arjun (nawab) wrote in cityofsteam, @ 2013-11-27 01:15:00 |
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A stain. The reason for which the stain had appeared at all was of no matter whatsoever, it could not be undone. However(!) the very fact that it was present at all, dead center and rusted brown against what had been a pristine Persian rug of soft blues and creams, was more than enough reason for Arjun to have furiously written an urgent letter requesting the immediate arrival of a man he knew best as his dealer. (Occasionally an acquaintance, rarely a friend, though always a point of interest that either amused or greatly distressed him.) So furious had he been that Arjun required the use of a second party to write down his words as to avoid the shaken, haphazard look of ink raged across paper. Afterwards it had merely been a matter of the waiting game. Impatient pacing to and for until a response came and, later, an arrangement to have the man come by: he’d found a replacement. So he prepared for the arrival of his guest in having tea brewed in a large kettle, strained out into fine bone Chinaware and the assortment of dates, figs and kesar kaju katli--a personal favourite of his--as well as all other trimmings to uphold pomp and circumstance. All a matter of flair to ensure that one’s image remained in the highest regard. It also stood as a matter of respectful gratitude, shown in effort so that should he ever require the immediate replacement of a rug further down the line it would be a request willingly filled. Which, really, boiled down to one singular concept: business. Arjun had a fine business sense and applied it actively in a situation such as this. When one Mr. Pepys did arrive, Arjun had him brought into the main room where the tea and desserts had been arranged. It was also where the sad, destroyed rug had been folded and stored, so that it could be shown to the man (in hopes there might be a possibility to salvage it) or immediately removed. Greeting the man at the room’s edge--so stiff and proper--Arjun urged Sterling to follow him directly. “I appreciate your haste in this matter,” short, abrupt words. “And might hope that you’ve an immediate solution to offer.” Sterling, so many years ago, had initially started this “rug” business as a joke, a hobby. Something silly and ridiculous to goad his father with (“look! i can be successful at something you hold in such little regard!”) and it had, somehow, flourished. And he didn’t know how, nor why, but fancy people had always had money to throw around for fine floor adornments and he had, somehow, made contacts that let him have the finer pieces from the Middle East, the East, and other fanciful places that he had yet not seen in person. It would serve that his biggest client (should he really call him that) was in need yet again for a replacement. At the first letter he smirked and waited to write back, knowing full well that he had something to exchange the damaged piece with. It was upstairs, rolled into a tight wad, and stored out of light, waiting for the day it could be unrolled ceremoniously for feed to parade across it. Now, a few weeks later and some lies spun about locating something out of Turkey or maybe it was Syria. Sterling cared not. The rug was carefully transported with him to the home of Arjun Nawab, Fanciful Vampire at Large---a joking term from ten years back that Sterling had said and still found hilarious---in hopes that he could unload it. “Well,” he followed his client through his home, taking note of any new additions of art, statues, tiny knick knacks on the entryway table. “You seemed quite urgent in this, and I felt it best to try as hardest as I could.” It should be noted that, where Arjun was quick, Sterling was slow, picking each world carefully. He did this with cause: Arjun was quick, impatient, and though Sterling could carry his own on those matters, he oft chose not to around him, drawing out time. “Oh, my, what’s this?” He ignored the rug, sitting there so sad and lonely, curled around itself, for the cookies and tea on the low table. Kneeling neatly, Sterling passed a hand over the small diamond shaped biscuits and picked one to inspect, frowning at the little green flecks of pistachio. “My God, Arjun, did you cook these yourself?” He smirked, glancing up at the stormier one, blue eyes flashing with amusement at his little (ridiculous) joke. “So grand, so wonderful. You fuss over the state of your carpets and then you make me biscuits. If I didn’t know better...” Ajrun had rolled his head to the side, downward by halfway and then upwards in completion as the other spoke in his slow, drawn out manner. Of course, of course. He imagined it had all been done in perfect defiance of his own irritation for that which was gradual and reluctant to progress at greater speed, Sterling spoke slowly simply to grate his nerves. Though he’d keep his words to himself, he would not outright call the man for his game, it’d do him no good. Not at this point and time, not with such much depending on the presence of the one man that (apparently) had an option to solve his mess. “Some fools do not pay much attention to what you demand of them and bleed out onto priceless items, personal effects you hold in high