Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, |
Damia reached for her drink again, trying not to look desperate to drown her sorrows. “I liked his couch,” she offered jokingly, drawing the glass up to her lips and pausing. “If it’s even there anymore.” Truthfully, the arrangement was he’d stay with her while his own place was repaired, but who knew how long that would take? How long before she served him his favourite dishes and tied his ties and ironed his shirts? She downed the rest of her drink a little too quickly. “You think looters took off with it while you were playing house?” That he was apparently bothering her didn’t bother him at all; it was too rich to let go of quite yet. “Seems there's a hole in your plan, blondie. Keep your eyes on the things you want, or they grow legs and walk away.” “There’s a very happy homeless man somewhere,” she settled for, opting not to address the last comment, which cut a little too deep. Her eyes drew back to Cian’s face. “I’m going to be expecting a wedding present at my front door sometime. I cried all night when I didn’t get one from you.” “I’ll send you a ruffled apron,” he said immediately. “Baines’ll get a kick out of it, especially if that’s the only thing you wear. You’re welcome in advance for my contribution to your wedded bliss.” As the bartender came back to refill her drink, Damia pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re too good to me. Remember extra ruffles.” “I’ll make a note of it,” he said. He dug into the food on his plate, not really sure exactly what the special consisted of, not really caring, either. “You know, blondie,” he said after a few moments of silent chewing, “if there’s anything else you’re needing, might be I can help out.” She’d been around lately, talking to people. Looking for something, maybe? Not really his business, but she was a useful person, in the right circumstances, and he did cultivate his useful contacts (the other part -- where she was almost-but-not-quite a friend, wasn’t up for consideration). “For a price,” he elaborated. People like them already knew that nothing in this world came free, but it was always good to get the terms on the table. She rapped her nails on the bar top, thinking the offer over. While she’d tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, some things were inevitable, and Cian seemed to find information everywhere. Cian Wilde was among the few she could trust, but he knew just as well as she did that trust was a tricky road. The last time she had put all of her trust into someone, she’d had to sink a dagger into his back. The drink was reached for again. “Might be a high price, considering what I need.” “Might be worth paying, if you need it bad enough,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Have it your way, though.” Unless she had something else to add, that part of the conversation was over; he’d probably go back to ribbing her on her cohabitation instead. There were enough words to describe how much, how desperately Damia wanted her father’s ship back, especially now that her reputation was about to go down the drain. Maybe it was a mission doomed for failure, but she had to try. Her father would have wanted her to pursue her dreams, impossible or otherwise. Yes, it would be a price worth paying. She tipped the glass toward her lips. “I will.” |