For Letty

[bleak_midwinter]

Comments

[leavetreadmarks]

She doesn't need calming like the horse does, although she doesn't miss that at all; neither does she miss returning the title here, too. She nods after a moment, stepping forward to hold her hand out to the horse, letting it decide whether to draw back from her or investigate by standing absolutely still for him.

And then our, which makes Letty's glance go quickly to Tommy's hands for something she'd missed before, raising an eyebrow. "Us?" A pause and, utterly straight-faced and without softening at all: "You don't mean the horse."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Well, the rumors have to come from a place of truth," he deadpans, while he looks at the horse investigating her hand.

"I mean my family- brothers, sister, aunt," he continues, now twitching a smile.

[leavetreadmarks]

He twitches a small smile; the one she'd been considering as the horse brushes its tough, coarse upper lip over her palm sets under her skin where it had started to form. His family. Of course. Most people have that, after all.

She's just proud and just spiteful enough that she drops her hand and clears her throat to decline out of hand; but the horse pulls against Tommy's steadying grip to stretch its neck after her and she hesitates.

Finally, weighing how very tired and alone she is against how far pride can get a woman in life - especially misused as an excuse to be contrary - she nods.

"Of course. If it's no trouble."

[bleak_midwinter]

"If it was trouble I wouldn't have extended the invitation in the first place," he says, jerking his head slightly to indicate the direction they'll be going. He's not a man hangs tightly onto courtesy.

It's a short walk from where he'd seen her, and he leaves the horse tied down to a ring in the wall. "We'll be right back for you, girl, don't you worry," he murmurs, before patting her and opening the door.

He's taking them through the office, and so she walks right into the chaos of betting, of John calling out the races, the times, the horses that are up to be betted on; Scudboat taking and cashing out, Arthur in his office. She's welcome to look, but if she doesn't want to he'll go through the green doors in the back, into the kitchen.

[leavetreadmarks]

She follows, pulling her coat tight around her and waiting as he tethers the horse. Letty doesn't know what it is she's expecting when they walk through the door but it certainly isn't what she's confronted with, and her eyes go wide in the splitsecond before she catches herself.

Look she does, once she notes that Tommy doesn't bustle her on through; she's seen war and she's been far from home but she's not worldly enough to have the first clue what she's looking at, at first. Her eyes narrow as she tries to follow the current of it, watching where the money goes, trying to match it up with why, with the numbers and the names the men are calling. She glances at the cards with their numbers, and the men counting the cash.

Most of all, she notes that no one so much as looks twice at her, and the only time she has to push her way through is when there physically isn't enough space for her to pass.

By the time ages followed Tommy into the kitchen, her cheeks are ever so slightly flushed and she's forgotten all about being acerbic for the moment.

"What was that?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"Family business," he says, twitching a smile at her as he closes the doors- it's immediately quiet, leaving them with the fire in the hearth, the tiles, the china cabinet and the personal photographs.

"We're bookmakers. Horse racing." And there's a subtle undertone of is that going to be a problem? Because it has been, too often.

[leavetreadmarks]

She's still too focused back where they came from to really note their current surroundings, which is good; it lets her acclimate to being in what is clearly the private portion of someone's home - a stranger's home - before she has to actually deal with it.

She just looks at him for a moment at the question, hearing the unspoken one loud and clear, before she shakes her head just once. "No," she adds, just in case. Then: "Was that a test?"

[bleak_midwinter]

He rubs his mouth, once, and raises his eyebrows. "No," he says, slowly, as he walks to the stove, to boil some water. "But you passed it either way. What would the test have been, in your opinion?"

[leavetreadmarks]

He begins making preparations. She watches him, her hands folded around her elbows.

"I haven't the first idea. What I do know is the way some people reacted when I said your name, and the fact that licensed businesses have signs outside of their buildings so they can be found."

Obviously, not something that unlicensed businesses would want.

[bleak_midwinter]

"So either we trust our customers to find us, or we are unlicensed," he posits, turning back to her. He looks a little harder, like he still expects her to walk right out the door.

"Or both."

[leavetreadmarks]

She doesn't look as though she's about to walk anywhere; indeed, she has always had a particularly solid way about her when she refuses to budge, despite her size. Much larger men than she have backed down from trying to go through her when she sets her jaw just so and pins them with her eyes.

