Limitless [Saskia]

[Saskia Murlew]

She laughed at his passing comment, though on the inside she could have cried. A Masters was as far beyond her reach as it had ever been, but once, a long time ago before the smoke and the substances, it had been achievable. It had been her future. She felt pain, disappointment and jealousy clench her heart. It was all too soon to expect the wounds to have healed already. Saskia sent him an almost genuine grin when he opted for her preferred game. She could feel a little shot of triumph through her veins and an authentic thrill from the promise of some truth for once. She had heard enough lies to last a lifetime.

She nodded at his guess and waited, patiently, hands falling back to grip her calves as she listened for the coming questions. She frowned when they didn’t come, following his lifting hand to where it came to brush against her armband. She felt his fingers beneath the sparse scrap of material and her eyes remained on it for a little longer after his touch had melted away. It was unusual for her to be asked to take it off, though not unheard of – some of the more well-known clients didn’t like to be spotted with such an obvious whore. She lifted her hand up without question, slipping the material off and replacing it, to the safe haven in her bra, adjusting her dress over her chest. Had she been in any other occupation she was sure she should feel some sort of shame at the exposure, but that emotion didn’t really register after a few weeks of selling yourself.

She cocked her head to the side, concentrating on his demands. There was something, hovering on the edge of her stomach; something long forgotten that was swimming into focus. Something dangerously close to gratitude. “Thank you.” She murmured finally, slim-line eyes locked powerfully on his. Even if he was just doing it to seem better than the rest or to make himself a little more morally sound, she appreciated the demands. They were quite unlike anything she’d heard in this club, but then she had never seen anyone like him in this club either. Gods, if Sonia could hear this conversation. She’d probably murder her, just so she could take her place opposite him. “It’s not often I get so much diplomacy.”

It was the way he described it as an adventure. It was childish, almost, naïve, but also incredibly comforting. Which was odd enough in itself, because, at the end of it all, he was the customer and she the servicer. It jarred somewhat with her accepted knowledge of the path she had chosen and took her a few moments of resigned silence to even compute it in her mind. Finally, a small smile graced her lips. “Agreed,” A hand reached up to the table, reaching for her own martini glass across the table. She lifted it fractionally, toasting him. “To where the adventure takes us.” The liquid sent a shock down her throat, but she appreciated it. For once, she did not want to get too drunk with this one, instead let herself retained most of her concentration for the imminent questioning. The drinking and such, could wait until later and she replaced the glass to the table.

First question and it, mercifully, was an easy one. “8 months, 2 weeks and 3 days.” She answered, somewhat solemnly, before splitting her lips into an easy smile. “Not that I’m counting.” At the beginning, it had been a necessity. She wasn’t actually certain of the day anymore, but when she had first made the decision to become a working girl at Easy Street, she had known the time of her decision to the hour. It was a sort of comfort thing; she believed that if she recorded in her head how long she was working like this for, the time wouldn’t slip away from her. She didn’t want to suddenly turn and look back on her life and realise she had been in this profession for most of her young adult life. This way, every week that was added onto the tally shocked her and that, more than anything, kept her striving to get out. Saskia watched him, considering whether to expand her answer to include this, but it had not been in the question and she wasn’t sure it was something she could share with him just yet.

The following question elicited a small groan, her eyes screwing shut. She didn’t want to “skip” so early in the game! But she should have known the questions wouldn’t all be as easy as the first. She sucked in a breath and cracked open her eyes towards him. “I refuse to skip so soon into this. Besides, I’m determined to make you be the first one to do that.” She flashed him one of her wicked grins, then let it fade, sucked in a breath and decided the best way to word her answer. “It’s simple really, on the surface: money. I worked at the bar here, before I got into whoring. And the wage didn’t cover my rent. I had no qualifications or training to make extra money in another way – fast – and Easy Street already had the means and the expertise; there were two other girls here, before I came…. So it just filled a gap in the monthly earnings. Now,” She continued, her voice shifting into a purr, calculating and triumphant. “if you had asked me why I needed the money to rent my own flat in the first place, that would have been an entirely different answer.” But she made no move to expand; he had chosen his question.

At his third, she laughed apologetically, the emotion reaching her eyes for one of the first times that evening. She wasn’t even sure now what parts of her were still the façade and which bits were really her. Perhaps he had already broken it down entirely. “I already told you – I don’t think that outburst was meant for you. But if I had to dig down deep, to find what had triggered it…” her eyes drifted away from him, to the bar where Sonia’s hawk eyes found hers. Elena too: they were exchanges snatches of conversation together in between serving customers and Saskia didn’t need three guesses to work out what the topic was. She sighed and dragged her gaze back to him. “It’s so unusual to find someone like you in this place. Someone who can hold a decent conversation, who has wit and just a little – okay, more than just a little – arrogance.” She grinned, but the emotion faded from her green pupils almost as soon as it reached them. “Once I sat down here and realised how rare a find you were I wanted spend all of my 20 minutes just sitting and talking. But then you got up to leave and…” She huffed, shaking her head. “I snapped and projected a bastard onto you, because I thought you’d already read my mind and were leaving even though you knew all I wanted was 20 minutes of your time.”

