01-09-2020, 10:14 PM
The shoes were decades out of fashion. They seemed more dress shoe than workman’s boot, though...
For all that Asa seemed riveted by Mr. Ireland’s modest, easy-to-believe but utterly conveniently-located-for-burglary life … dark eyes shifted to Jules as he exhaled over his tea.
“Joos a gaudner, aye.”
The more Asa weaved poetry about helping his dear old brother out, the more Aslan thought of Nisa. Doting. Concerned. Capable of single-handedly upturning each and every life around her with nary a second thought to it.
He nodded along with affected sympathy and understanding, willing himself not to glance at the ‘bigger’ threat, much as Jules’ little brother dwarfed him.
“Oh, aye?” he laughed, though the smile was sharper than he’d intended. “Swear m’broo’err’s best day oo’is life were when I foond me own way.”
If only. If only.
His father used to hire a gardener in the better months. A neighbor boy who had never quite taken to the stables, and so Baba would graciously put some coin toward a tidy little flowerbed out front.
“Aaaye, life-loong dream,” he went along cheerily with teeth that gleamed. “Pooshin’ deyrrt ferra buncha rich coonts.”
He nodded his head at Asa’s further inquiry with a hard to read look.
“They soommer aylsewhere, th’mad lads. Quyitt enoogh.”
And then Jules was probing his story, and not the potential site that sounded – no, that was too good to be true. Aslan let one sharp exhale across his tea, rippling over the bohea. His lips remained pursed a second too long, dark eyes cast up on his host like a snake contemplating a moose.
“Loong enoogh,” he said, tone meandering, knee absently bumping Jules’ under the table.
Again, he was all cheer and veneer to Asa’s recommendations.
“Soome loveleh booshes ‘boot th’vinya’d,” he agreed to Asa, then leaned in against Jules with his elbow knocking his … seemingly companionably, despite their short acquaintance.
“Love to take you out some time,” he muttered quiet and low with a much sharper smile to Jules … and did that sound substantially more … British?
Then Mr. Ireland was taking a draw of his tea, placid as a lake.
For all that Asa seemed riveted by Mr. Ireland’s modest, easy-to-believe but utterly conveniently-located-for-burglary life … dark eyes shifted to Jules as he exhaled over his tea.
“Joos a gaudner, aye.”
The more Asa weaved poetry about helping his dear old brother out, the more Aslan thought of Nisa. Doting. Concerned. Capable of single-handedly upturning each and every life around her with nary a second thought to it.
He nodded along with affected sympathy and understanding, willing himself not to glance at the ‘bigger’ threat, much as Jules’ little brother dwarfed him.
“Oh, aye?” he laughed, though the smile was sharper than he’d intended. “Swear m’broo’err’s best day oo’is life were when I foond me own way.”
If only. If only.
His father used to hire a gardener in the better months. A neighbor boy who had never quite taken to the stables, and so Baba would graciously put some coin toward a tidy little flowerbed out front.
“Aaaye, life-loong dream,” he went along cheerily with teeth that gleamed. “Pooshin’ deyrrt ferra buncha rich coonts.”
He nodded his head at Asa’s further inquiry with a hard to read look.
“They soommer aylsewhere, th’mad lads. Quyitt enoogh.”
And then Jules was probing his story, and not the potential site that sounded – no, that was too good to be true. Aslan let one sharp exhale across his tea, rippling over the bohea. His lips remained pursed a second too long, dark eyes cast up on his host like a snake contemplating a moose.
“Loong enoogh,” he said, tone meandering, knee absently bumping Jules’ under the table.
Again, he was all cheer and veneer to Asa’s recommendations.
“Soome loveleh booshes ‘boot th’vinya’d,” he agreed to Asa, then leaned in against Jules with his elbow knocking his … seemingly companionably, despite their short acquaintance.
“Love to take you out some time,” he muttered quiet and low with a much sharper smile to Jules … and did that sound substantially more … British?
Then Mr. Ireland was taking a draw of his tea, placid as a lake.
