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rainbowfic2019-06-26 08:16 am
ilthit) wrote in rainbowfic2019-06-26 08:16 am
Entry tags:
Canary Yellow #5: Trust Issues (The Quality of Mercy)
Name: Trust Issues
Story: The Quality of Mercy (Peccadillo Parlour)
Colors: Canary yellow #5: The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 624
Rating: PG
Characters: Prudence Gao, Jimmy Banks
Warnings: n/a
Summary: All of Jimmy's ideas are terrible.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Pru said, folding her head in her hands.
The lights were low in the office at this hour, the city outside dotted with lights, under a curving dark sky. Prudence and Jimmy had been locked in her office since early afternoon, talking and talking, wheeling around on their chairs, pacing the small room, and drinking far too much coffee. She missed her bathroom, a glass of wine, and maybe a raunchy romance novel instead of the Hesse she had been slugging through.
“You said that about all my plans so far,” Jimmy said. He seemed to take it philosophically. “Are we perhaps dealing with a tiny trust issue, here?”
“Tiny.” Pru raised her head. “One time you knew I was jetlagged you kept bringing me decaf instead of the real thing. I actually thought you were being nice for once, and it turned out you wanted me too stupid to notice the affidavit hadn’t been properly signed.”
Jimmy tutted. “Too much caffeine is bad for you.”
Pru propped herself up on her forearms. “Reassure me. What’s your angle here? Are you trying to sabotage me, to get me off your ass about the client with all those mob connections? What?”
“Not at all, dear Prudence. You are doing excellent work covering up for mob connections. I need you.”
“And it’s funny to see me suffer?”
“It’s so funny.”
That face could not be trusted. If he looked like he was laughing at you, he could still be lying. If he looked sincere, he was definitely lying. He might even know that she realized that, and thinking beyond that point could devolve into an endlessly unfolding origami of assumed assumptions. Jimmy loved that game.
Pru rested back against her chair for a moment and closed her eyes, shutting out Jimmy’s next bit of chatter. She’d been doing this since she was a teenager, sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat with Aunt Amelia reading out affirmations out of a book, her low voice a purr of pleasure at the back of Pru’s head. But instead of helping her clear her thoughts, the practice now only made her want to nod off. “All right,” she said after a moment. “Let’s get back to this tomorrow with a clearer head. In the meanwhile, there’s something I’d like you to consider.”
“I am all ears, my dear.”
Pru leaned her elbows back on the desk and looked Jimmy in the eye. She softened her voice. “You have bought an old farm about three hours from Boston. Three hundred acres, four outbuildings, a dirt road, fields—a little paradise away from it all.”
Jimmy’s confident little smile melted into a line.
“It was all in your financial files, which I burrowed through to look for that damn Bahamas bank account you were accused of having. I also noticed you purchased paints and canvasses to last five years even for a prolific artist… Studio equipment for recording music. Nothing too fancy, but fit for, oh, say… acoustic ballads? Acapella?”
That line turned hard and cold.
Pru shrugged. “But hey, who am I to judge? And who would I ever mention it to? I’m your secret-keeper. That’s what I do.” She tilted her head and smiled. “So long as you’re mine.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, Pru got the feeling Jimmy truly hated her. The mask had dropped off, and what lay beneath sent a chill down her spine.
She stared him down all the same.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said at last. “We could’ve been friends.”
Perhaps she’d made a mistake, but he’d left her no choice. She was done being his plaything. “But we understand one another.”
“Yes. Yes we do.”
Story: The Quality of Mercy (Peccadillo Parlour)
Colors: Canary yellow #5: The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 624
Rating: PG
Characters: Prudence Gao, Jimmy Banks
Warnings: n/a
Summary: All of Jimmy's ideas are terrible.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Pru said, folding her head in her hands.
The lights were low in the office at this hour, the city outside dotted with lights, under a curving dark sky. Prudence and Jimmy had been locked in her office since early afternoon, talking and talking, wheeling around on their chairs, pacing the small room, and drinking far too much coffee. She missed her bathroom, a glass of wine, and maybe a raunchy romance novel instead of the Hesse she had been slugging through.
“You said that about all my plans so far,” Jimmy said. He seemed to take it philosophically. “Are we perhaps dealing with a tiny trust issue, here?”
“Tiny.” Pru raised her head. “One time you knew I was jetlagged you kept bringing me decaf instead of the real thing. I actually thought you were being nice for once, and it turned out you wanted me too stupid to notice the affidavit hadn’t been properly signed.”
Jimmy tutted. “Too much caffeine is bad for you.”
Pru propped herself up on her forearms. “Reassure me. What’s your angle here? Are you trying to sabotage me, to get me off your ass about the client with all those mob connections? What?”
“Not at all, dear Prudence. You are doing excellent work covering up for mob connections. I need you.”
“And it’s funny to see me suffer?”
“It’s so funny.”
That face could not be trusted. If he looked like he was laughing at you, he could still be lying. If he looked sincere, he was definitely lying. He might even know that she realized that, and thinking beyond that point could devolve into an endlessly unfolding origami of assumed assumptions. Jimmy loved that game.
Pru rested back against her chair for a moment and closed her eyes, shutting out Jimmy’s next bit of chatter. She’d been doing this since she was a teenager, sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat with Aunt Amelia reading out affirmations out of a book, her low voice a purr of pleasure at the back of Pru’s head. But instead of helping her clear her thoughts, the practice now only made her want to nod off. “All right,” she said after a moment. “Let’s get back to this tomorrow with a clearer head. In the meanwhile, there’s something I’d like you to consider.”
“I am all ears, my dear.”
Pru leaned her elbows back on the desk and looked Jimmy in the eye. She softened her voice. “You have bought an old farm about three hours from Boston. Three hundred acres, four outbuildings, a dirt road, fields—a little paradise away from it all.”
Jimmy’s confident little smile melted into a line.
“It was all in your financial files, which I burrowed through to look for that damn Bahamas bank account you were accused of having. I also noticed you purchased paints and canvasses to last five years even for a prolific artist… Studio equipment for recording music. Nothing too fancy, but fit for, oh, say… acoustic ballads? Acapella?”
That line turned hard and cold.
Pru shrugged. “But hey, who am I to judge? And who would I ever mention it to? I’m your secret-keeper. That’s what I do.” She tilted her head and smiled. “So long as you’re mine.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, Pru got the feeling Jimmy truly hated her. The mask had dropped off, and what lay beneath sent a chill down her spine.
She stared him down all the same.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said at last. “We could’ve been friends.”
Perhaps she’d made a mistake, but he’d left her no choice. She was done being his plaything. “But we understand one another.”
“Yes. Yes we do.”
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I somehow doubt that they could have been friends at all.
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Thank you so much for reading. :)
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(Jimmy was created as a plot device for another story elsewhere, but I ended up loving writing him.)
Thank you for reading! :)