But then her index finger shot up between them, gleeful smile spreading across her lips. “But that’s three questions already, greedy. Knowledge gluttony gets you nowhere.” She cautioned him, teasingly, her eyes bright with amusement. It wasn't true, of course; she had enough secrets from the men with power to lose them their seat sin office. But she really did believe there was a point when people learnt less the more they shoved into their conscious.“It’s my turn now.”

She leaned forward, hands steadied her on her calves as she did so, letting her face get a little closer to his, green eyes locking with blue as she searched into the depths of those fathomless pits. “Okay.” She breathed, eyes narrowed in concentration, thinking over every possible wording of her questions to get the most out of the answers. “Firstly: what made you come here tonight? Secondly, why did you agree to stay when I told you what I was?” Perhaps he was married and that had been the hesitation she had seen in his silence when she had asked him to stay. Or perhaps, unlike so many of the people that entered this back street club, he just had a few more morals holding him back. “Finally…” she started, eyes still locked on his own. “Why do your eyes look so much older than the rest of you?”

[Eluard Verlaine]

She reached for her glass and he followed suit, finally accepting the drink she had first provided. Mirroring the slight raise of the glass with a glimmer of something in his eyes, he took a moderate sip of the liquid. If there was anything Eluard knew how to do in a bar, it was how not to get drunk. He kept the glass in the palm of his hand and listened to her first answer with a decidedly neutral expression. That was shorter than he had expected but longer than he liked to hear. She was watching him with some undisclosed consideration and Eluard closed his eyes briefly as he took another small taste of the martini glass.

Her groan was met with a flutter of amusement and a brightening of interest in his eyes. It was always the reluctant answers that were the tastiest to hear and he quite enjoyed her pride’s intrusion in the matter. He made a small gesture with his glass towards her, inviting her to be his guest in forcing him to skip first. That was a win he was more than ready to provide. Whatever amusement beset his disposition at the moment slowly faded during the revelation of her difficulties and he absently swirled the liquid in his glass. Financial struggle was not something he was familiar with, in no small measure due to his abnormal constitution. Being able to memorize pages and pages of information after one glance made you uniquely skilled to be anything heavily based on knowledge. Most days he took it for granted and it took people explaining how much they had to struggle for a living to remind him to be grateful for it.

Eluard gave her a faint smile for the suggestion addendum at the end. “I’ll be sure to ask that when my turn comes again.” So she could skip, probably. The next answer wasn’t something he had expected. The movement of his glass was paused and his head tilted fractionally to the side. His eyes warmed with a dull and brief display of amusement as she once more pointed to the arrogance she saw in him. It wasn’t something people found defining about him often, but that was probably because he was rarely anything other than neutral and the great majority of people he dealt with were so full of themselves they wouldn’t even notice anything about anyone else. Regardless, the moment she had especially painted as arrogant had been motivated by caution, paranoia and fear than anything else, but he enjoyed her interpretation of it much more.

He furrowed his brows just slightly at her when the explanation ended, but the tension in them relaxed quickly. “I thought it was a person I reminded you of,” he revealed, resting his temple against his fingertips. “And that’s not why I was leaving. I understood all you wanted was a break from pouring drinks and interaction with me was just a bet that could get you more free time, but we’ve already gone over that.” She called him information greedy and she didn’t know how right she was. The light pink-blonde was talking to an information dealer. Not that anyone knew that person by his appearance and true name, aside from a certain teenager who could compromise his whole career. At least, his public one. She got a little closer and Eluard studied her eyes in turn, appreciating the spark of life he saw there, considering her “profession.”

Her concentration was so cute it returned a faint smile to his lips. He didn’t seem to mind the first questions but his smile faded slowly at her last one. It was an intentional slip of façade when he let her see what he probably wouldn’t tell her – the eyes of a person who was serious and cautious and had seen too much. A flutter of subtle sharpness met green pupils before he looked away and took another sip of his drink, so small it barely registered to the quantity in the glass.

Eluard shifted in his position, arm coming back from its perch on the sofa’s back and position angling slightly away from her as he started to answer. “Information. I came here seeking a person that knew something I wanted to hear. That person was not here. I ended up staying.” They hadn’t set any rules about how vague or detailed the answers needed to be and he would take advantage of that, while still saying the truth. The person in question was a man who supposedly knew a mutant that could use some help. Why he hadn’t shown up to deliver that information was another story, one Eluard would have to find out later. Right now the man wouldn’t recognize him to bring the news if, by some chance, he came in incredibly tardy and it didn’t look like something like that would happen.

Watching her from the corner of one eye, Eluard answered her second question. “I didn’t agree to stay because you told me what you are, I decided to stay because you said you wanted me to.” He kept his gaze on her for a few silent moments of consideration and then he looked away again. “If you mean: Why did I stay despite finding out what you are, the answer is that the revelation didn’t affect my desire to consider your wish enough. Besides…” He leant forward to return the glass to the table and when he retracted he planted his shoulder against the sofa, arms crossing and posture orientated towards her again. “I found you interesting.” A short smile later and he was looking away again.

There was some silence between them as he considered her last question during which the music became obvious again. “That’s a very vague question. It can be any number of things and it would probably take me a long time to explore them all.” He dwelled on making a decision for a little longer, then, with a brief flicker of fondness in his eyes, chose to reveal one of the “factors.” “I have a four year old daughter, for one.” He turned to glance at her, arms tightening across his chest, shoulders rising slightly and he offered a smile that deliberately didn’t reach his eyes. “Skip to the rest, mostly because the stories are too long and it’s too early for them.”

