02-09-2020, 07:36 AM
"Elsewhere?" Asa laughed, practically choking on his tea (heaps of sugar, plenty of milk), spewing a few warm droplets back into his cup. "Your employers live on a lovely bit of land like Whitby and they summer elsewhere? What could be better than here?"
Oh, plenty of places, I imagine, Jules thought solemnly, sipping slowly. The older Everett brother had often fantasized about travelling elsewhere. Paris. Rome. Cairo. Hong Kong. Anywhere but the misty, often dreary coasts of his native England. Whitby offered them somewhere other than the dirty streets of London to call their home, and Asa was always looking for an oppotunity to better their fortune. Afterall, where would an innocuous English cobbler such as Jules Everett discover enough gold and riches to travel the world so lavishly? Quite the thought.
Jules did not bother to stifle the chuckle that arose at Gavin's colorful language. Asa's eyes continued to twinkle excitedly as the gardener continued to speak. "Workin' yourself to the bone for a gaggle o' rich cunts is quite the life, isn't it? We get more than a few huffin' at our door now and again," Jules said, tipping his head in Gavin's direction as a light sign of comraderie.
As Asa continued to prod not-so-subtlely, questioning just how empty Gavin's employers' property currently was, Jules felt a spark rush through his body as Gavin's knee brushed against his. Odd feeling, that. Jules clenched his jaw, lips tight and hidden beneath his mustache, behind his tea cup. Surely that was little more than a polite accident. The table wasn't expansive, afterall. A knee or two were bound to knock once in a while.
As easy as it was to shrug away their brushing knees, Jules couldn't deny the warmth against his arm as Gavin leaned against him. Beneath the oddities, Gavin Ireland was quite handsome, truly. But Gavin's visage was hardly the most interesting thing about him. As the younger man began to speak, the thick accent seemed to slough away, leaving a melodic voice with a distinct British lilt.
Jules cleared his throat and set down his cup, eyes looking down at the table. Quite an interesting offer if there ever was one.
"Mr Ireland," he began, looking up to take a good, long look at his guest once more. An anomaly, a mystery. Intriguing. "We've taken up enough of your time, haven't we? Sounds like the rain has let up a bit outside; at the very least, I don't hear the shutters banging in the storm."
He stood, casually waving away a stern look from his younger brother, who clearly intended to ask the gardener more questions about his employers' estate. "Why don't you come back tomorrow morning and we can get started on your shoes. Say, nine o'clock about? We can discuss the work more... initimately, if you like." It'd be a good opportunity to shoo Asa out the place, give Jules an chance to figure out just what this "gardener" was truly about. He felt the weight of his knife in his pocket, decided he'd continue to keep it on his person for their meeting tomorrow. Just in case.
"Please. Come tomorrow," he repeated earnestly.
Oh, plenty of places, I imagine, Jules thought solemnly, sipping slowly. The older Everett brother had often fantasized about travelling elsewhere. Paris. Rome. Cairo. Hong Kong. Anywhere but the misty, often dreary coasts of his native England. Whitby offered them somewhere other than the dirty streets of London to call their home, and Asa was always looking for an oppotunity to better their fortune. Afterall, where would an innocuous English cobbler such as Jules Everett discover enough gold and riches to travel the world so lavishly? Quite the thought.
Jules did not bother to stifle the chuckle that arose at Gavin's colorful language. Asa's eyes continued to twinkle excitedly as the gardener continued to speak. "Workin' yourself to the bone for a gaggle o' rich cunts is quite the life, isn't it? We get more than a few huffin' at our door now and again," Jules said, tipping his head in Gavin's direction as a light sign of comraderie.
As Asa continued to prod not-so-subtlely, questioning just how empty Gavin's employers' property currently was, Jules felt a spark rush through his body as Gavin's knee brushed against his. Odd feeling, that. Jules clenched his jaw, lips tight and hidden beneath his mustache, behind his tea cup. Surely that was little more than a polite accident. The table wasn't expansive, afterall. A knee or two were bound to knock once in a while.
As easy as it was to shrug away their brushing knees, Jules couldn't deny the warmth against his arm as Gavin leaned against him. Beneath the oddities, Gavin Ireland was quite handsome, truly. But Gavin's visage was hardly the most interesting thing about him. As the younger man began to speak, the thick accent seemed to slough away, leaving a melodic voice with a distinct British lilt.
Jules cleared his throat and set down his cup, eyes looking down at the table. Quite an interesting offer if there ever was one.
"Mr Ireland," he began, looking up to take a good, long look at his guest once more. An anomaly, a mystery. Intriguing. "We've taken up enough of your time, haven't we? Sounds like the rain has let up a bit outside; at the very least, I don't hear the shutters banging in the storm."
He stood, casually waving away a stern look from his younger brother, who clearly intended to ask the gardener more questions about his employers' estate. "Why don't you come back tomorrow morning and we can get started on your shoes. Say, nine o'clock about? We can discuss the work more... initimately, if you like." It'd be a good opportunity to shoo Asa out the place, give Jules an chance to figure out just what this "gardener" was truly about. He felt the weight of his knife in his pocket, decided he'd continue to keep it on his person for their meeting tomorrow. Just in case.
"Please. Come tomorrow," he repeated earnestly.
