[His hands slow and pause. His face seems to go momentarily blank, hollowed out. Then, his brain kicks back into gear as he realizes she just recited a poem without any bit of stuttering at all and he looks up at her in surprise.]
You just... You just did that from memory?
[Or she made it up, which is even more impressive, but either way, not actually the thing he's surprised over. Not the main thing anyway. There might be a few things here, like the words themselves.
A whole lot more like-- A faint nervous laugh escapes and he turns his gaze back down to finish up.]
Yeah, I guess it's... something like that. I'm not me for the clients. I'm whoever they want me to be. Whatever they want. And I do my best to match that.
[Not just for the clients, that nasty voice in his head sneers.]
It's never a long-term thing, usually just an evening, maybe two, so it's not actually that hard to keep up. Usually.
[She doesn't think to be flustered until he says something, and then it feels like she's swallowed her tongue. What the fuck did she just do? What a fucking freak-ass choice she just made? Good fucking lord. Ryder ducks her head and uses her free hand to nervously comb her bangs while she struggles to keep herself from emitting a stream of muttered curses.
So focused on that and working out her excuse of why she thinks it's neat to spout children's poems out of nowhere, Ryder doesn't keep the next thought from popping out of her dumbass mouth.]
Y-you mean keep it -- up. Bang it o --
[JESUS WHAT IS SHE DOING, this girl's just gonna let out a strangled squeal and bury her face in her hands, too mortified to live.]
[Just as he thinks she's hit some emotional core of him, unveiled the beginnings of an ugly truth he likes to hide, and surprised him on top of that, she turns rights around with a joke about fucking.
He sputters a little, torn between laughter and embarrassment and maybe even some actual shame.]
I'm definitely not allowed to answer that. But for the record, in my personal life, no, I don't have a problem with anything in bed.
[Not shame because he's slept around, of course, but shame over thinking, for a moment, that the lifting of masks was something he could talk about. What an absolute moron. What a stupid fucking idiot.
He tries to plaster a grin over the twisted and hurt look that almost got out. He'd say he does a pretty good job of it.]
[She doesn't know why he continues putting up with her -- oh, right. The money. He'd already been willing to abandon it before, though... Ugh, hes so confusing. She doesn't understand people at all. Ryder makes some other kind of whine and waits for her mortification to bubble away. She tries not to let his laughter get to her this time. She did make a joke! She's supposed to be over the moon that her "date" laughed!]
I dunno h-how you can -- [He's so blatant and confident about it! What the fuck?
'A little less smiley, A little less sure,'
She'd literally just said it. With a groan, Ryder pinches the bridge of her nose.]
God. Nnnever -- m-mind.
[Even if she could say this plan was successful, she doesn't think she'd have enough experience to figure this shit out. Social situations...hard.]
Um. Food. [Now that her cover's blown... She looks at what they managed to score and unpack, hesitantly hovering her hand above a box. Ah. Silverware.
...She produces two pens from her purse and clumsily tries to fashion them into chopsticks. If all else fails, she can stab the food. She just...doesn't want to gross him out by shoving her hand in like some zombie eager for organs.] W-what -- what w-would, um, a n-normal person say? How can I have, um, a better, um. Outside f-face? Like y-you.
[He lifts a brow, questioning, but she doesn't finish. She brushes it all off and he gives a shrug. Suit herself!
But right. Food. And he comes to the same unfortunate conclusion she does. Well. Aside the pen chopsticks, that is. That gets a faint look of horror.]
Please don't poison yourself with pen ink.
[He pauses.]
I don't know if that's a normal person thing to say, I'd just really prefer it.
[Outside faces. Boy. He looks up at the sky, frowning, as if he can scry and answer from the clouds.]
I guess I... try and figure out what people want? What they want to hear or see or... whatever. And then see how much of that can still be me. Which sounds like a lot of work, but I don't know if I think about it.