regard.” Eyes narrowed at Sterling, mouth drawn taut and into a thin line. He was careful not to elaborate and would not have even if requested to as, though he had worked with the man often enough, Sterling was still bound to a Hive and, by this, Arjun was not apt to trusting him in full. He barely trusted the men he worked with, it would be preposterous to imagine he might carry faith in full for anyone at all. “Certainly you understand.” He had stepped towards the discarded rug, reaching downward and ready to unravel the monstrosity so that he might have shown where the damage had been done, but stopped quite abruptly as the other’s words registered to him. Immediately he was upright, shoulders back and squared. “I did no such thing.” Oh, how completely horrified, disrespected and absolutely annoyed Arjun looked to be in that very moment. Though, skillfully, he managed to calm himself and draw in the rage that had started to seep through into his features. A slow inhale and exhale, then the continuation of his statement. An explanation to address the matter so that they might be able to move past it immediately. “I have merely done well to employ cooks that were not born of your land. That is all. The sharing of these pastries is done through the efforts of my staff, not of my own hand. So, if you do not mind--” Expert hands (quite accustomed to handling these weavings of dyed silk) pulled the rug open, laying it flat out across the floor before pointing, with his tip of his shoe, where the stain lay. It was quite large. Good quantities of a dried ruddy-coloured stain stretching out across the silk. “This is what I am currently dealing with.” Sterling listened, supplying his mouth with the fine biscuits of a foreign land. Their flavors were not the same (not even close) to what he was accustomed to and proceeded, after finishing one, to begin on a second with a third close at hand. Some crumbs had collected on his lapel and he brushed them off when Arjun wasn’t looking, a discreet rebellious act. “I do not understand, as the men I employ know better than to bleed themselves onto rugs. Furthermore, if I’m correct, you’ve had this particular rug for quite a few years and it has sat in the same location for some time.” More than one occasion in the last few years had had Sterling wanting to acquire it through whatever means he could. “Your cooks are good, I give you that, and that,” he glanced over, sniffed and made a sour face. Accusatory eyes turned up to Arjun, nostrils flared. “That is relatively fresh. I can still smell it. Can you not? Have you been consuming donors on your rugs again? We discussed this last time.” They hadn’t discussed it at all, actually; rather, Sterling had chiding the older one over his obsession and why he didn’t utilize the rugs more for specific activities. “I do not think that to be repairable. Blood can be quite difficult to get out of such a fine rug, it stains. Not unless you scrub it hard and bring a ruddy rise out of it would you remove a stain. And these rugs are for stroking, not scrubbing.” Thick brows curved upwards, forming perfect crescents over dark eyes and heavy lashes tilting downward. He maintained a look of being largely unimpressed by all that Sterling had to say, if not mildly annoyed. Sighing--chest and shoulders quite nearly crumpling into himself as he did so--Arjun held a hand up, stiff and fingers pressed together, as to silence the other as he carefully moved to each opening of the room and checked to ensure that no one stood to overhear what was not for their ears. (Of course there would not be, his staff would never so much as dare as overstep their boundaries.) When he was satisfied, he slid into a nearby chair and crossed leg over leg. “Fresh, yes. I had a--” Pause. Consideration. Arjun didn’t trust any ounce of Sterling, though the did already know quite a bit. Where was the line drawn with this one? Smoothing out whatever wrinkles might have appeared along his suit, the vampire found his conclusion with a gruff exhale. “I had a visitor recently and it had been in their foolish flailing about that vital arteries of the thigh were severed most unceremoniously.” And onto Sterling he gave quite the pointed look. He would allow no commentary on this, as doing such would venture into territories that he had well-practiced at keeping under wraps. At the news that there was no salvaging his beloved carpet, Arjun had, for that moment, looked very much the boy his existence remained trapped within. That youthfulness that stayed tethered to his face now seemed to show itself tenfold, displayed in the expression of distraught frustration. Though it was only fleeting, soon passing, pushed aside to make room for rigid expressions once more. “So, if it cannot be cleaned, then do you have a replacement to show me?” “Ah.” This insight gave Sterling a little thrill, setting his veins to fire like lightening. Joyous. Arjun was so diplomatic, reserved, perfected that to know he had slipped up---no, you could not blame it on the donor, it was the vampire’s job to control them---and destroyed such a fine piece, well. Sterling had difficulty hiding the smile behind his hand, instead choosing to turn away and fill it with more of the little sugar-coated diamonds, letting silence