Re: floating above; malefactor/the boss
The gloating, self-assured man in the expensive suit, flickering money across his fingertips - he held no appeal for the witch, really. He leaned back on the broom and observed the icon of capitalism with reserve - the kind that brimmed beneath with rage. The skin under his fingernails, wrapped tight around the broom, was pale green as a lily stem.
He certainly cut to the chase, laying out the promise of something good between them. He was wise, too - no promise of money or glory. He had no interest in those. Flight, though, had been long fought and hard won. He had a mixture of memories of how he'd found himself with his legs wrapped around a broom. The jumble didn't all quite belong together, but they all involved struggle. In all of them, he had fought so hard to fly.
Nothing about him seemed impressed by a slick suit, but dark eyes were avid, engaged, observing. They looked at the upturned hand, the hand that had so recently flicked a penny across its knuckles, and mapped the lines in it.
Finally, finally, he reached out and took the man's hand sliding off the broom. He didn't meet the man's eye once he was on the ground in chunky leather boots, but he was no less resolute for it. The broom hovered, obedient as a waiting dog, until he pulled it from the air and tucked it beneath his arm.
"You remind me of someone I used to know," he said, looking up. Pale lips were set in a thoughtful line. "Someone who promised me everything I ever wanted, if I would only give him something in return." The words summoned up more old memories, these more unfamiliar - but the sentiment behind them rang true. "Are you that kind?"