[Her tone is flat and grim, a picture of some dark witch that has long-accepted her cursed fate, and lacks the same stutter as before. Sometimes you just say shit without thinking before you ever have a chance to stumble. It doesn't seem like she has any qualms about possibly eating ink or even getting poisoned, though. Ryder...unfortunately does not seem to be inclined to find a solution for Teo without any prompting, either.
Maybe she's too focused on his advice. She's certainly digesting it with a deep frown interrupted by a bite of food.]
I don't -- unders-stand what -- what people want. Or I can't -- be th-that. Mmm -- m'just...n-not. Espe-especially nnot without thinking. I'm not like you w-where -- I-I can't be nice, o-or... No one would -- want -- th-things from mmme. That...stuff. Dunno if I could, ev-ven.
...That sounds really cool, and fitting, but also, if you get sick from ink poisoning, I'm going to be fired, and also it will hurt me as a chef and probably also as a person.
[So. Hopefully she's cautious and nothing of the sort happens. Hopefully.
He makes a mental note to himself to have cutlery on hand in the future.
He listens and his head starts to tilt, especially as she trails off.]
Um, well. If you're thinking that far, that's probably not good. Better to start smaller. Like friends? Acquaintances? And, you know, practicing. There's gotta be someone you know and talk to, right? Any family?
[For a moment, she brightens a little as he calls her -- or her proposed self, anyway -- cool. Then he goes on like a logical person and her nose wrinkles with disappointment. She pours, though she doesn't have it in her to direct it at him specifically, while she mumbles.]
Not your business... Howsit -- y'r fault if I-I get -- sick?
[Like, unless it was a sex thing, which they'd kind of already established was on her. Not that a doctor would see it that way. Or would they? Hm. It would be hard to choose who to blame between the sex worker and the trans person for some people, huh? Cheery thoughts.
Oh hey, some actual cheery thoughts! Even though the admission is making her blush before it's even out of her mouth. Well, she's already destroyed any chance of Teo thinking she's at all not a pathetic freak, so...]
...Mm. My -- m-mom. She's my best -- ...She'smy only friend.
[His brows furrow, as if she's just tossed a riddle his way.]
W- b- Because... because I'm here...?
[He's not sure how it wouldn't be his fault, his responsibility, if she got sick now. He could've done something and didn't. That makes it objectively his fault. It also makes him feel anxious and vaguely ill himself just thinking about it.
Probably best to just let that go for the moment. He sees her flush-- and it's cute, but it also does a good job of bracing him for the answer.
He doesn't laugh. There's a pang of envy he swallows down. Then he smiles, speaking softer.]
That's a pretty cool thing to have. A lot of people can't stand their parents.
[There they are, two baffled idiots that are unable to comprehend what is the truth of the matter. There's...some kind of law that would protect him, right? It doesn't matter that she can't think of the word for it -- Samaritan! she'll exclaim to herself later in triumph -- because they're moving on. Whatever the misunderstandings, they can agree that she won't be getting sick...and Mom is a way better topic, as embarrassing as it all is.]
M-mm. Said she's -- my best friend. 'Course we talk. She -- helped. At th-the restaurant... Um, not that she -- knows. Um. About this. [...Whatever this is, now.] I'd die. Um... S'different, though. From -- from talking to people. She's'my mom.
[The bummer about her chopsticks being pens (and having dismissed getting sick) is that she can't bite down with her teeth in an effort to destroy them like they symbolize her feelings. That would make ink go everywhere, and this ink wasn't like squid ink. Or was it? No, it couldn't be, even if she doesn't know what the different would be, except that one might be edible. Ryder makes a mental note to read about squids when she gets home and sleeps off the trauma of having a conversation. Even if he's smiling that weird, charming smile of his...]
Y-you think -- s'dumb.
[He thinks she's dumb... A truly pathetic, useless creature -- and she can't say he's wrong. Ryder glues her gaze to her meal, letting her stomach have a minute to decide whether it's going to roll over and die anytime soon, or if it can go on through the shame and let her eat.
She's just not trying hard enough. She just needs to smile more. She should think more positively, and then she'll see that it was easy, actually. Her way was wrong. She was wrong.
