Re: The Rex: Cat & Jack
Coming from money, milled out of paper and the stock-market wasn't a defining characteristic for the offspring. He believed it moulded, he wasn't as naive and egalitarian to believe it didn't. But defining was to pick one color out of the muddle and there were enough arseholes who chose to be purists about it.
"Speak soliloquies about one woman to another?" Jack unrolled the cuffs with a flick of two fingers and he threaded the cufflink back through the fastenings. "That sounds like a terrible idea. Do I get flayed now, or later? Do you really want to know?" The tenor of the voice was mild and the question struck true. But they'd dug one ghost out of the shadows ready for savaging. If Cat wanted to dig over dead bones for romance, the ones that had never truly made it to a grave stood a greater chance whether she'd stood beside it or she hadn't. It wasn't shadows in the dark and the glass in his hand was only the second; if Cat wanted to peel off sentimentality and examine it under a microscope, he'd need to shed it purposefully.
But he examined the tips of his shoes with a smile that didn't look anything approximating rueful. "That assumes I paid nearly as much attention to my costume as you did yours." He didn't sit now, he leaned and if the gaming hell had stirred over dust it hadn't left him staid. The glass was in Jack's hand and if he'd thought it an interview, he was on the other end. He smiled into a swallow of whiskey.
"No. Not remotely." And dust allowed considerably more than bright lights and gilt and in the next as his throat worked, "She was a neurotic married to a gambler and a drunk. She had half a dozen doctors on call and when they lost the house she lost a grip on reality." They, because the house had never been Jack's. The grounds were probably Newt's. Nobody else gave a fuck about them. "What was your father like?' A guess, hazarded over glass.