fill the air between them save for the sounds of filling a tea cup. He did not drink, but instead held it in hands to keep them warm, hands heating up from their preternatural chill. “My dear Arjun, for all your years you are still quite the youngster. I never would have made such a grave mistake. These are not rugs for fornicating with humans on, with their ability to bleed so easily and other bodily fluid messes. Good God, I think you would have learned that after the last one.” But fret not. Sterling raised his hand and motioned for his man (his wonderful Charles, hiding so dutifully in the shadows) to bring in the replacement. “I almost didn’t find this. But then I remembered where it was and I think you’ll be quite pleased. It’s in the same colour family as this poor, soon-to-be destroyed one here.” Sterling settled himself down onto the floor by the table, ignoring the use of chairs and ottomans, crossed legged and relaxed. When Charles came back, he laid it out on top the old one for them, for better Arjun to see the colours and the near-matching pattern. Eyes went madly wide as mouth tightened and twisted upon itself, Arjun absolutely seething that the other had dared to make any such comment (passing or otherwise) to what he would have rathered be left alone. But, truly, that’d been his own fault. He should have known better than to trust Sterling to keep himself in check, to go on without mentioning a single word. Of course he would, of course. It was by the very basic instinct of his nature, and Arjun could only blame himself for either forgetting this or foolishly wishing for otherwise. Though it would not stop him from retaliation. “You, Mr. Pepys, would not have bothered to bring your companion home in the first place.” Careful not to push too far, however, as Arjun did still require his services. It was important that his rug be replaced. So, before a response could be made, he quickly interjected into the silence with a follow up: “But this is neither here nor there and we shall leave it be.” Glancing over his shoulder as Sterling’s companion crept out from shadows to bring forth the possible replacement, he cocked his head off to the side and raised brows slowly with a level of maintained vagueness to his expression. The colours were quite lovely indeed--now that he saw it rolled out, displayed in grand comparison to the one ruined--and it did have the aesthetic appeal of what might have soothed his ache of loss, though Arjun would not show this. Apathy worked best, he often found, when one was working through a deal. Particularly a deal involving the exchange of goods and currency. “Where did you acquire it? Through what means, from which persons and of what is its origins?” Direct, to the point. This was a business transaction and Arjun would keep it that way. As best he could manage, anyhow; dealing with Sterling was often a tricky matter. “You are correct: I would not.” In majority of cases, however. Sterling was much more on the side of ‘dine-n-dash’ than a long, drawn out meal---though he did enjoy those times as well. And as requested by the fiery one, he let it at that. Dropped. With a drawn out sigh and waving Charles off, Sterling found himself having to think, actually think about when and how he had acquired this piece, it had been that long gathering dust in his storage. The idea was there, hanging on the tip of his tongue, some wavering memory of finding it in a shadowed room. Had it been a legal transaction? No, he suspected, it had not been. At some point, after consuming another biscuit and taking small sips from the cup gripped tightly in his paws, he found the lie he wanted to wave. Head cocked to the side, eyes cast up as to think, he was slow in his words then picked up speed, finding his natural pace. “It was a dark and rainy night, most likely a June or a May, and I do believe---no, I am certain of it---I had come from the opera, having seen... oh I don’t know, it was at least a lifetime ago. And yet,” he aggressively gestured, hand snapping out at such a rate that bones should have broken, “I forget the rest. I daresay you’re doing me a grand favor, unloading it from my wares. I admit I had forgotten it’s existence until your letter came. It seems this one was waiting for you.” There along the edges of Sterling’s eyes, in his hesitation, in his slow collection of thoughts and forming his words, he had caught the signs of curious intention. Though it stood to reason that Arjun simply did not ever trust the man (or anyone, for that matter), he found it particularly suspicious that Sterling was searching for something to say, a story to share. He listened, politely and with minimal response, hand poised carefully against his chin, fingers curled under as thumb and forefinger framed the narrowing of his face. “I see.” He rose to his feet slowly and crossed to the table, where he poured himself a cup of tea, placed two cubes of sugar onto the plate, and directly returned to his seat. All the while having circled his guest, watching him in his peripheral vision, and hummed in rumination to his own unspoken thoughts. Arjun traced the full width of the cup’s rim with his finger before placing a sugar cube between teeth and sipped at the tea, hot enough to scratch down his