Re: Mariner's Inn: Jeze C/Max M
[There were a lot of things about Max that weren't right. The Inn was filled with things that didn't belong. Max kept them out of sight, but they were there if you knew where too look. Like the jeans, and like the eyes that turned blue in the presence of otherworldly things, they were part of the legend that had built up around the woman who ran the Inn. She didn't own it, because women couldn't own much of anything in this world, and the whispers said she had a dead husband, a dead father, a patron who was dark and not of the world at all. Max cleared up none of the rumors; she didn't even try. The stories worked for her, and they kept away people who thought she needed friends, or a husband, or a lover; Max didn't think she needed any of these things.
She was observant in a way that came with military life. She noticed things, but she wasn't a handler; she didn't make any decisions based on the things she observed. That had always been a job for someone else. These days, that job was reserved for whoever hired her, and got hired often enough that she had a nice stash that had nothing to do with the Inn. But she knew Jeze wasn't vapid, no matter how the girl acted.
She closed the door when Jeze mentioned the bracelet digging into her ribs, and only a second was spared to look at the take piled on the bedstand. She crossed the room, ribbon tossed over her shoulder and those very modern scissors in her hand, and she grinned when Jeze mentioned breeches.] Buy me a pair, if you want to see me in them. [Easy, voice low, and Max walked like military, male in this time period, straight shoulders and hands calloused from weapons. She waited until Jeze's hands were on the wall, and she began to cut the corset's ties. She didn't cut once and tug. She snipped, and she kept snipping.] I told you to stop wearing this thing.