[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.
[Oh no, she thinks to herself as she leans in eagerly to see better. He's hot.
She'd known it before, more abstractly. Teo was an attractive guy with warm eyes and a smile that, when you weren't busy crumbling into an anxious mess, made you feel good. Asexual or not, she could definitely appreciate what he's got going on, even if there's an instinctual part of herself that pulls back from pretty people in self-preservation. Now, though, Ryder's getting to judge a piece of him hidden behind a different part of him visible, and see that he not only does he have a solid aesthetic, but he doesn't settle for shitty quality or not take care of himself after meeting his goal. It's good. It makes him, regrettably, a hot person by her own standards. Fuck.]
S'beautiful...
[Maybe it would have been nicer to hear that his ink was cool, or whatever, but she can't help but fall into that gentler awe. She curls her hand into a fist to hold onto the urge to reach out and run her fingers over the ink like that will help her or at all be appropriate. Nope, not going to be that stupid.]
...Glad to contribute to -- to the funding for m-more.
[She definitely couldn't not pay him now, with the dream of more out there in the open. His basic needs are, you know, also good to meet.]
Um. Can't get -- to m-m-mine, um. Except -- [At the very least, she can hook her finger on the fabric looped around her neck to bring it down enough that he can see the exclamation point striking across her adam's apple.] ...S'got flowers, too. On -- on my arm, I mean. Mane of -- peonies, mmmostly.
[He doesn't mind being told it's beautiful. His face softens, in fact. A lot of people would look at a tattoo like he's got and attribute it to being grim. Maybe it is a little. But, at least for him, it's something much more.]
Thanks. [He says, before she even talks of contribution and that has him laugh.
He looks surprised at the first tattoo, but then he's smiling again.]
That's cool! It's clever. An exclamation on the quiet girl. [Must have hurt like hell to get it done on her throat. He respects that.] I'd love to see the peonies at some point if you're ever wearing short sleeves.
[Maybe it's a bit grim, but Ryder is also a monsterfucker in her soul, plus a fan of poetry. Of course beautiful would encompass grim things, too.
"The quiet girl" manages to not sound like a dig, this time. Instead of shrinking into herself like she's trying to be a crumpled piece of paper that caught fire, she just glances away when she feels the embarrassed flush rise through her. The edge of her lip twitches, almost a smile. The tattoo had always been more of an act of defiance -- a dare to anyone that tried to perceive her for too long. His view of it isn't so bad, though. She returns her hand to her lap and nods.]
Mm. Yeah. ...Th-the next time, we. Um. We can just be n-n-normal. Comfortable. ...S'much as can be.
[Ryder still can't believe she's actually looking forward to that. Is this what it's like to make a friend? She'll have to ask her mom later.]
[Their normal probably being different from literally anyone else's definition of it. But they'd be themselves, in so much as they ever let themselves be. It could be nice.]
We'll just have to pick out a spot. I don't know about you, but my new place isn't all that cozy yet.
[She leans forward and opens her mouth in her automatic urge to respond, then seems to realize that the situation is strange. Here she was, about to invite an escort over to her home so he could see what was under her shirt, but not while he was working? Feels...incorrect.
But then, is she supposed to invite him over now? Even though it isn't like that? Ryder frowns, adjusting her jaw so she can grind teeth that didn't usually get ground for the sake of doing something. Things sure are tough. Well, it'll get figured out one way or another.]
Umm, my place... S'small, but it doesn't -- suck. I think. I -- don't really know wh-what the-the standard is... Um...
[She didn't clean, since bringing him to her bed wasn't the plan. Is that fine? Or should she definitely wait for the nebulous "next time"? But then what if he changes his mind? ...Then is doing it now kind of creepy? Is it taking advantage of the dynamic? But that's what she was already doing! Ugh, her head hurts, even though she didn't even get to drink enough to earn one. Damn.]
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storywalks) wrote2022-03-03 11:13 pm
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.
no subject
...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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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...?
no subject
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.
no subject
She'd known it before, more abstractly. Teo was an attractive guy with warm eyes and a smile that, when you weren't busy crumbling into an anxious mess, made you feel good. Asexual or not, she could definitely appreciate what he's got going on, even if there's an instinctual part of herself that pulls back from pretty people in self-preservation. Now, though, Ryder's getting to judge a piece of him hidden behind a different part of him visible, and see that he not only does he have a solid aesthetic, but he doesn't settle for shitty quality or not take care of himself after meeting his goal. It's good. It makes him, regrettably, a hot person by her own standards. Fuck.]
S'beautiful...
[Maybe it would have been nicer to hear that his ink was cool, or whatever, but she can't help but fall into that gentler awe. She curls her hand into a fist to hold onto the urge to reach out and run her fingers over the ink like that will help her or at all be appropriate. Nope, not going to be that stupid.]
...Glad to contribute to -- to the funding for m-more.
[She definitely couldn't not pay him now, with the dream of more out there in the open. His basic needs are, you know, also good to meet.]
Um. Can't get -- to m-m-mine, um. Except -- [At the very least, she can hook her finger on the fabric looped around her neck to bring it down enough that he can see the exclamation point striking across her adam's apple.] ...S'got flowers, too. On -- on my arm, I mean. Mane of -- peonies, mmmostly.
no subject
Thanks. [He says, before she even talks of contribution and that has him laugh.
He looks surprised at the first tattoo, but then he's smiling again.]
That's cool! It's clever. An exclamation on the quiet girl. [Must have hurt like hell to get it done on her throat. He respects that.] I'd love to see the peonies at some point if you're ever wearing short sleeves.
no subject
"The quiet girl" manages to not sound like a dig, this time. Instead of shrinking into herself like she's trying to be a crumpled piece of paper that caught fire, she just glances away when she feels the embarrassed flush rise through her. The edge of her lip twitches, almost a smile. The tattoo had always been more of an act of defiance -- a dare to anyone that tried to perceive her for too long. His view of it isn't so bad, though. She returns her hand to her lap and nods.]
Mm. Yeah. ...Th-the next time, we. Um. We can just be n-n-normal. Comfortable. ...S'much as can be.
[Ryder still can't believe she's actually looking forward to that. Is this what it's like to make a friend? She'll have to ask her mom later.]
no subject
[Their normal probably being different from literally anyone else's definition of it. But they'd be themselves, in so much as they ever let themselves be. It could be nice.]
We'll just have to pick out a spot. I don't know about you, but my new place isn't all that cozy yet.
no subject
[She leans forward and opens her mouth in her automatic urge to respond, then seems to realize that the situation is strange. Here she was, about to invite an escort over to her home so he could see what was under her shirt, but not while he was working? Feels...incorrect.
But then, is she supposed to invite him over now? Even though it isn't like that? Ryder frowns, adjusting her jaw so she can grind teeth that didn't usually get ground for the sake of doing something. Things sure are tough. Well, it'll get figured out one way or another.]
Umm, my place... S'small, but it doesn't -- suck. I think. I -- don't really know wh-what the-the standard is... Um...
[She didn't clean, since bringing him to her bed wasn't the plan. Is that fine? Or should she definitely wait for the nebulous "next time"? But then what if he changes his mind? ...Then is doing it now kind of creepy? Is it taking advantage of the dynamic? But that's what she was already doing! Ugh, her head hurts, even though she didn't even get to drink enough to earn one. Damn.]
no subject
No standard. I mean, I guess there's what's normal with clients but we already decided to ditch client-normal for normal-normal.
[Normal no longer sounds like a word.]
Just... whatever you wanna do.