This is the much milder version: still immobile, but nodding, agreeing. "Or both."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Have you ever seen a race, Letty? Ever make a bet?" Seeing how she won't budge, he relaxes slightly, and the faint smile comes back to his face.

"We've done this for three generations, now. We've been here a long time, keeping things in order."

[leavetreadmarks]

"Not like you mean," she allows, rolling her shoulders back a bit, dropping her arms. "Country races, boys in the field on their prize horses trying to prove them better than the other. Higher prices, not much more, and the bets are for chores or for a piece of jewelry, spending money."

Nothing like this. "It does well for your family, this business. Bookmaking."

[bleak_midwinter]

His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when he smiles at that description-- he remembers those as well. He remembers participating in those, as a boy.

"It does. It has done, for a long time. It isn't easy, but it's good."

[leavetreadmarks]

She's quiet for a moment, considering all of it, the noise still at her back that she can hear if she listens.

Then she nods. "I'm glad, then. That you were able to come back to it, and your family, and that all of you seem to be doing well."

[bleak_midwinter]

"The two men I came in with, that day- they're both still here, too."

And that makes him proud, and happy- even if Freddie doesn't talk to him outside of cussing him out, even if Danny sees German soldiers in the streets of Birmingham.

[leavetreadmarks]

She remembers Danny and Freddie; she remembers pulling them out of the tent and handing them off to another nurse, but of course so many men died after that day anyway. She hadn't wanted to ask for the exact reason that she hadn't wanted to hear they were alright, and she hadn't wanted to hear that they were dead.

Her lips thin a little, but when she nods again, when she says, "That's good. I thought about the three of you, after we lost each other then. I spared a prayer for you. I'm glad someone was listening." she means it, too, even if it feels like swallowing sandpaper.

[bleak_midwinter]

That makes something in his eyes shift, interested but a little hollow. He tilts his head and looks at her, while the water starts boiling behind him.

"Do you still pray, Letty?"

[leavetreadmarks]

"Yes," she answers, her voice faintly, inexplicably sour-bitter right around the edges. "After I've done everything else I can do. A little breath seems a small price yo pay if it really does anything."

[bleak_midwinter]

"That you still have a glimmer of doubt about it doing anything says enough," he says, lips twisting wryly. He stopped long ago.

[leavetreadmarks]

"Does it?" she asks, half earnest, half arch. "All the same, it's my breath to waste as I see fit. I won't assign it credit - certainly not more than cover fire and a level head - but nonetheless, here the three of you are, home safe, which is more than others can say."

[bleak_midwinter]

In his opinion, it does. It doesn't say that she didn't see enough, or suffered enough: it says that she has a different kind of personality than he does. Less cynical, perhaps, though he does see enough of that in her.

"If not your prayers, then your care and strength during the attack helped us come home. I'm glad you were there for us, and the rest of them."

[leavetreadmarks]

This is something Letty has had plenty of time and cause to think about; she still hasn't managed to come up with a good answer, not in the way she likes to be certain of herself. She fingers at her split lip a moment, carefully, and then nods.

"I'm glad that I could be - and that we should get the chance to speak again," she offers back, letting the subject of prayers drop by the wayside.

[bleak_midwinter]

He smiles at her, brittle and soft, and then turns his back to her to make them both tea. There's a tremor in his hand sometimes, and he shakes it out before he can continue- it's nothing he pays any mind to.

When he turns back around he has two cups of tea, and he gestures for her to sit down at the table.

"You came a long way," he starts, looking at her inquisitively.

[leavetreadmarks]

She stands while he does so, looks around the room curiously this time, her hands firmly hooked around her arms. When she has looked as well as she can, she watches him.

She doesn't notice the tremor, but then, she's not watching his hands. He invites her to sit and she does, shrugging her coat off, folding it across her lap before complying.

"And have a long ways yet to go," she agrees, breathing in the warmth of the tea a moment before sipping at it. "I assure you, it was only minimal design brought me to your doorstep, so to speak. While considering my options, I realized I remembered the name of Birmingham from a conversation with a soldier that spoke a language not many do; turns out my luck held, and you are still here."