candy cane nail polish, split a smile once she's an earshot, her pace slowing to a saunter and then a stop right in front of him. ]

Got a light, sailor? [ she asks, a hand fishing through the pockets of her fur-trimmed coat to find a silver cigarette case while the other keeps the neon yellow umbrella over her head from pitching too far in any one direction. ]

[coaxed]

Looks like it's your lucky day.

[ He doesn't smile (he very rarely does), but the line of his shoulders stays curved as opposed to taking on the sharp angles that it does when he's out of his depth or he's ready for a fight. As soon as he's produced the lighter again, he holds it out for her, the flame lit and flickering in the slight gust.

(The short of it is this: it's easier for him to be seen with her than it is for him to be seen with a woman who's supposed to be dead. So whatever questions he has to field about that girl with the big glossy curls and heart-shaped lips, he just says, yeah, yeah, sweet girl, that one, and he heads back off to whatever work it is he's supposed to be doing.) ]

Keeping dry all right, then?

[johns]

I'n'it just?

[ Normally she'd keep those shades up, separating her and whomever it is that's company for the night, keeping them at a distance, keeping her armor water-tight. But Olenska says manners when it comes to grim-faced Carl Whitmore and Cherry Darling does whatever Olenska says (even if manners were never really a part of her training for this gig). So she looses the shades, ditching them into the monstrous purse that's dangling from the crook of her elbow. Cherry's got big, expressive eyes lined thick with lashes that've got their fair share of mascara. She bats them at Carl once as she dips to light her cigarette — tip to flame. ]

Wouldn't do to go tromping around, looking half drowned, [ she says, her pink smile seeping smoke. ] S'bad for business. An' murder on the shoes.

[coaxed]

I'm surprised the shoes aren't murder on you, [ he says mildly, lighter clicking back shut and soon pocketed.

A beat passes as Carl takes another drag from his cigarette, the resulting smoke wavering and then dissipating in the falling rain. (Generally, what Catherine — no, Olenska, Olenska — says, goes. It had been that way when they'd been children, too. Maybe it was just because he had doted upon her, but still.) It's only now that Carl affords Cherry a proper glance, brow furrowing slightly as he rubs at his cheek and the faint traces of stubble there. ]

An' how's business?

[ To some degree — well, most degrees — business means the madame. ]

[johns]

Comes with the terit'ry, doll. The legs might go all the way up, but they're nowhere near long enough to catch the fish I'm anglin' for. [ Cherry says this with a smile, since the sentiment is as much Olenska's as it is her own. She wonders sometimes if he sees it, the bits of her that are mostly borrowed from the madame in an attempt to make herself more like the woman she so readily admired. In the end, she assumes that he does, because Carl and Olenska are brother and sister and siblings were meant to know one another like that, weren't they?

Cherry waves at some of the smoke that hangs between them, eager to see his face again clearly. This was the important part, after all. ] Flush as ever. Y'should see my little black book these days. Practically bursting at the seams. [ A beat. ] Not that I won't have time for you, none.

[ There'll always be time for Carl from Cherry, because there'll always been time for Carl from Olenska. That's how these things work. ]

[coaxed]

[ Carl sees those affected shades of his sister in Cherry all the time. (Sometimes, they're the only thing that he sees, if only because he doesn't get to see the genuine article often enough.) But he sees Cherry for Cherry, too, and the girl — by his assessment — is sweet. (He can see why Catherine likes her so much and, he suspects, Catherine can see why he likes her, too.)

He waves a hand in a half-dismissive gesture, shaking his head as he does. ] Wouldn't dream of wastin' your time, [ he says, with a slight nod. ] 'M sure there's better business than hangin' about an old sod like me.

[johns]

[ He's right, of course. Technically speaking.

There's plenty more business waiting for Cherry elsewhere — appointments at both three and five, dinner with a yellow at six, drinks with a violet at ten. But when Carl talks business, what he means is Olenska, and when it comes to Olenksa then no, no he's wrong.

Cherry's got a nice smile when she's not being a vulture, and there's no need to be one around Carl. ]

I like my old sod plenty, [ Cherry says with a tip of her eyebrows upwards, making it to seem like a question even though it didn't sound like one. ] B'sides, wouldn't want this gig going to some other lucky girl, now would I? They'd just make a mess of it all, tits up.

I'n'it right?