greta cates ; hedonist and homicide detective (manyshoes) wrote in emillion,
Rena & Miles | Morning
The streets were always bustling on the day of a festival, and Bierfest was no exception. Food and drink flowed, even in earlier hours of the day, and despite the efforts to keep the peace, it was easy enough for the thieves and pickpockets of the city to rake in a fortune.
“Hello, Lord Basil.” A slight figure sidled up to the tall man, her words low and spoken close to his ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”
He jolted, going rigid at the whisper-soft breath on the nape of his neck. That sultry voice could mean only one thing: Rena, or Katerena, or whatever the hell she was calling herself this week. “Shh,” Miles hissed, whirling around to ensure no one had heard her, gaze scanning the crowds.
Thankfully, no one nearby seemed to care.
Miles’ arm looped around hers, automatically seizing the woman (it seemed she was Rena for now) and pulling her closer and into a nonchalant walk. He was dressed in commonplace clothing, completely drab and unrespectable and average in every respect. “Just Miles today, darl,” he said with a flash of teeth.
Rena just laughed, letting herself settle in against his side, modifying her usual quick pace to fall in with his. Her greeting had had the effect she’d desired, surprising and momentarily panicking her sometime partner in crime.
“So jumpy.” A smile crept onto her face as she teased him, her gaze flitting over their surroundings, always on guard. His hand tightened on her arm, a squeeze that could’ve been either irritation or mere greeting.
“Don’t be a bitch. Of course I’m jumpy when it comes to matters of naming. You of all people should understand — Lady diAngelo, is it?” Miles arched an eyebrow at the overgrown street rat beside him.
“Katerena’s not technically a lady. But she could be, I’ve had some proposals.” But marriage was just far too constricting for her, at least to someone who wasn’t aware she was more than just the one person. “And relax, I wouldn’t out you on purpose.” There was a pause. “Well, I might. But not just for fun.”
He snorted. “Are you kidding me? It’s the least I’d ask for. I consider myself a practical man: if I’m going to be stabbed in the back, it ought to be for a fantastically good reason rather than mere amusement.”
“Scads of gil,” Rena promptly started brainstorming out loud. “A peerage with scads of gil. A seat on the Council maybe?” She shrugged. “But then where would I be without his Lordship to keep me on my toes?”
“In the gutter. Weeping disconsolately. Pining over his absence.” It was the usual sort of confidence Miles rattled off at the drop of a hat, wearing his ego like a shield. The pair of them wove their way through the crowds, both light on their feet and deft when it came to sidestepping the bustling tourists and vendors.
“What are you up to today, anyway?” he asked. Real curiosity lurked beneath his words; Rena’s deceptive antics were often a mirror inverse of his own.