Re: victor & irene; mariner's inn at midnight
Irene discarded religion as she did soiled handkerchiefs: religion was something you fell into, eyes closed when you'd run out of things to buy and you had all that it was you wanted that you needed something you'd never be able to satisfy. That, or you'd given up on ever getting something you needed. Religion was an uncomfortable itch along her spine, churches and gloved fingers closed around a missal and she thought the entire congregation might laugh if she stood up in front of it, like a cat walking on its hind legs.
She didn't believe in Time either. Time was just a cruel joke, and you could trick a room full of people into thinking Time had stood still in the years between them seeing you then and seeing you now, but Time was the only one who saw through powder and glitter and smiles.
The watch was going to go any minute if he continued to examine it out in the open like that, a solid silver glint between his fingers that would buy somebody a beer or a bed for the night. Irene judged Sal's progress with a critical eye. Almost.
"Sit down," she said, helpfully and the boot slid the chair further into his path to impede it. He appeared confounded: perhaps he wasn't accustomed to women in mannish coats in drinking establishments, but even if the coat wasn't the first stare of fashion, it wasn't so perplexing that the man had to gape like that.
"It's attached, now." Her voice still chilled, and she looked at the way the chain ran slack over his hand. It would take seconds, and the merest of training in pickpocketing and he'd lose it all the same. It looked like a fine piece, if in need of a polish. "That won't last."