Then, quite suddenly, he watched her from a slightly lowered gaze, eyes somewhat shrewd. “Now why exactly did you need the money to rent your own flat?” She had baited him to ask that, so she probably wanted to talk about it, even if she didn’t want to talk about it. “Also, what relationship do you have with your parents?” He wouldn’t be surprised to hear they were dead, considering she seemed to have no support from them. “And…” He tilted his head as if in mimicry of her frequent gesture. “Who’s the person you care most about right now in life?”

[Saskia Murlew]

Saskia took up her drink again, once she finished forming her round of questions. She had a satisfied little smirk playing on her lips, proud of the ones she had chosen and curious to hear the reactions to them. She had caught the fractional slip of his mask at the last one. Perhaps he would skip it. Her fingers curled around the glass but did not lift it to her lips just yet; she wanted to watch him for a little while.

She pursed her lips, a little frustration flashing across her pupils as he relayed a distinctly vague answer for her. But she couldn’t complain, because they had agreed nothing in terms of the detail they had to abide to in their answers. She took a sip of the drink in her hand instead letting the burning liquid enliven her throat again. Such a temporary sensation.

His gaze kept wandering this one. Saskia couldn’t quite determine why yet; it was as if he got distracted by something else in the room, or was afraid that if he didn’t constantly look around him he would miss something important. Perhaps he was still awaiting the person with the information. Ha, so much for knowledge gluttony! She used her other hand to flirt her fingers absently around the rim of the glass as he continued, eyes never really leaving his face. A triumphant grin lifted the corners of her lips when he admitted he found her interesting, sending it to him in the brief moment his eyes shot towards her before abandoning her figure for interest elsewhere. That made two of them intrigued, then. “And I you. Surprising what unexpected things life can throw at you, no?”

In the silence that followed as he considered her final question, Saskia dipped a single finger into her martini, moistening its tip. She let it trail slowly around the rim of the glass and after a few tries, the little cup produced a note. You could barely hear it above the thud that surrounded them, but it was there, timid and shaky but undeniably pure. She smiled a little, watching the circles her finger made and then dropped it away, letting the note die. She lifted her head back to him as his voice reached her through the constant beat. Her eyes widened a bit as he admitted his offspring, but she wasn’t sure why she should be surprised. Perhaps because the rest of him looked so young, or perhaps because she’d secretly been hoping there wasn’t any complications surrounding this one. And then she deflated slightly once he admitted defeat and skipped. A thousand questions ignited on her tongue but she bit them back, for now. “I can skip, now you’ve skipped.” Something close to smugness attempted to reach her eyes, but it didn’t quite manage to solidify.

She took another sip from her drink and replaced it, sitting up to hear his next questions. A smirk twisted her rouged lips as she heard the first one; she had asked for that one, really. Though she wasn’t resolved yet whether she would answer it or not. The others were just as, if not more, concerning. A puff of held breath ripped from her stomach. “Wow,” She murmured, two hands coming to wipe wearily over her face. “You don’t make it easy do you?” She stared at him for a long time, determining whether she wanted to share her answers, but in the end, the chances of him remembering every detail were pretty slim – and besides, he had no reason to use the knowledge against her that she knew of.

“I needed a flat because I was kicked out of my parents’ house. I was kicked out of their house because I failed at college.” That was already more than his question warranted and she would have stopped, had her pupils not relaxed – and though her eyes did not widen, the pupils, their black centres seemed to expand like an owl trying to see its prey in the night time. She was normally so good at not smelling them, at blocking them out. But then, he had asked the question. “I failed at college because…” she trailed off, eyes darting away from their table, trying to hunt the source of the scent. She could feel it trying to reach her nose, deliberately trying to draw her in. “Can you smell it? Not the smoke, not the sweat or the drink… the other stuff. The illegal stuff.” It was there, under layers of the club’s other smells. She shook her head, smiling at something that wasn’t apparent to anyone else, lifting her drink from the table and breathing in its scent. Her pupils returned to themselves, she sent him a laughing smile. “It gets easier, you know. That’s what they tell you in rehab. Isn’t it funny what lies doctors’ll tell you to make you feel better.” She grinned wickedly, and took a gulp of the drink. She was a little too enthusiastic, the liquid reaching her nose and she had to cough it down, smile lost somewhere, features returned to their normal blankness.

“So my parents? No, not a good relationship. And you can probably fill in the blanks as to why.” She swilled the drink in her hand, watching it as the martini splashed around its prison. For once, she did not particularly want to see his face, his reaction. But she made herself raise her eyes, after a moment, and they were small and something rested behind them that looked a bit like pleading. “Do me a favour, Eluard, and judge me.” She asked, “Don’t feel pity for me; despise me, make me know that in your eyes I made the biggest mistake any freshman could. Because I’ve come up with my own rehab, and the more people that do that, the more I’ll believe it. And that’s what I need. I don’t need medication or emotional therapy or meaningless encouragement - I need motivation.”

She sucked in a breath, pulled on a smile and replaced her drink. “I don’t.” She answered easily, to his last question because it was quite clear to her, at least, the answer for that one. “Except my parents, I guess. I still care for them, I don’t think you can ever quite lose that.”