Ryder sighs, nudging different bits of her food to separate it. She couldn't be a chameleon like him, if it was that "easy".]
...I know s'not nnnormal.
[It isn't like she doesn't want to have more than one person she can stomach being close to, or who wants to listen to her. It really sucks that the closest to that she feels is the occasional, sometime anonymous, kudos on her fics. Praise without a face she could reread whenever she wanted because she spat out something a little clever or tender despite not being either.]
...Sh-she's in, um, a different state, anyway. Um... Sometimes -- want...someone with you. R-right...?
[Is that at least normal? Will that make her understandable?]
[She doesn't lash out at him but he imagines he'd have deserved it if she did. A sickly feeling of guilt settles in his guts. His hands lower back down.]
No... Im sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say. I wouldn't even know what that's like, so, I couldn't judge.
[He doesn't know anything about normal. This serves him for acting like he does. As if he can help anyone else. He nods, feeling dumb and feeling that stupid old ache.]
A friend. Someone who gets things. So it doesn't have to be her. I guess I was just trying to say... maybe if you pretended the other people were like her, it'd be easier. Maybe.
[She should start giving him an additional $20 every time she makes him apologize, Ryder thinks briefly, then after giving it a couple seconds more to settle, she adjusts it down to $1. This outing wasn't exactly gentle on her bank account, and he'd had to apologize for plenty of things that weren't his fault already. There's no need to go completely broke. Depending on how many more times it happens, she'll have to decide how seriously she wants to stick to this silent resolution.]
Nnn... She knows -- everything. Almost. [Again, what Ryder's decided to spend her money on this evening is going to stay private. For the next ten years, at least. After that, maybe? It was tough to keep secrets from Mom, even if they were mortifying. She'd...done everything she could for her. Of course Ryder would try to give everything back.
She'd probably prefer a new computer, though. Hm.] Don't think anyo-one can be liiike her.
[It really...makes a thought hit harder, and she frowns while she chews. Besides, it's starting to dawn on her that the parent talk is kind of bumming him out, maybe? That...isn't a surprise. Is it rude that she thinks "unhappy childhood" is a more than understandable backstory for a sex worker?]
Flaw -- in th-the human 'sperience. Can't t-t-talk unless they're -- friend. N-need to talk to mmm...mmake friends.
[Except...]
It's -- You, um. Th-that's not -- pity? You a-asked...before. About m-maybe being one.
[The F word she was just saying, but now feels like the verbal equivalent of skydiving with a child's kite.]
...You know I'm l-like th-this. I gave you -- outs. S-so maybe, um. Uh, but! I mean, I -- could try. S-so you m-might, um. [Oh god, what was she trying to say? Fuck, something something solidarity, or...something? That's too many somethings!] If you real-really didn't mind, then we...talk. H-how we're s'posed to.
[Except that it loops right back around to this guy being a stranger, she doesn't know him at all, if he knows her he won't want to be by her, a stranger was better, that's why she'd done this, but how was she supposed to be able to talk to him like he was anything like her mom, and how was she supposed to show him anything like that in return for his kindness she's buying?]
Fuck, my head hurts... [Thinking is hard. It's hard for the opposite reason as talking. Just...do the reverse. Reverse. Ryder squeezes her eyes shut and softly, swiftly mutters,] Don't laugh.
'I said, "I'll take the T-bone steak." A soft voice mooed, "Oh, wow." And I looked up and realized The waitress was a cow.
I cried, "Mistake -- forget the steak. I'll take the chicken then." I heard a cluck -- ''twas just my luck The busboy was a hen.
I said, "Okay, no fowl today. I'll have the seafood dish." Then I saw through the kitchen door The cook -- he was a fish.'
[She feels her thoughts calm and ebb enough to stop focusing on rattling the poem off, though while her face relaxes to show as much, she still doesn't open her eyes just yet. Less getting stuck in a loop.]
Okay. Okay. S'good. The, um, f-food. I d -- um, sorry if nothing's like what -- what y-you wanted.
