The Soiled Dove (shesfallen) wrote in burn_town, @ 2011-11-10 11:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | soiled dove |
Sermons and sidestepping
Life may have long since burned her childish dreams of a glamorous existence on stage to cinders, but Virginia was finding more and more that her current occupation demanded keen acting skills all the same. None of the men in town appreciated her knowledge of German soubrette parts or her perfect recollection of Ophelia's mad scene, but being able to keep her polite mask firmly affixed was proving invaluable.
Still, even she had her limits. She couldn't prevent her her eyes flickering upwards to the saloon's ceiling, as if waiting for a divine intervention that never came. If there were going to be a deux ex machina to rescue her from this endless conversation, it had yet to make an appearance. Virginia knew that her thoughts were wicked, and worse than that they were ungrateful. The Preacher wasn't one of the religious hypocrites she had encountered so many times in the past, nor was he a snollygoster or lout. He didn't lunge at her with greedy, grasping hands or mentally undress her with his eyes. No, she believed his earnest entreaties to repent were well intentioned and sincere. But somehow, his constant fishing for her soul was worse than grabbing hands on her body.
Her mild smile remained permanently fixed on her face as she listened to his familiar lecture, but her patience was wearing thin. This was far from the first time the preacher had come to the saloon on a pious errand.
"Yes, I do know about Mary Magdalene's story in Luke," she answered calmly, leaning heavily against the oak bar. Her tone masked just how tedious she found this line of questioning. She had hoped the presence of a scowling, whiskey-swilling gunslinger beside her would discourage him from lingering at her side, but he showed no signs of slowing down, much less departing. Still attempting to look like she was listening patiently, she couldn't stop her foot from tapping in time to the jaunty ditty that The Piano Player had just embarked upon. She struggled to seem like she was paying attention, when in her head she was mentally running through the steps of the "Glide Polka."
Was it step-close-step? Or step-step-close? Or something else entirely?
"No, there's truly no need,” she found herself answering, somehow preternaturally aware that it was time to make a rejoinder, even as her mind had wandered far from the conversation at hand. "I have a copy of the Holy Book beside my bed at all times, I promise you."
Well, that much was strictly speaking true. Her grandmother's bible was currently buried under a mound of ribbons and a thick romance but it did exist. And was it her imagination or did her mention of her bed seem to draw him up short? She stored this information away for future use, perhaps a few daring comments about her sinful quotidian tasks might cut short future visits.
"Thank you for the company," Virginia added raising her voice a notch above its normal soft tones. "But I'm afraid I'm expected to entertain all our guests, besides I wouldn't dream of keeping you away from your important work." That was as kind of a dismissal as she could manage, and with a final tight sile she promptly drifted away towards the piano before he could restrain her with another warning about venal sins and the wages of corruption.