She eyed him in silence for a moment, but she didn’t need as long to consider this time. She already had a pretty good idea what she wanted to ask. “What do you do to have so much money? Does your daughter still have a mother and are you with her?” It was one of the first unspoken rules she had been told, by Sonia, actually, when she first started here: don’t ask questions about relationships. For most of their clients, it wasn’t relevant anyway, but for some they would rather cut your own throat than admit they had partners at home who didn’t know they were with you. But Eluard was different; they had, it seemed, created an agreement. “And your daughter… what’s her name?”

[Eluard Verlaine]

Eluard replied to her question with a half-smile but did not look her way, too aware of how eyes could reveal private thoughts. She was unlike anyone he met through his activities and the change was refreshing. It was during moments like this that he realized just how much of a struggle against the tide his main pursuit was and how tired it left him from time to time. That’s when a recovery night like this was a necessity. It seemed to surprise her he had a child as it did many other people, mainly because he had been so young when she came into the world. The trend in modern society was to have children as late as possible, especially amongst those with status and busy jobs and it was true that he would have followed it too. Jenny was an accident that he’d never regret.

“I’m just trying to measure up to your challenge,” he commented when she expressed her surprise at the prying questions, giving her a casual look and preparing to observe her during her turn. He placed a few fingers against his chin, quietly listening to her explain her problem… with drugs. There was something hungry in her eyes and she could smell it in the air in a way he couldn’t share. However, there was something he could latch onto. “It doesn’t get easier for you because the temptation is still in your environment. It would get easier if you didn’t come into contact with it at all, like abandoning a love for pizza when becoming a model and keeping to it for so long you forget the taste and no longer crave it, only harder.” Eluard had no experience with addiction outside a troublesome love of coca cola that increased his cardiac rhythm to an unnatural number of beats per minute. From that day on he had relinquished the beverage and while it had been hard the first half-year, eventually he no longer desired it.

Eluard nodded shortly at her dismissive reply about her parents. What sort of people gave up on their kid like that? Now that he was a parent, he couldn’t imagine how one could wash their hands of the matter when something that didn’t please them happened. His reaction was a blank stare, but his eyes became focused again when she made her request. Considering it for a few seconds, he straightened in his seat and offered his honest opinion in a tone that was observational. “I don’t know what made you start taking drugs, but you must have a pretty weak character if you allowed them to take over and ruin your life. You’re far from ugly enough to have the excuse of appearance-related depression and if you’re not suffering from some terminal illness either then what’s left can only be foolishness and weakness. Some people are better at handling life than others. It doesn’t even sound like you were homeless or struggling terribly to sustain the funding for your education.” Eluard tilted his head and there wasn’t a shred of emotion in his eyes when he said, after a pause. “People who constantly take the easy path are so unappealing.”

He blinked away from her then, drawing his martini glass in for another short sip. Registering that she apparently didn’t have anyone she cared about aside from parental attachment, Eluard returned the beverage to the table. The answer hadn’t been entirely unexpected but it still left him thoughtful for a moment. He looked to her to find her studying him and was given more questions, all of them wishing to pry into the most private of matters. Eluard appeared amused. “Is that revenge for my questions?” His smile dropped in stages and hilarity faded from the eyes he kept on a distant chair.

When he made up his mind to answer, sharper eyes sought for hers. “I’m a surgeon at the local hospital.” Omission was another thing he decided to employ tonight. He performed expensive operations, 6 or 10 per day, four days per week, and he did earn a lot from it. However, the bulk of his wealth was from selling information. Little details sometimes sold more than kidneys on the black market and he had plenty to share and frequent customers to please. Regardless, there was no need to reveal that.

Contemplating the second question made him lose the edge from his eyes and he looked down, eyes glazed over with thoughts and distance for a few moments. He had never spoken to anyone but Noreen about Lydia and he could feel the “skip” forming in his throat just so he wouldn’t have to remember her any longer, but it never happened. “No. She… died three years ago.” And he wasn’t seeing Saskia anymore, nor the club, or feeling the scent of alcohol mix in his breath. Time had stopped for him then, at least emotionally. What carried on was a partially empty husk with an emotionally blunted behavior. If he was supposed to expand on the matter, the words were to constricted in his chest to come out.

Eluard took in a shallow breath, closed his eyes and when he opened them, he was back to the present. It took a moment to remember he still had another question to answer. “Her name is Jennifer.” Lydia had given her that name, despite his protest that it was “too common and simple” but the blue-eyed redhead was a Jennifer, a bundle of joy and humor with an opinionated disposition already. Eluard tried not to dwell on the thought of her, lest the feelings he had for her start showing in his eyes. Instead, he considered Saskia thoroughly before giving her more questions.

“Why did you start taking drugs?” It seemed he liked to be very blunt and specific when referring to them. It wasn’t like anyone could overhear them in the noise of the club and even if they did, there wasn’t a person in here who cared, probably not even the cops, drunk on their breaks. “Do you have any ambitions for the future?” He kept his gaze on her and then leant forward, planting his arms on his legs. “And what’s the thing you want most from life right now?”