throat and fill him with the sensation of having his own internal furnace. He hadn’t bothered to so much as blow on the cup, not a single attempt to cool it before consumption, as Arjun rather enjoyed his tea at scalding hot temperatures. A cultural carryover. Of little importance--more so now that he had lived into his mid-eighties and had long since picked through what was truth and what were wives’ tales of his upbringing--though still held as a piece of routine that brought him tiny points of comfort. As he cleared his throat, finishing off most of his tea to that one cube of sugar (that had now melted entirely across his tongue), Arjun set his dish down against his knee and looked over the rugs again. “So, as I’m doing you quite the favour already, I imagine that the price of this carpet will be greatly reduced comparatively to whatever it was you might have sold it for. Am I correct?” The tiniest of smirks had started up at the corners of his mouth, barely contained. “Of course, I won’t accept it for free. Ridding you of this excess stock though I may be, this is still a business transaction and I would never dare permit you to simply gift it.” “Mmm, well,” it was a break, a silence he injected into himself to give him pause. To watch Arjun’s actions carefully under an air of nonchalance, busying his hands and looking around the room, tracing lines and arches around the other. It was easy to pretend like he didn’t see the sugar cube game, the look on his face. Easy to just look at the scattered art around the room, his hands, anything but. There was a simple sexual nature to even drinking the steaming tea---at which Sterling could still only sip, despite all ability to repair quickly---as some kind of challenge. A ’look what I can do’ motion that left him feeling warm in regions that otherwise shouldn’t. At least, not on a supposed business venture. “No,” was the answer, simply put with clear force. “There is no cut deal as I cannot fathom a reason to do so; we both know you’re more than wealthy to afford whatever cost I put in front of you, and the look in your eyes tell me you’re looking for a game. A game that I shall not play with you and your sultry sugar eating ways, sir.” Sterling did not see him, nor look up, until his last words. Meeting Arjun’s gaze with his eye, eyes bright and face dark, a brow cocked in amusement. Sticking his chin into the air, that bold uncut air of cockiness that he always seemed to carry about like baggage. “I will, however, bargain with you. Do you think we can strike a fair deal or should I just write you a receipt and leave it for payment later?” Arjun had not expected the first attempt into this game to win him any favours, so the outright rejected had merited no response but the slight raising of brows. After all, it would not have been a proper testing of wits if Sterling would have conceded immediately. That’d be such a terribly boring game, his interests in and respects for the businessman would have waned. Arjun continued relations with people simply based on how well they managed to fascinate or amuse him, it was a vital part of his social expectancy. It was how, despite his frequent frustration with Sterling Pepys, he’d never bothered to cut ties nor have him destroyed. Though, it ought to have been noted, he had found the direct mention of his toying with the sugar cube as being overtly sexual to be a matter he’d have preferred left unsaid. For the briefest of moments Arjun had flinched, all scowls and dark eyes, but quickly let the moment pass. Lest he lose himself to blatant reactions, weaknesses that could lead to his losing. “A bargain I can work with,” he muttered idly, setting tea and saucer atop the nearby table, and folded fingers across one another. As a thumb circled over his hand, Arjun paused a moment to study the other, take in whatever hints he could find, try and earn himself an upper hand before he continued. “Though, Mr. Pepys, you will have to give me some manner of a clue as to what it is you are hoping to earn here. I will not offer you stones if you are looking for fabrics.” “Wonderful.” Hands clapped together in a sound agreement. A bargain was what it was, no more or less, and he knew he had Arjun’s goat. The flinch had not gone unnoticed; they were hunters of the night, their structure was redesigned to capture prey. Small flickers of eyes and fingers and hands, all things caught by sharp eyesight and quick minds. On hands and knees, Sterling disgraced himself and crawled across the floor to the two rugs, pushing aside the new one in favor of the old and preparing the show of rolling it up. His suit coat stretched taut across shoulders, forcing him to shrug it off and cast it off to join Arjun’s newest piece. The looser backing of his Jacquard vest let him work, rolling the stained item in on itself carefully---and let him show it off, as well, the bright royal blue silk winking under the gaslight. “I have,” roll, roll, readjust and another small roll, “considered what particular bargain I would strike with you. I have actually considered this prior, as I know your combined frugal and rich nature would greedily reach for a compromise and propose thus: find us a bottle of your finest anything and share it. And for that, I will strike