[...also the...cutlery... It'll probably click in a second.
[Someone who knows everything. Someone utterly irreplaceable. He can understand why she would feel like nothing could come close. He's not sure what could. He doesn't know anything like that.
He smiles sadly at her little joke. Indeed, the process of friend-making is a difficult and contradictory loop.]
How we're supposed to. [He repeats, though he's honestly not sure what that even entails. Does his usual script for taking out clients count? Probably not.
She tells him not to laugh and he lifts a brow, but the reason becomes evident. She recites, just as she did before, words flowing perfectly. It's almost enough to make him miss the rhyme itself. Almost, but still not quite enough to save him from a struggle of twitching lips and noises he's got to shove down and smother.]
You chose a funny restaurant joke and you don't want me to laugh.
[He is making a very valiant effort.]
The food's fine. Honestly, I'm used to letting clients pick things out. This isn't bad at all.
[Her face flushes, as much as she's trying to ignore the difficulty he's having in keeping a straight face. She flushes even further when it dawns on her that the reason he's having a hard time with it isn't because he wants to laugh at her or her bizarre method of calming herself down. Cautiously, Ryder decides to crack one eye open, then upon seeing that it's apparently safe enough, the other. Huh.
...Maybe after she plucks up enough courage, she'll let him know that there was even a little more left to the poem. For now, she'll just think about how he clearly needs to book dumber clients -- ones like her that got in over their head and had no significant input on the food.]
You -- don't get t-to choose y-your own me-meal? Jerks.
[He does laugh this time at her unnecessary defence. He shakes his head, but he's smiling still.]
It's not a big deal. It's rarely so restrictive that I can't pick something I like off a menu. And I can't usually complain about getting a paid meal. But an escort is, to some degree, whatever the buyer wants us to be. Within reason, of course.
[Her acquiescence is mumbled and reluctant, like deciding not to be mad at these hypothetical people was causing her a great inconvenience. Honestly, it was a little bit like that, it was a lot easier to have an enemy to focus on, rather than being left to realize all over again that her real enemy is herself.
Finally it seems to occur to Ryder that she hasn't left him many options when it comes to eating, and awkwardly offers out the pen-chopsticks.]
Have -- you gotten pervy feet ladies -- y-yet? Uh, guess -- that's usually guys, th-though. That y-you he-hear about.
[He snorts and waves a hand. It's okay. She can keep her pen chopsticks. He'll just... figure something out. Maybe. Somehow.]
Hate to add to the stereotype, but my one foot person was also a guy. If any of the girls were into feet they hid it well. Or maybe my feet just weren't sexy enough.
But she's distracted from her disappointment, first by Foot Stuff -- she worries briefly that he'll think she's into feet with how she automatically flicks her gaze over to see if she can assess the level of sexy his feet are -- and then more importantly: male clients. Trying not to sound too hopeful, she quickly looks back down to her food and fidgets with her makeshift chopsticks. She'd been given options, certainly, but...]
Um, so. Is, um... Part of the job, or...? I mean, they wouldn't -- you don't have to be -- [No, obviously he has to be with people he wouldn't normally go for. Exhibit A, right fucking here.] You don't have to have clients of -- of any gender, um, do you? You could -- you could choose?
[And so she asked with thirty-six words what she could have asked with three.]
[Thank god one of them is managing to not be full-on stupid. Ryder visibly relaxes with his confirmation, pleased with both parts. She's glad that the agency or whatever is offering that basic decency, but selfishly she's even more relieved to have someone on her side around. If it turned out that he wasn't cool with queer shit, then she really didn't know what she would have done... Instant end to this precocious friendship.]
Good... Um, me too -- er, ace. Bi-ace, or, um. Yeah.
[And trans, but that one still feels weird to say out loud after over a decade. Just might have something to do with limiting her socialization and talking about much safer topics being difficult already. She'll have to wear one of her pins the next time she sees him.
...Huh. So she's looking forward to that. Weird!]
