ʜᴏᴍᴇʟᴇss.

[feigns]

I'd be flattered, mundane, if I weren't entirely aware that a change of locations didn't mean a change of interests. Your concept of fun and my own will not, nor shall they ever, align — for reasons I'm yet to understand, I admit — and I've no interest in indulging in futility when it reaps no rewards for me.

—You're aware, though, that in this time of giving and goodwill, you ought to be sprawled on a settee, mumbling incoherent nonsense at anyone who dares to approach, aren't you? I'm wholly disappointed in the extent of your sobriety.

Comments

[feigns]

Contentment has no need for surprise.

[ his lips quirk again at that, a definite smirk playing at his lips. ] Usually I bet for money or drinks, but in this case, I somehow doubt the suitability of either. I believe, though, that I ought to receive something for each time you think me serious when I'm not.

[tempering]

Isn't that the point of a bet? I had assumed money was the typical sort of reward in cases like this. [is this the part where the warning bells need to start going off? she frowns slightly.] Other than that, I doubt I've much to give, apart from my cards. [she'd really rather not have to resort to using her other deck, but it'll do.]

[feigns]

[ a shrug. ] Then money it is. I can always spend it on whatever appeals momentarily; I've always found ignorance a far more preferable state of being to knowing. [ a total lie. ]

[tempering]

And how much need I give to you whenever I make a mistake?

[feigns]

Whatever you believe the indiscretion to be worth. After all, you have morals, do you not?

[tempering]

I should certainly hope, Mister Herondale. [she smiles slightly, amused.] Am I right in assuming that there is no set price, and that I shall decide when - or if - each mistake happens?

[feigns]

That's right, Miss Martin, although with your track record, it's very much a when rather than an if.

[tempering]

I wouldn't be so sure of that, Mister Herondale; perhaps the risk of losing my hard-earned money will help me.

[feigns]

I've never known money to do that to a person, Miss Martin. Make them crueller, certainly, or make them more careless, but never make a person more accurate.

[tempering]

You wouldn't think that potentially losing it would make me scrutinize the situation even more?

[feigns]

[ a shrug. ] It may, but that begs the question of why you consider your life, when free of financial worries and risk, to lack any need for scrutiny. Loss of fortune occurs with or without bets.

happy new year, btw! :D

[tempering]

I could be planning to run away. Attempt to run away, I should say. [she's not, for now, but that's irrelevant.] I'd need it then, wouldn't I?

likewise! i hope it's a good one

[feigns]

And where would you run to?

[tempering]

I'm not entirely sure, to be honest with you. I'm rather fond of France, and I've always thought that we never spend quite enough time in Asia...

[feigns]

I considered running away once, although to nowhere as exotic as Asia, or even France. I imagined traversing the hills of the West Country and swimming in the sea off the south coast. Alas, I'm stuck firmly in the city.

[tempering]

Why? What's stopping you?

[feigns]

That which binds all of us: duty.

[tempering]

I find myself curious: what is it that you do in your city that couldn't be done anywhere else?

[feigns]

It's rarely a matter of what, Miss Martin — why or for whom would be better questions. I shouldn't think there's anything in London that I wouldn't be able to do elsewhere unless we speak solely of excesses.

[tempering]

I confess, I assumed that. It was part of the reason I asked. But, let me rephrase it - "why," or "for whom?"

[feigns]

And if I said no, that you could not rephrase it? [ a beat, and with deliberate flippancy: ] Because the path of duty is the way to glory.

Why have you not run away? Do you fear the reality of sleeping in hedges and stealing food may not live up to the romantic portrait? Bathing in rain water is not all it's cracked up to be.

[tempering]

So you stay in hopes that doing whatever your job may be will bring you fame one day? [amused. and thinking she probably should have seen that one coming.]

Actually, I've managed before, Mister Herondale. There's a - a strange enchantment on the circus. On all of us. We're incapable of leaving for any extended period of time. A brief journey away in our spare time, yes, but we must always intend to come back.

[feigns]

Perhaps one day, stories of my escapades will be immortalised in books and passed from grandfather to grandchild by the hearth.

—There have been times when I've wished that my lodgings held a similar enchantment. I've lost count of the mornings — or afternoons, I should say — when I've been rudely awakened by mothers and wives emptying their pails of washing water onto the ground nearby, only to find that I have entirely no idea of where I am. Returning home would be a far less torrid affair if I didn't have to worry about remembering directions.

[tempering]

[she laughs.] And perhaps adapted to the stage?

Of course, another way to solve that particular issue is to make sure you arrive home before falling asleep. And, I think it would be far more impolite of them to empty the water onto you; at least you've been granted that courtesy.

[feigns]

[ a grin.] Naturally.

Ah, but it's not always as simple as that: it tends to be that the forgetting is a precursor to the falling asleep.