off two hundred.” He watched--unmoving, quiet--as Sterling had most unceremoniously placed himself upon the ground and moved about as though he were hired help. Arjun might have been appalled by the act if he, himself, had not been raised in a culture that utilized the floor in great excess, it was natural for them. So, rather than find reason for shock or disgust in the other man’s actions, he had simply permitted him his dramatics and waited. It was not until Sterling made his offer did Arjun finally make visible response in rolling his head from shoulder, all the way back and to the opposite shoulder. “In all the years we have known one another,” words pressed, strained, from behind tight lips and rigid tongue. “You ought to recall that I have never carried alcohol on my premises.” There was little Arjun desperately clung to from his past, and as a man riddled with unforgivable sins it seemed ridiculous, but he adhered to curious aspects of a religion he had once known quite well as a child. This, the absolute refusal to consume alcohol, being amongst his main preferences. (Of course, it stood to note that Arjun appeared to find no error in the drink of blood polluted with wine or brandy. Standards, he carried them in doubles, triples or whatever met his fancy.) “Something else. Ask for something else, Mr. Pepys.” “Mmm, yes, of course. How could I have simply forgotten such a solid rule of yours?” there was humor in his words, a light jousting at the other. Yes, of course. He had seen and joined (on very rare, far between occasions) Arjun in the opium dens, had known the other to partake in the lustful adventure of draining a person inebriated with ports and brandies alike---it made the blood richer, heartier, like drinking silk---but he had never seen a drop here in its original form. Rocking back onto his heels, of which both dug comfortably into him, he was aware of the cut he placed his body into. Suggestively arched his back slightly more, stretched his neck up, dropped shoulders down. Even the placement of his hand on his thigh (fingers splayed, lightly digged in) was purposeful. “Unfortunately I can think of no other bargain or trade at this point, my friend, that you would elect to partake in. Your chastity still vexes me. Should you be of a different ideal, I would happily trade flesh for rug. Or partial, as it may be. I do have to make a living somehow.” Dry lips pressed against one another as tongue peeked ever so slightly moisten them, providing action to his thoughts. The game easily could end there, he had no wine or Scotch or any such liquor to offer his guest, and Arjun was not willing to abruptly end his business (and vaguely friendly) relationship with the man to trade silk for skin. By all appearances he was up against a wall, a man with no options left, no more cards to play and only one option. But he wasn’t so willing to let the game end there. “You will have your flesh, then.” Arjun remarked abruptly, staring directly at the other. “If you will trade flesh, than you will have your fill of it. Not mine, of course, but I will send to your home someone that you may make use of as you so choose. That ought to be worth far more than half this rug, at the very least.” “I am part of a Hive, I can have all the flesh I want.” Sterling spoke straight and true, holding fast under Arjun’s stare. This was a game, and now two players were involved. Cards were being shown and fought for. Both were highly competitive, though Sterling wondered if Arjun ever knew when to quit. Or, perhaps, if this game was one either could quit. Shaking his head, hairs falling loose of their waxed hold, he pretended to consider the rug once more and be in deep thought over it. It was only after a silence (which did not feel uncomfortable, and did not matter even if it had; they had the world to live for, time was unrelated) that he stirred, twisting to face his shoulders towards the other, fingers idly plucking at the buttons on his vest. “You play a game, Arjun, that I have no interest in persuing should you throw such paltry options as a donor at. We are both aware of my standing in society and know, unlike your pirating ways, that I can fetch what I need with a snap of my fingers. So your offer is refused and I implore you: what can you offer that I do not have? That is a true bargain for I am offering you something,” a gentle wave of his hand at the rug, “something you desire.” Several, indisputable words--trigger words--had dug their claws deep into Arjun’s skin and twisted his expression quit so, giving him the look of a man on the cusp of enraged frustration. Hive, pirating, desire--terms that added up in no favour to him. Rather he became inherently aware of how easy it would have been for him to lose, with how greatly he wanted to replace the rug ruined. In the sharp movements of stiff, rigid limbs, he rose to his feet and smoothed out his vest. Arjun hadn’t even so much as bothered to look at either the rug or Sterling, simply ensuring that he looked quite presentable and then proceeded to walk off to the entryway from which he had welcomed the man not much earlier. “Then you may leave,” he said plainly, still keep eyes well averted. “As we cannot strike a bargain--I have nothing you desire and what you