...Y-you must -- get tired of th-this, but -- you're pan and you -- cook? Ba dum tshh.
[Now she gets to join in on the fun, eyes widening with disbelief. There's no way!!]
You're -- fuckin' with mm-me. But it's so -- ?
[LIKE...HELLO? PAN WITH A PAN?? Get with it, people. God.]
Oh. You, um, before -- [Ryder sets down her container so she can gesture at her own wrist where he'd given a hint of another tattoo earlier. Now that they're out of that suffocating restaurant...!] Can I see? N'how many...?
[He gives a solemn shake of his head as if the lack of bad puns is a tragedy of humanity. In just a second though, he's back to grinning.]
Sure! I don't have as many as I'd like, but I've got some bigger ones.
[He shrugs out of his suit jacket and, now that he's free, he wonders why he hadn't peeled it off before. He's down to that V-cut shirt and some bare arms. Or, would-be bare. He's got a full sleeve done on one side, a graveyard using negative space to display the shape of graves upon his forearm. Dark trees reach up into a darker sky, the middle of his arm a black spot save for a hanging lantern illuminating one small portion. The dark goes through his upper arm where it breaks at the jawline of a skull, its maw parted for the petals that spill from its teeth and the celosia that spear up through the mouth and eyes. It goes to his shoulder and so still winds up a little cut off by the t-shirt sleeves. Same goes for the other arm where a stitched heart sits on his shoulder.]
I've got a bit of a memorial on my back but that's nothing fancy to look at. Hoping to get the other arm filled out one day.
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storywalks) wrote2022-03-03 11:13 pm
no subject
You just... You just did that from memory?
[Or she made it up, which is even more impressive, but either way, not actually the thing he's surprised over. Not the main thing anyway. There might be a few things here, like the words themselves.
A whole lot more like-- A faint nervous laugh escapes and he turns his gaze back down to finish up.]
Yeah, I guess it's... something like that. I'm not me for the clients. I'm whoever they want me to be. Whatever they want. And I do my best to match that.
[Not just for the clients, that nasty voice in his head sneers.]
It's never a long-term thing, usually just an evening, maybe two, so it's not actually that hard to keep up. Usually.
no subject
So focused on that and working out her excuse of why she thinks it's neat to spout children's poems out of nowhere, Ryder doesn't keep the next thought from popping out of her dumbass mouth.]
Y-you mean keep it -- up. Bang it o --
[JESUS WHAT IS SHE DOING, this girl's just gonna let out a strangled squeal and bury her face in her hands, too mortified to live.]
no subject
He sputters a little, torn between laughter and embarrassment and maybe even some actual shame.]
I'm definitely not allowed to answer that. But for the record, in my personal life, no, I don't have a problem with anything in bed.
[Not shame because he's slept around, of course, but shame over thinking, for a moment, that the lifting of masks was something he could talk about. What an absolute moron. What a stupid fucking idiot.
He tries to plaster a grin over the twisted and hurt look that almost got out. He'd say he does a pretty good job of it.]
no subject
I dunno h-how you can -- [He's so blatant and confident about it! What the fuck?
'A little less smiley,
A little less sure,'
She'd literally just said it. With a groan, Ryder pinches the bridge of her nose.]
God. Nnnever -- m-mind.
[Even if she could say this plan was successful, she doesn't think she'd have enough experience to figure this shit out. Social situations...hard.]
Um. Food. [Now that her cover's blown... She looks at what they managed to score and unpack, hesitantly hovering her hand above a box. Ah. Silverware.
...She produces two pens from her purse and clumsily tries to fashion them into chopsticks. If all else fails, she can stab the food. She just...doesn't want to gross him out by shoving her hand in like some zombie eager for organs.] W-what -- what w-would, um, a n-normal person say? How can I have, um, a better, um. Outside f-face? Like y-you.
no subject
But right. Food. And he comes to the same unfortunate conclusion she does. Well. Aside the pen chopsticks, that is. That gets a faint look of horror.]
