Re: log: flower delivery - ella g/mason j
Ella turned her petals to the sunshine, and the sunshine was adoration. She'd been a vain little thing when she "lived," even hunger couldn't change her nature. Belly rumbling, and she'd danced with the best of them. Heels bare and shoulders glistening, and she'd loved the freedom that came with her world. Even the rotgut, and the way it burned a path sizzling as it went down, was beautiful to her. She liked the way he looked at her. Perhaps she was immoral as immoral came, but she was a product of her time. Living snippets of years aboveground since, that hadn't changed who she was beneath the skin.
"Boss, I've never seen you blush, no matter what face you wear." It was familiarity. Years and years and endless years of it, and she didn't fear smiting like his demons. She said, watching his face and not the fingers upon her hand, "in the homeless encampment, there were old women. Leathery faces and eyes with whites gone yellow, and they read tea leaves and crumbs and love lines," she admitted, girlish, though she'd never believed such things. "No fate for you. You don't think we we're all fated? I think we are. I think choice is merely an illusion." She said that seriously, as if she believed deep in marrow, and then her smile blossomed harmless, thoughtless and all air once more.
She looked at the coin, at the name lifted there, and she tried to pronounce it with her accent of odd construction. It was poorly done and sounded decidedly jingle-brained. "I'm not afraid of what might come. Will it bring me luck?" she asked of the coin as he closed her hand over it. "I guess luck and protection aren't so far apart, fella," she said, her irreverence paired with a sweet smile that made it seem less knowingly improper.
"I'll talk to Janus. I believe he thinks me a little bird of little worth, and I love people who think that." She could affect vacant as well as any gal could, and it worked for her often. But there was more to the girl at the piano stool than met the eye. "Rory and the man in the hockshop, I'll let you know of them too." But he didn't seem to know about the newspaper editor. "I have his name," she said, confused. "I haven't met him yet, but he was like gravel in my shoes, and he was hinky to boot."
She stood when he leaned back, and she looked down at him with his new eyes, soft and kinder. "You like it here." Finally, conclusion drawn. "You like this." She looked around the church, and then back at him. "Is it to be a secret?"