want I will not give--it is best if were to, perhaps, find elsewhere to sell your stock. I am sorry to have wasted your time and do thank you for traveling all this way, but I do not believe I will be purchasing anything on this day.” “Ah,” Sterling exhaled, quietly, accepting his winnings with a sad quiet air. He had pushed for the exchange of something else and was instead shown, quite literally, the door. If this was how the other chose to live and play, so be it. Persuasion was not in the cards tonight. Swiftly, he finished rolling the poor stained piece and hoisted it over his shoulder along with his jacket, cautious to not break anything in the process. It was of a light weight. He dipped with a flourish, draining the last of his still too warm tea, snatching a sugar cube or three. As he stepped closer to Arjun and the exit, Sterling tossed one into the air and caught it on the flat of his tongue, feeling it instantly begin to slowly melt from the wet heat. “Until next time then, Mister Khan.” Arjun kept his place, arms crossed and shoulders square, observing no part of the movements made until the other was just at the corner of his eye. A brow rose as sugar cube glided into the air, circled back and fell to meet with open mouth and eager tongue. If he had been one to show his amusement quite so readily, he might have laughed. It was an impressive move on Sterling’s part, to simply believe that he could achieve the impressive action with little effort and that he made such a blatant tongue-in-cheek statement. No, no, Arjun caught on, he saw what this was about. But he would not say anything about it. Though he did squint at the rug on Sterling’s shoulder, faltering a moment as he glanced back over his shoulder and then to the man once more. A long drawn out sigh. “Mr. Pepys.” His tone was that akin to a mother scolding her child, thumb and forefinger meeting upwards to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You are taking with you the wrong rug. What you have on your shoulder is mine, you have left yours behind you.” “No, no, I do believe I have the correct one.” He paused, lowered it slightly to make a show of checking the pattern, the colours, before bringing it back once again to his shoulder. It was in fact the stained one, though why Arjun felt the need to be so honorable and point this out alluded him. “You see,” a soft crunch was heard as molars broke the last chunk of cube, mouth puckering from the sweetness. “I am allowing this on good credit. I know you will make up for it later, or now, or at some good point. You are an honorable man, and you will not swindle me out of my just dues.” Unlike other clients, buyers, Sterling trusted Arjun to be truthful and straight, though he would welcome a cheater’s game readily. Some excitement to a droll day. “Or,” he started, having half the mind to press one of the remaining cubes to the other’s lips, force the red lips open and watch it melt across tongue from up close. Smell the sweetness of tea, sugar, on another’s breath. Maybe mingle it in with the blood of a donor doused in a good apricot brandy. “No, ignore my perverse thoughts, you would never.” “No. I would never.” Arjun’s voice was dry, a coarse whisper carried on a shy breath as his lungs struggled to find the strength to breath once more. Dark eyes were wide as ever, staring up at the man as he struggled to fully grasp what it was that had been said to him. This--whatever Sterling wished to call it, the curious act of kindness--had left him without reasonable capability to respond appropriately. Part of him screamed that this were some manner of a trap, that he would be a fool to trust it, whilst another part entirely was absolutely awed that the young Mister Pepys could manage to show such an act of presumed friendship. It was suspect. It was baffling. It worried and confounded him, offered little to understand, but Arjun couldn’t find the right questions to ask. He’d have to take ample time to process through this circumstance, thoroughly think through every possible thought that could have run through Sterling’s mind in order to inspire him to this moment. Most importantly: Arjun wanted to ensure that this was not an elaborate ploy designed to entrap him, leave him indebted to the dealer. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d found himself in the midst of someone’s careful planning, though he’d never let the disaster (for him) come to fruition. He was well trained, well taught. Careful. “I will consider this and,” he paused, cleared his throat. “And afterwards I will send to you an appropriate response or payment.” “If your appropriate response or payment is none other than yourself, then I don’t want it.” Sterling shrugged his free shoulder up, a look of vague indifference crossing him. He knew Arjun would most likely send a donor, some person with an exotic look, a flavor all their own, pre-liquored and seasoned to perfection. Richly blooded. And while that thought did interest him, it was not his driving bargain. No, no. Sterling preferred to be much more blunt on this fact, giving Arjun options to pick: himself, or money. Both would be preferred. Gesturing for his man, Charles swiftly came into the entryway, alleviating the weight of the rug before slipping