Please don't poison yourself with pen ink.
[He pauses.]
I don't know if that's a normal person thing to say, I'd just really prefer it.
[Outside faces. Boy. He looks up at the sky, frowning, as if he can scry and answer from the clouds.]
I guess I... try and figure out what people want? What they want to hear or see or... whatever. And then see how much of that can still be me. Which sounds like a lot of work, but I don't know if I think about it.
no subject
[Her tone is flat and grim, a picture of some dark witch that has long-accepted her cursed fate, and lacks the same stutter as before. Sometimes you just say shit without thinking before you ever have a chance to stumble. It doesn't seem like she has any qualms about possibly eating ink or even getting poisoned, though. Ryder...unfortunately does not seem to be inclined to find a solution for Teo without any prompting, either.
Maybe she's too focused on his advice. She's certainly digesting it with a deep frown interrupted by a bite of food.]
I don't -- unders-stand what -- what people want. Or I can't -- be th-that. Mmm -- m'just...n-not. Espe-especially nnot without thinking. I'm not like you w-where -- I-I can't be nice, o-or... No one would -- want -- th-things from mmme. That...stuff. Dunno if I could, ev-ven.
no subject
[So. Hopefully she's cautious and nothing of the sort happens. Hopefully.
He makes a mental note to himself to have cutlery on hand in the future.
He listens and his head starts to tilt, especially as she trails off.]
Um, well. If you're thinking that far, that's probably not good. Better to start smaller. Like friends? Acquaintances? And, you know, practicing. There's gotta be someone you know and talk to, right? Any family?
no subject
Not your business... Howsit -- y'r fault if I-I get -- sick?
[Like, unless it was a sex thing, which they'd kind of already established was on her. Not that a doctor would see it that way. Or would they? Hm. It would be hard to choose who to blame between the sex worker and the trans person for some people, huh? Cheery thoughts.
Oh hey, some actual cheery thoughts! Even though the admission is making her blush before it's even out of her mouth. Well, she's already destroyed any chance of Teo thinking she's at all not a pathetic freak, so...]
...Mm. My -- m-mom. She's my best -- ...She'smy only friend.
no subject
W- b- Because... because I'm here...?
[He's not sure how it wouldn't be his fault, his responsibility, if she got sick now. He could've done something and didn't. That makes it objectively his fault. It also makes him feel anxious and vaguely ill himself just thinking about it.
Probably best to just let that go for the moment. He sees her flush-- and it's cute, but it also does a good job of bracing him for the answer.
He doesn't laugh. There's a pang of envy he swallows down. Then he smiles, speaking softer.]
That's a pretty cool thing to have. A lot of people can't stand their parents.
[Or the other way around, or--]
So, you talk with her?
no subject
M-mm. Said she's -- my best friend. 'Course we talk. She -- helped. At th-the restaurant... Um, not that she -- knows. Um. About this. [...Whatever this is, now.] I'd die. Um... S'different, though. From -- from talking to people. She's'my mom.
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You're mom's not people?
[Of course, that's not what she means. Probably. But he had to get the teasing out of the way.]
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Y-you think -- s'dumb.
[He thinks she's dumb... A truly pathetic, useless creature -- and she can't say he's wrong. Ryder glues her gaze to her meal, letting her stomach have a minute to decide whether it's going to roll over and die anytime soon, or if it can go on through the shame and let her eat.
She's just not trying hard enough. She just needs to smile more. She should think more positively, and then she'll see that it was easy, actually. Her way was wrong. She was wrong.
Ryder sighs, nudging different bits of her food to separate it. She couldn't be a chameleon like him, if it was that "easy".]
...I know s'not nnnormal.
[It isn't like she doesn't want to have more than one person she can stomach being close to, or who wants to listen to her. It really sucks that the closest to that she feels is the occasional, sometime anonymous, kudos on her fics. Praise without a face she could reread whenever she wanted because she spat out something a little clever or tender despite not being either.]
...Sh-she's in, um, a different state, anyway. Um... Sometimes -- want...someone with you. R-right...?