[Saskia Murlew]

“Don’t defend them.” She told him, as he mused about why it wasn’t getting easier for her. But the statement wasn’t as harsh as it could have been and though she frowned, it was not quite angry because he was right, at least, about that point. “You may have the answer for that one, but you don’t know what it was like. You don’t know….some of the things that they said.” She let the sentence linger. She wasn’t even sure how much of it was reliable; her memory of the prison rehab. They had kept telling her the paranoia and the fear that kept clouding her were drug-induced. Which, of course, she knew for a fact to be true. She hadn’t majored in high school science for nothing. But there were some memories that were so clear and undistorted they couldn’t be influenced, could they?

She sucked a breath as he straightened, because she knew what was coming. And she wanted to hear it. Men like Eluard did that, straightened and knotted in concentration when they were about to tell you something irrefutable, something that you probably already knew yourself but that you wouldn’t admit. She watched him, face wiped completely blank for his full observation and waited a little longer once he’d finished to be sure it was complete. And it was just as well she did, because he added at finally thought, head tilting like hers always did. It hurt; she could feel her heart get a slice across his valves and she pictured the blood pouring from it, seeping into the tissue surrounding it. But it was motivational hurt, it was good hurt, it was what she needed to be told and hear every day of her life until she made things right. “Thank you.” She told him, simply, her eyes locking with his own, fathomless blue. She would not expand or rise to respond to his speculations. Not yet.

She laughed at his reaction to her next round, but let the laughter fade out to the drum and bass pretty quickly, because she had not thought those questions to be particularly vexing. The amusement faded from his own eyes and she watched him, mouth slightly open, as if wanting to say something but the words never reaching her tongue. When his first answer finally came, she let out a huff of delight, shaking her head as if she should have known; “A doctor defending a doctor: that makes more sense now.” She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes again. She could feel her façade returning as they spoke. She did not trust doctors - it was ingrained in her from years of painful and difficult stress in rehab. All things considered, most of that had been on her shoulders, but she despite having no real cause for it, she couldn’t shake the distrust that suddenly threatened her bloodstream.

Saskia didn't say anything for a long while after his next answer. In fact, by the time half a minute had past she decided she wasn’t going to say anything. Her two fore fingers came to her lips and she pressed a kiss to them, before retracting them and flying them across the gap between them and placing them over his heart. She offered him a small, apologetic smile. She was never good with this sort of thing, always a bit awkward and faltered. There were some clients that only ever seemed to want to talk about their lost lovers or broken hearts. It was somehow more awful with them though, because they were coming to her for solace in oblivion, which she never thought was what they were really looking for. “I’m sorry… I know it’s goofy,” she admitted, the two fingers dropping away and returning to her lap. “It’s something my nan used to do whenever I cried. It means I hope your heart heals.” Her grandma, on her father’s side, had descended from natives. So long ago now, but she had still had knowledge of their practices and sayings, handed down from generation to generation for centuries.

She sucked in a breath; her turn again. “It’s called peer pressure I think. Mostly because I was desperately trying to fit in with the wrong crowd of people. Also because I’d heard someone say it was good for the concentration, to take them to relax. Make the most of your breaks, sort of thing. And I so badly wanted to do well, I tried it. Ha. That, my friend, is what you call irony.” It was so much easier to laugh at things, to crack jokes and smile.

“The future? Yeah. I want to go back to University and finish what I started. If they’ll have me.” She deflated a little, gaze wandering away from him to scan the place she had reached instead. Rock bottom. The DJ cranked up the volume a little; it was getting later. Or earlier, she wasn’t sure which. “But that’s a pretty far off reality right now.” She caught Sonia’s eye at the bar and the other girl gestured at her watch. Time was ticking. But she pretended she hadn’t seen, she didn’t really want to give up her time with Eluard just yet. Or ever, maybe. The last question at least, was a little easier. “Not to get pregnant. Simple as. One of the girls who worked here a few years back did and the stories aren’t pretty.”

She swallowed her frankness, almost feeling like she should apologise. After all, he had just been talking about his daughter. But she didn’t. She had more than a little bit of pride in her and, as her colleagues constantly reminded her, she could be a bitch when she wanted to be. Besides, he was a doctor. He should understand.

She used her hands either side of her on the sofa to scoot closer to him. Not for intimacy or wanting to look into his face, but because the music was louder now and she needed to be closer so he could hear her easily still. “How many lives do you save on an average day? And how many do you lose?” She wasn’t holding back anymore, neither of them were. It felt thrilling and terrifying at the same time. And they hadn’t skipped that much yet either, which was just as ridiculous. “Does Jenifer know about her mum and would you tell her if she asked?”

[Eluard Verlaine]

He didn’t protest to her request, knowingly remaining silent. People were too eager to say that they knew what it was like to deal with a certain problem when in truth everyone experienced things differently. Individual characteristics gave you advantages over others and that was the truth of it. It would always be easier for one person than it was for someone else, simply because they weren’t as sensitive, or as depressed, or any other factor that might influence the development of something. As such, no one really knew what it was like to experience something someone else had gone through, no matter if it was the very same thing. Sure, there were many similarities, but no case was the same. He considered her a little when she thanked him for being frank in his opinion, feeling very little remorse for it. That’s how things were, but that didn’t mean things couldn’t change.