back out like a ghost. Sterling was left with his jacket, which he shrugged back on and tucked the two cubes into his breast pocket for later---or to be crumbled into a powder for his maid to pick out delicately. “You should take care, I believe, in your future adventures on the rugs. I don’t want to tell you what to do and to not do, and I have already chided you, but. There is a thing called a bedroom with linens that can be washed white appropriately.” Sterling tapped his fingers against his sternum, pausing to bite his lip, narrow gaze focusing with an unbridled intensity on Arjun’s gaze. “And you call me foolish, pft! I may be younger than you but I at least keep my own extracurricular affairs out of my home, though I would grant some exceptions to a few.” Arjun’s face nearly blanched, pulled taut and stiff as jaw clenched, muscles tightened and his mouth drew out into a thin, deeply-pressed line. He stayed quiet, politely heard out Sterling’s demands, endured his biting words and kept himself well poised, head up and ever so stoic. Though fingers curled, joints creaked and every part of his mouth struggled in pained attempts to draw back over teeth and gums, the young once-aristocrat maintained true to his upbringing and dared not step out of line. He would not permit himself to fall prey to his own inner turmoil. “I see.” A plain statement, simple as that. Arjun knew from the start what the other had been playing at, he had only hoped that if he kept pushing it aside that Sterling would only catch on, follow suit. Though, clearly, he wouldn’t let Arjun win this quite so easily. He folded his arms over himself and rummed fingers against ribs, continuing to watch the man as he relished in the moment’s allowance of thought. He’d find his words according to his own time, no need to rush into it. “You are foolish, Mr. Pepys, if you think I’d do any such thing. Count your years, count each one that you and I have known one another, and tell me where in all of that time you found any such reason to believe that this demand of yours would prove even remotely fruitful?” It might have been appropriate to laugh thereafter, but Arjun found no humour in his own words. This was a serious matter for him. It’d have been easy to simply pay out, the ask for a receipt and leave it at that, but Arjun worried that this would not be the last time he’d hear such a thing--the demand of himself or money only--and he wanted nothing more than to put an end to it. For the safety of his relationship with Sterling. Perhaps, he wondered, if he were to find something of greater intrigue, of greater allure and presented it to the younger man then he’d never broach such an idea ever again. Ideal. “Is that all, Mr. Pepys? Or have you any other perverse and disrespectful words to further share?” “I have counted our years, and I still find you as mysteriously distrustful of me now as you were at the birth of my being.” Indeed, he remembered, Arjun had not changed much in forty years and he supposed he still may not for another forty. What a tragic way to live; no enjoyment nor excitement from the outside world made it’s way inside. A stoic and cautious life. Calculated and, dare he think it, vaguely droll. While he supposed Arjun had hobbies, enjoyments, he could not fathom how one enjoyed them when they couldn’t offer a flirtatious smile back. Nay, this was a long and arduous battle that he had not quite given up on and would not give up on any time soon. Too stubborn, too invested was Sterling to stop. He pursed his lips, narrowed eyes focusing down on the other’s pert lips. They were lovely pink things, thin but full in their own right, little indents long the bottom where top oft chewed it. With a heavy, disheartened, broken sigh he reached out touch Arjun’s smooth cheek, back of his knuckles running lightly down it; this was dangerous land, he knew this much. Was very fully aware of how badly this might go and suppressed the urge to pat the other side, to trace a finger along the defined line of jaw. “I have no other perverse thoughts as you may call them, nor disrespectful. I have played my hand and now I shall retire back to my home and await your cards.” It had been incredibly dangerous, daring to press skin to cheek as he did, though Arjun appeared to allow this transgression to follow into completion. Or, well, rather it was that the sighing--dispirited and crestfallen--had managed to catch him by surprise. The tiniest of responses came forth in gradual flinch of brows (first knitting and then stiffening at his determined will) and that glassy-eyed express of careful observation, lashes quivering as his eyes grew wide for that moment. He would have been lying, too, if he did not at least admit to himself that the feel of Sterling’s hand--well. It was quite nice. But not so much that it could sway him to even so much as lean into it. Rather, he looked to have been holding his breath all the while, relaxing with a slow exhale only when hand parted from face. Arjun nodded, tightening his hold about himself. “Yes, well, do expect disappointment, Mr. Pepys. It is not at all likely you’ll ever attain what you desire.” Cruel, perhaps, but he felt it necessary to say. “I will respond in full after some contemplation. Travel safely.” |