[Is that at least normal? Will that make her understandable?]
no subject
N-no!
[She doesn't lash out at him but he imagines he'd have deserved it if she did. A sickly feeling of guilt settles in his guts. His hands lower back down.]
No... Im sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say. I wouldn't even know what that's like, so, I couldn't judge.
[He doesn't know anything about normal. This serves him for acting like he does. As if he can help anyone else. He nods, feeling dumb and feeling that stupid old ache.]
A friend. Someone who gets things. So it doesn't have to be her. I guess I was just trying to say... maybe if you pretended the other people were like her, it'd be easier. Maybe.
no subject
Nnn... She knows -- everything. Almost. [Again, what Ryder's decided to spend her money on this evening is going to stay private. For the next ten years, at least. After that, maybe? It was tough to keep secrets from Mom, even if they were mortifying. She'd...done everything she could for her. Of course Ryder would try to give everything back.
She'd probably prefer a new computer, though. Hm.] Don't think anyo-one can be liiike her.
[It really...makes a thought hit harder, and she frowns while she chews. Besides, it's starting to dawn on her that the parent talk is kind of bumming him out, maybe? That...isn't a surprise. Is it rude that she thinks "unhappy childhood" is a more than understandable backstory for a sex worker?]
Flaw -- in th-the human 'sperience. Can't t-t-talk unless they're -- friend. N-need to talk to mmm...mmake friends.
[Except...]
It's -- You, um. Th-that's not -- pity? You a-asked...before. About m-maybe being one.
[The F word she was just saying, but now feels like the verbal equivalent of skydiving with a child's kite.]
...You know I'm l-like th-this. I gave you -- outs. S-so maybe, um. Uh, but! I mean, I -- could try. S-so you m-might, um. [Oh god, what was she trying to say? Fuck, something something solidarity, or...something? That's too many somethings!] If you real-really didn't mind, then we...talk. H-how we're s'posed to.
[Except that it loops right back around to this guy being a stranger, she doesn't know him at all, if he knows her he won't want to be by her, a stranger was better, that's why she'd done this, but how was she supposed to be able to talk to him like he was anything like her mom, and how was she supposed to show him anything like that in return for his kindness she's buying?]
Fuck, my head hurts... [Thinking is hard. It's hard for the opposite reason as talking. Just...do the reverse. Reverse. Ryder squeezes her eyes shut and softly, swiftly mutters,] Don't laugh.
'I said, "I'll take the T-bone steak."
A soft voice mooed, "Oh, wow."
And I looked up and realized
The waitress was a cow.
I cried, "Mistake -- forget the steak.
I'll take the chicken then."
I heard a cluck -- ''twas just my luck
The busboy was a hen.
I said, "Okay, no fowl today.
I'll have the seafood dish."
Then I saw through the kitchen door
The cook -- he was a fish.'
[She feels her thoughts calm and ebb enough to stop focusing on rattling the poem off, though while her face relaxes to show as much, she still doesn't open her eyes just yet. Less getting stuck in a loop.]
Okay. Okay. S'good. The, um, f-food. I d -- um, sorry if nothing's like what -- what y-you wanted.
[...also the...cutlery... It'll probably click in a second.
no subject
He smiles sadly at her little joke. Indeed, the process of friend-making is a difficult and contradictory loop.]
How we're supposed to. [He repeats, though he's honestly not sure what that even entails. Does his usual script for taking out clients count? Probably not.
She tells him not to laugh and he lifts a brow, but the reason becomes evident. She recites, just as she did before, words flowing perfectly. It's almost enough to make him miss the rhyme itself. Almost, but still not quite enough to save him from a struggle of twitching lips and noises he's got to shove down and smother.]
You chose a funny restaurant joke and you don't want me to laugh.
[He is making a very valiant effort.]
The food's fine. Honestly, I'm used to letting clients pick things out. This isn't bad at all.
