Of course, Tommy means for there to be bad blood, but for all her cunning
and strength he isn't telling her that. That's a secret just for him,
something for the books.
The joke gets him to look at her and really smile, not the polite
thing he'd pasted on so far. "I'd say it's a fucking shame I have to ask
you for that. But will you, miss?"
She likes that, occasionally, she can get him to look at her like that. It makes her incline her head - yes, she will - and drop her grip to his elbow to his hand.
She learned to dance in the same places she suspects he did: first out front of wagons, around campfires and open fields, then in the tented makeshift halls on the fringes of the battlefield. A good way to pass the time and shake off stress, and as one of few enough women around those crowds, she'd been a popular partner no matter where she came from.
The point is, though, she can fake this well enough. And it turns out that it's a good way for at least temporarily shaking off the stress of why they're here, too.
People are more than decent, here. The dancing is still fairly tame,
even if the jazz band is trying its best to get a little more energy
injected into the crowd. He puts one hand on her waist and holds the other
one up for her to take.
He's a good dancer, and he smiles at her as they start moving. He's light
on his feet and confident, mindful of the other dancers without giving up
the space he needs for the both of them.
"So, how are you liking England?" As good a time as any to have this
conversation.
Is it? She spends a few turns trying to decide whether he wants an answer from former Corporal Letty Ortiz, or the Spanish aristocrat she's pretending to be, because the answers are necessarily almost polar opposite. Or, well - not polar opposite. Worded differently, perhaps. Differently motivated.
She smiles and follows Tommy's lead - the lady - and tips her head back and forth as if considering. "Don't know that I'm in a position to be casting aspersions," she hedges, her own dry sense of humor in the words. "But I do believe I find it agreeable, overall."
"Oh, but I'm the smart kind of mongrel," she says, low enough to stay in the momentum of their spin. "I know better than to bite the hand that feeds me."
The way she says it is coy, not as if she really has anything to hide. "I miss my own country, but it's just memory. What I want isn't there anymore. I can be happy here."
She doesn't notice yet, but she will. Her attention - what of it isn't obviously on Tommy or her dancing - is on Kimber.
"Oh, Señor Shelby, that would be too easy wouldn't it?" She hasn't been a playful woman since he's known her, not really, but she does have a mischievous streak, slightly dark. "Let us say that I have everything I need to not be unhappy."
"Señor Shelby," he mutters, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.
He likes the sound of that. "As part of the company, señorita Ortiz,
we should all endeavor to keep it at least that way. I hope you do know
that."
The way Letty shifts her own body to cover them better from sight from the rest of the room is automatic, using one hand in her skirts to give that little bit extra that only such garments can; mostly she's twisting to see, though, surprised to see Arthur here.
Her eyes narrow - "Arthur, my God, you can't go anywhere can you -" But she manages to stop herself from touching his cheek at all lest she get blood on her fine lady's hands, settling for his chin instead to hold him steady while she looks. Quickly. She's letting go in less than a three count, making an impatient noise that means she's not happy but it'll keep.
It just has Arthur grinning rakishly, used to the cuts and bruises but not
the chastising attention of a pretty woman in reaction. "Ah, I'm alright,
aren't I? Just a few cuts. He ain't stepping on your feet, is he?"
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no subject
Of course, Tommy means for there to be bad blood, but for all her cunning and strength he isn't telling her that. That's a secret just for him, something for the books.
The joke gets him to look at her and really smile, not the polite thing he'd pasted on so far. "I'd say it's a fucking shame I have to ask you for that. But will you, miss?"
no subject
She learned to dance in the same places she suspects he did: first out front of wagons, around campfires and open fields, then in the tented makeshift halls on the fringes of the battlefield. A good way to pass the time and shake off stress, and as one of few enough women around those crowds, she'd been a popular partner no matter where she came from.
The point is, though, she can fake this well enough. And it turns out that it's a good way for at least temporarily shaking off the stress of why they're here, too.
no subject
People are more than decent, here. The dancing is still fairly tame, even if the jazz band is trying its best to get a little more energy injected into the crowd. He puts one hand on her waist and holds the other one up for her to take.
He's a good dancer, and he smiles at her as they start moving. He's light on his feet and confident, mindful of the other dancers without giving up the space he needs for the both of them.
"So, how are you liking England?" As good a time as any to have this conversation.
no subject
She smiles and follows Tommy's lead - the lady - and tips her head back and forth as if considering. "Don't know that I'm in a position to be casting aspersions," she hedges, her own dry sense of humor in the words. "But I do believe I find it agreeable, overall."
no subject
"On the contrary," he tells her, spinning her a little, smiling at her, "I think you're in an excellent position to cast aspersions. Cast away."
no subject
The way she says it is coy, not as if she really has anything to hide. "I miss my own country, but it's just memory. What I want isn't there anymore. I can be happy here."
no subject
"And what do you need, now that you're here, to become happy?"
He starts moving, very slowly, for a back door. He's in no rush, though.
no subject
"Oh, Señor Shelby, that would be too easy wouldn't it?" She hasn't been a playful woman since he's known her, not really, but she does have a mischievous streak, slightly dark. "Let us say that I have everything I need to not be unhappy."
no subject
"Señor Shelby," he mutters, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. He likes the sound of that. "As part of the company, señorita Ortiz, we should all endeavor to keep it at least that way. I hope you do know that."
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"I'd almost think you were trying to get at something. And not just at the back corner of the room."
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"Only one way to find out," he quips, as they reach the corner and he swiftly opens the sidedoor to the tracks. "Hello there, Arthur."
His brother grins at them, bleeding slowly from a cut to the cheek but seemingly unfazed. "Tommy," he says, "Leticia. Good to see ya."
no subject
Her eyes narrow - "Arthur, my God, you can't go anywhere can you -" But she manages to stop herself from touching his cheek at all lest she get blood on her fine lady's hands, settling for his chin instead to hold him steady while she looks. Quickly. She's letting go in less than a three count, making an impatient noise that means she's not happy but it'll keep.
no subject
It just has Arthur grinning rakishly, used to the cuts and bruises but not the chastising attention of a pretty woman in reaction. "Ah, I'm alright, aren't I? Just a few cuts. He ain't stepping on your feet, is he?"
no subject
"Let me worry about my feet. You two be quick."