Very slightly, he quirked a brow at her comment and he could hear in her tone and see on her face that he was now being subjected to thorough prejudice. If it bothered him, it didn’t show and he relaxed a little in his position, hand coming to rest against his temple briefly. His thoughts were quickly clouded away from the matter by recollections of Lydia, so vivid in his mind’s eye that he couldn’t imagine truly moving on even if he had decided it. Quite out of nowhere, Saskia made a gesture that threw him, surprising him enough to make it show on his face. It was such a strongly direct motion, with such an alarming symbolic target that he simply stared for a moment. Although her fingers slipped away rather quickly, the memory of the touch lingered. Having someone refer to “the state of his heart” in actual words wasn’t something he knew how to reply to so he proceeded in being at a loss for words until he gathered himself and remembered it was his turn to ask questions.

Peer pressure. That was her reason. Eluard had always had a hard time relating to the very concept. His entire life was spent walking his own path, in his own direction. Whether people decided to join him or not, that was their decision and he didn’t know how to be the follower. He didn’t want to. He was adamantly resistant to changing his habits or taking up a group or a person’s defining hobby or practice in order to fit in and it made him need to either lead or be solitary and detached from others. Somehow it felt like he was doing both at the same time. His expression was clean of judgement again, returned to neutrality. Diplomacy was his ruling habit, unless he was asked to offer other insights and opinions.

So she wanted to return to her education. Eluard didn’t find it surprising at this point, she did appear to be meant for more than aging in a place like this, all wrinkled and used and with the spark faded from her eyes, spirit dead before her body quit living. The information dealer was quiet while her eyes sought something in the club and he looked away from her, lazy gaze lost in space, but not exactly distant. When the moment ended, he added in a rather tranquil tone: “Some things are closer that they initially appear.” But he didn’t expand on his words.

Her desire to avoid pregnancy made him turn into her advising physician. “I advise you use proper contraception and protection.” His gaze returned to her, simple and plain as if this was the most normal conversation to have. In some ways, it was, he felt like he was back in the hospital, though the subject matter wasn’t something he discussed often with patients. “But I don’t need to tell you that.” Or did he? “And I don’t know how far you go to accommodate your clients, but, you shouldn’t.” Somehow he expected her to be smarter than exposing herself to potential diseases and even with caution, the risk always existed in her profession.

His professional role ended there and he drew in a slow breath as she came closer, not really understanding her intention until the noise in the club was once more something he was conscious of. The proximate position made him feel like they were sharing secrets, which they were, with remarkable lack of reservation. However, she was too close not to distract him with her slender arms and elegant figure and it was only through the nature of her new questions that he could escape the enchantment. It was a rather worrying realization.

As if she knew exactly what could connect with him emotionally, she reminded him about Mr. Brenton, the patient he had lost rather recently. It was a disquieting thought and left behind an empty sensation – to have someone die during or right after your operation, in your arms. Eluard raised a hand to his face and rubbed his temples very slowly. The wish to skip was there but at the same time he just felt like saying it. “It doesn’t happen every day and I’m not usually assigned for emergencies, thus the operations I perform are planned, people are aware of the risks involved and very few of them take really critical chances.” He released a slow breath, feeling tired from the memory of Mr. Brenton’s weeping family and the man’s literal blood on his hands. “I usually have 6 to 10 operations to perform per shift and I normally work 4 days a week.” He leant forward, placing his elbows on his legs and lacing the fingers of his hands together in front of his chin.

Eluard glanced to her. “People don’t die often on my table. I’ve been practicing for over a year and I’ve had 6 deaths since the beginning. At first I wasn’t given serious cases, but things have slowly been changing.” He watched the martini glass on the table. It was almost calling to him. His eyes were unfocused with some form of vacancy. “It never gets easier. Losing a patient.” He swallowed the empty sensation in his chest and something hardened in his eyes. “It never gets easier to let the family know the person died by your hand, under your supervision.” Lines of frustration formed in his brow and he realized what a cliché he was becoming – the man who never talked to anyone about his thoughts and frustration and shared it all with a whore at the bar, but he didn’t want to consider her by the crude term and in conscious naiveté wanted to believe that maybe she could actually care, if only a little.

It took some time to move onto the second question, but by the time he did, his eyes were hidden under his hand and a mirthless half-smile was on his face. “She did ask. But she didn’t ask me. She asked Noreen, the babysitter, if she was her mother around half a year ago.” Eluard remembered how flustered the freshly twenty years old had been and how they struggled to explain the situation. His smile died. “She accepted the idea that her mother wasn’t here with us, but she doesn’t understand the concept of death yet, so I haven’t explained it properly.” He wiped the hand off his face and looked to Saskia with a more natural, slightly tired expression. “I’m going to tell her everything she wants to know when she’ll be ready to hear about it.”

Eluard gave Saskia a long look. “You’re really not interested in sparing me much, are you?” His tone was slightly amused, but only barely. It was his turn again. “Have you ever had a favorite client? If yes, what was so special about him?” His eyes were keenly focused on hers. “What were you studying in University?” There was a small pause and Eluard considered her, trying to see beyond her surface and find the person within. “What makes you happy?”

[Saskia Murlew]

Olive green gaze snapped back to him at his comment. Was that encouragement? She wasn’t used to getting pep talks. Most of the people in her life at the moment were determined, in some way or another, to bring her down. So when someone did offer encouragement, she was at a loss of how to accept it. So she remained silent, eyes boring inquisitively into his own. It was too easy for her to pass it off as sarcasm, but there had been no such emotion hidden behind his words.