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...Maybe after she plucks up enough courage, she'll let him know that there was even a little more left to the poem. For now, she'll just think about how he clearly needs to book dumber clients -- ones like her that got in over their head and had no significant input on the food.]
You -- don't get t-to choose y-your own me-meal? Jerks.
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It's not a big deal. It's rarely so restrictive that I can't pick something I like off a menu. And I can't usually complain about getting a paid meal. But an escort is, to some degree, whatever the buyer wants us to be. Within reason, of course.
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[Her acquiescence is mumbled and reluctant, like deciding not to be mad at these hypothetical people was causing her a great inconvenience. Honestly, it was a little bit like that, it was a lot easier to have an enemy to focus on, rather than being left to realize all over again that her real enemy is herself.
Finally it seems to occur to Ryder that she hasn't left him many options when it comes to eating, and awkwardly offers out the pen-chopsticks.]
Have -- you gotten pervy feet ladies -- y-yet? Uh, guess -- that's usually guys, th-though. That y-you he-hear about.
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Hate to add to the stereotype, but my one foot person was also a guy. If any of the girls were into feet they hid it well. Or maybe my feet just weren't sexy enough.
[He shrugs as if to say Can't please them all.]
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But she's distracted from her disappointment, first by Foot Stuff -- she worries briefly that he'll think she's into feet with how she automatically flicks her gaze over to see if she can assess the level of sexy his feet are -- and then more importantly: male clients. Trying not to sound too hopeful, she quickly looks back down to her food and fidgets with her makeshift chopsticks. She'd been given options, certainly, but...]
Um, so. Is, um... Part of the job, or...? I mean, they wouldn't -- you don't have to be -- [No, obviously he has to be with people he wouldn't normally go for. Exhibit A, right fucking here.] You don't have to have clients of -- of any gender, um, do you? You could -- you could choose?
[And so she asked with thirty-six words what she could have asked with three.]
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I'm pan. Or bi. Whatever. But yeah, there's a choice.
[At least it's about as socially polarizing as admitting to being an escort and that one's already out of the way.]
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Good... Um, me too -- er, ace. Bi-ace, or, um. Yeah.
[And trans, but that one still feels weird to say out loud after over a decade. Just might have something to do with limiting her socialization and talking about much safer topics being difficult already. She'll have to wear one of her pins the next time she sees him.
...Huh. So she's looking forward to that. Weird!]
...Y-you must -- get tired of th-this, but -- you're pan and you -- cook? Ba dum tshh.
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He gives an understanding nod and mutters "nice" at her coming out. But it's next thing that really gets him, instantly making him laugh.]
No one else gets it! Or they don't catch it.
[He pats his hip.]
Got a pan tattoo right here.
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[Now she gets to join in on the fun, eyes widening with disbelief. There's no way!!]
You're -- fuckin' with mm-me. But it's so -- ?
[LIKE...HELLO? PAN WITH A PAN?? Get with it, people. God.]
Oh. You, um, before -- [Ryder sets down her container so she can gesture at her own wrist where he'd given a hint of another tattoo earlier. Now that they're out of that suffocating restaurant...!] Can I see? N'how many...?
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badpuns is a tragedy of humanity. In just a second though, he's back to grinning.]Sure! I don't have as many as I'd like, but I've got some bigger ones.
[He shrugs out of his suit jacket and, now that he's free, he wonders why he hadn't peeled it off before. He's down to that V-cut shirt and some bare arms. Or, would-be bare. He's got a full sleeve done on one side, a graveyard using negative space to display the shape of graves upon his forearm. Dark trees reach up into a darker sky, the middle of his arm a black spot save for a hanging lantern illuminating one small portion. The dark goes through his upper arm where it breaks at the jawline of a skull, its maw parted for the petals that spill from its teeth and the celosia that spear up through the mouth and eyes. It goes to his shoulder and so still winds up a little cut off by the t-shirt sleeves. Same goes for the other arm where a stitched heart sits on his shoulder.]
I've got a bit of a memorial on my back but that's nothing fancy to look at. Hoping to get the other arm filled out one day.
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