Re: victor & irene; mariner's inn at midnight
"I expect to be meeting an acquaintance." Nervous habit curled his fingers into fists too delicately mannered for the kinds of action that fists were accustomed to in these settings. He'd never stomached violence well, although it had proven to be a necessity of survival when one kept the kind of company that he did. He wanted to look at his watch again, even if he knew it unwise and without logic, minutes had barely passed since he'd last put it away. Morphine lured time away, it wrapped memory in sweet dreams and it could often be days or mere moments with Victor having no semblance of distinction betwixt the two. Surely this level of tardiness was not regular behavior, but Victor knew too well that his acquaintances were not of the regular variety. One did not procure the bodies and body parts of the recently deceased with the assistance of regular people. Victor preferred not to wonder about where these body parts came from, organs kept so pristine while packed in ice or oil.
"Although he seems to have been delayed." He looked to the woman again, thoughtful. Perhaps it was with obvious and erroneous absurdity that Victor occupied this seat in this Inn, but he also found it unusual that she should be here. As of late, the only female company that was known to him was one of refined elegance, delicacy embroidered with propriety, even when surrounded by the macabre. He wondered if the women here were supposed to have some sort of escort for evenings as late as these, although he supposed not. The world did not look after women who frequented places such as these.
Still, the woman before him spoke with a cleanliness that he could not associate with the Inn's regulars. "And you?" A glance to the paper in her hand. "Do you await someone?"