She huffed a chuckle as he went on to advise her, genuine amusement flickering to life behind her eyes. It was such a rare occasion in which she could just laugh with a man, with anyone. “Don’t worry yourself, love, I’ve got that covered. I may have been chucked out of college, but I’m not stupid.” She grinned at him and dropped her gaze away, a hand absently reaching to pick her martini glass. When she had begun working here and the leads had started to point to the inevitability of the profession that demanded her looks and her sassiness, she had scoured the market for everything possible to prevent the worst from happening. In fairness, with some clients she could avoid the risk completely with other… entertainment, but that didn’t mean with the others you just plunged in without at least some assurances.

She listened to him speak about his operating routine; the deaths he had seen flickered before her in those immeasurable eyes. He may not even realise what was flashing through them, but they were there – she could begin to pick them out now, little snatches of what lay behind his spoken words. Perhaps they weren’t so impenetrable after all. She hadn’t realised she was leaning in gradually, like she was possessed by gravity. It took her a moment to pull herself back from their depths and she straightened again, dropping her gaze almost guiltily away from him to the drink in her hands, swilling it in circles for a distraction.

But it was his turn to lean in then, resting his chin on woven fingers. She watched him from her slight height advantage, listening to his voice grow sadder. After a moment, she found herself considering how odd they must look, the two of them. Facing each other on an Easy Street sofa, half deafened by the music, trying to have a decent conversation in the middle of the drunks and druggies and clubers. But this was her environment and too often it was dreary and repetitive and always, eternally, the same. Some change was more than welcome. Placing the drink back on the table, she bent slightly to mirror his position perfectly; fingers linked under her chin and elbows balancing on her crossed legs. Their faces were close now, but the atmosphere between them was no dictating intimacy, but concentration and an open ear. Her interest flared at the mention of Noreen, because she caught something behind his eyes – the relay of the memory of Jenifer’s question, yes, but something else too, some emotion that didn’t quite fit with the story. Fear? Unease? Embarrassment? It looked like she had her next question.

“You’re not interested in sparing me either.” She pointed out, raising her eyebrows, tone teasingly defensive. “Perhaps we’re both just cruel and sadistic people and this is how we get our kicks; making others relay their traumas.” There was something verbally sordid about their exchange. Not that she was voting to make it stop, but she ventured her doctors from rehab would be taking this conversation as a sign of relapse for her. Which showed how much they knew – she needed this.

Her turn to answer. She took a breath and straightened back from him, letting her arms fall to her lap, fingers still woven together. A huff of (slightly bitter) amusement “My job doesn’t exactly warrant affection, let alone favouritism. The men - or women - that employ me are just that – my employers. And most of them, if I’m honest, disgust me. Not for their looks or their personalities necessarily, just for their choice to use this service. Apart from you, of course,” She sent him a playful wink, “you’re different.” And though she had said it to a thousand people, something in the way her voice formed the phrase to him made her realise that he actually was. It threw her for a moment and she looked down to her hands to take a minute to find her words again. “So, no. No favourites. There have been a few pretty ones, a few who were funny enough to make it entertaining. But most of them…” She shook her head. “Sometimes, I’m so in character, I don’t even remember half of my interaction with them.” It was strong, when it needed to be, this façade she had created.

“Arts and humanities.” She answered easily, smiling. “Though I started doing some science too. I hadn’t decided what I was specialising in and by the time came for me to start, I was out of it and shortly after, I was literally out of it, out of Uni and into a cell.” Not even the other workers her knew this much about her. But there was something liberating about talking about it and telling it to a stranger, to someone she doubted greatly she would see again.

A sigh. She lifted a weary hand to rub the sleep away from her highlighted eyes. What made her happy? It shouldn’t take this long to conjure up the memories. “A lot of things, but most of them don’t happen that much anymore. Like getting ice cream on a summer’s day at the beach and just sitting in the sun ‘till your skin starts to sting. Or gardening. I used to love gardening.” Her flat now was too small and dingy and damp to even allow pot plants. But if she could, she’d have a window basket at least, with some vegetables or something useful. “I won a prize on a TV competition for the tallest sun flowers, once.” She grinned, nostalgic. But it faded soon after, just leaving the remnants in the echoes of her green gaze.

She shuffled slightly, tucking her legs under her side-saddle style, because she could feel herself losing feeling in one of her feet. Just how long had they been talking together? As if in answer to her unvoiced question, she sensed, rather than saw, the approach of her colleague. “Sas.” She pretended not to hear at first, which was plausible because the music was getting so loud now. “SAS.” A resigned sigh and a shrug to Eluard. “It’s been fun.” She slipped from the sofa and slinked across to Sonia, glowering. The pair were far enough to be out of earshot, but, with the drum and bass that wasn’t particularly far.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sas. We had a deal and you know it. Is it going anywhere? Because to me it looks like you’ve just been chin wagging.” The other woman gave a meaningful quirk of her brow. “Seems like a bit of a waste of your bargain, really.” Anger seeped slowly into Saskia’s blood stream, she could feel it building in her stomach. “He’s different, for once. Soni, be honest with me, how often does that happen?” Sonia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “He’s not different Sas. He just wears posh clothes and talks to you like you’re a real person. Fucking great. But he’ll pay you the same for your services and then bugger off. I guarantee it.”

“I don’t need him to keep in touch!” Saskia shot back, her hands coming to her hips, returning the other girl’s bitter glare. They fought like this a lot, these two. But again, their arguments were almost always just a twisted version of what they wanted to shout at themselves, not at each other. “I was just enjoying a change. Besides, something is happening – he’s taking me to his apartment.” Not strictly true, but she just needed Sonia to believe it. Which, clearly she didn’t, because she scoffed and gestured wildly to the sofa where they had been sitting for the past few minutes. “Oh, sure he is. Pull the other one Sas.”

A bubble of anger spilt from her. She snapped her head around to Eluard, blonde-pink hair whipping around at the sudden movement. “We’re leaving, aren’t we?” With her back to Sonia, she used her eyes, she hoped to convey everything to him. They had to leave now, at least look like they were, or they lost their company, their adventure, their conversation for the rest of the night. She just hoped he registered it, because she still had questions she wanted to ask him.



{hope the suggest move is okay. Feel free to NPC Sonia}

[Eluard Verlaine]

Although her slow approach was unconscious, Eluard didn’t miss the shortening of distance between them. It made his insides stir a little at her unspoken interest and rapt attention. He could sense himself drawn to her presence in return, eyelids lowering minimally during his explanations but she pulled away and he could once more focus entirely on what he was sharing. The thought of Noreen made his icy eyes cloud with distance. He bore a certain fondness for her, a sentiment he did not wish to explore. At the same time she felt miles away from him, with her love of all things simple and desire to reduce most things to their base value. When she looked at him, he felt she didn’t see his true self, but the projection of her own interests. Whenever she chanced upon a glimpse of something that didn’t exactly fit to her interpretation, she subtly tried to root it out of him, as if it was some sort of weed that wasn’t supposed to be there.

The bubble of thought popped when she assured him his questions weren’t the easy kind either. His eyes lit with genuine dull amusement. He drew back in his seat, taking the martini from the table with him. Eluard could already feel the liquid’s influence in the form of slight lightheadedness and this absurd flow of honesty that poured from him during their questionnaire exchange. It didn’t displease him. A deeper sip of his drink later, he was eyeing her over the rim of his glass. “I have no problem admitting it.” His casually intense gaze was boring into her to emphasize the fact. Eluard loved undressing people of their layers until they felt spiritually naked. There would be a lot to go through in Saskia’s case but he would persist until she locked herself away from him. So far, the exchange was rather mutual. It kept him on his toes.

His neutral façade was back in place to meet her answers. Although her tone didn’t even hint at falsity, he couldn’t help the ripple of suspicion that stretched through him when she called him different. They were still under “vow” to tell the truth as well, but Eluard wasn’t naïve enough to believe she would keep it unstained. If she was telling the truth, however, it appeared to be a sort of wish. Be different, it urged him, and he raised a hand to touch his chin, torn between listening to it or giving in to the empty feeling that hovered lower under the surface. In this case, he envied her ability of forgetting for he was never spared of memory, no matter how unwelcome.

He lost the empty feeling when she moved on to express what she enjoyed. She seemed so naturally fond of the activities she missed that he had to look away, cautious of getting attached to the person he saw there. It wasn’t often that he had to fight so much against liking someone and it was just as infrequent that he lingered past the point of noticing the possibility. Martini swirled in his glass as he absently shook it, gaze somewhere on the floor and the threat was gone. There was nothing but dark meetings, shady business and ugly secrets in the shadows of his mind.

Her shrug distracted his attention back to her and he was openly surprise to see her rise as if meaning to go. When she entered the company of another woman, he understood the situation. From the folds of his coat, he drew out a silver pocket-watch. Their 20 minutes were long spent. He turned his gaze to watch the two women from the corner of his eye. They appeared to be arguing with some fervor for reasons he could only guess. When Saskia’s verbal opponent gestured towards him he got a pretty good idea what their argument was about. He had already abandoned the drink on the table, placed some money and a more reasonable tip to cover their consumption and was walking towards them with his coat retrieved from the seat when she asked him to confirm they were on their way to go.

Eluard gave her a very subtle smile and gazed at her with knowing eyes just before coming to her side and lacing an arm around her slender waist, fingers coming to rest like a web of discreet possessiveness on her side and abdomen. He glanced at the other woman. “If you’ll excuse us.” Then made a point of drawing Saskia along to his casual pace, his other hand going in his pocket. Sonia looked like someone had slapped her across the face with an unrealistic fantasy. She glared daggers into Saskia’s back as they retreated from her presence and headed for the exit, but otherwise said nothing.

It was a pleasant night outside, not hot like the summer days but not yet cold enough to be fully autumn. The stars shone brightly in the tranquil sky. Once outside, Eluard drew his hand away from her frame, fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of dark dress as they went. It didn’t go far, however, for he took her hand instead and started drawing her along, her fingers held in his. “Come on, I have a place to show you.” His tone was light and the look he gave her over his shoulder was graced by a quietly enthusiastic smile. For the moment, his spirit felt weightless and she wasn’t the whore he’d hired, but a friend he wanted to take to a place that he kept for himself, if only because he may never see it again in a few days’ time.

If she consented, they would get into a cab and it would take them there.


((I was actually looking for an opportunity to move it along, so great! : D Continuation will be in the Apartments board and let me know if you need anything changed.))