My continued efforts to write Romy in space. I continue to build a universe that is half my own for this purpose. I hope you are not put off by some of the original cities and characters. Many of them are repeated from other pieces, since deleted. There's a brief nod to Rita from Ludi's House of Cards. If you haven't read Ludi's work...do so immediately.
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…be careful. All his smiles are lies.
It was that one sentence at the end of the message that allowed her to identify Etienne Marceaux. When she stood at the doorway of the Hellfire Club, the dusty watering hole inside of Station 12 that tided travelers over till New Madripoor, she saw so…so many, dangerous looking men, clad in the casual utilitarian outfits of smugglers, and mercenaries, and other dubious professions. Some were cleaner than others, some sharper. Some were sullen, squinting, sideways glancing, quiet. All shuffled in together with one another, and with traders, and whores, and old men full of war stories. And when one or the other shot her one of those sullen, squinting, sideways glances, his eyes lingered for only a moment before returning to his pool cue or his drink or his prostitute.
She sidled down the stairs, feeling obvious in this temple of subtlety.
A glass shattered behind the bar. A short chorus of baritone laughter rose and fell over a game of cards in a back corner. There was a low chatter and hum mingled with the scent of working men: sweat and hydraulic fluid and cigarette smoke and cologne and booze.
Her eyes swept the room one more time.
His name is Etienne, but don't be surprised if he has an alias. He's about six feet, lanky, red/brown hair, kinda shaggy. He wears a coat all the time…a long brown coat. He smokes like a fucking refinery. It's been years since I seen him, so I don't know…best a luck to you I guess. It's a one in a million chance if you find him. But if you do, be careful…
A man caught her eye, looking over his shoulder as her gaze passed across him. He looked at her for a second. Then another. Then smiled half of a lazy, knowing smile while he raised a cigarette to his lips. It seemed for a moment that everything moved slower. She was about to smile back…when another glass shattered, making her start imperceptibly, shaking her into wakefulness. It was just her own weariness dragging at her heels, she thought. And she was weary. So weary. And she needed to rest.
She walked toward him with enough purpose that he straightened a little and turned to meet her approach. His face spelled out his curiosity as she drew up to him, stopping a few feet away from him, and speaking. No savvy, no style, no artifice, no guile…"You Etienne?"
…innocent.
He raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his drink.
"I could be."
His reply threw her off balance and there was a pause that stretched into awkwardness. She admonished herself silently for her momentary fluster. Years later she would remember that moment and think to herself. I should have ordered a drink…no…I should have asked him to buy me a drink. Or, I should have just kept on talking, like I already knew who he was. The silence, evidence of her ineptitude in all the matters which seemed to be important for life and living, made her feel her age: young, perhaps too young.
She took hold of herself at last. "Well." She continued, grabbing a cocktail napkin "If you are Etienne," and she smiled a beguiling sarcastic smile that claimed to know the secrets of any one it lighted upon, she wrote down her ship's dock number, "Then you can get a hold of me here, but only for the next two days." She pushed the napkin a few inches toward him, turned, turned back, "My ship's name is Rogue.", turned again, and walked away without so much as a backward glance.
He looked after her as she sauntered away, all sultry bravado, selling it a little too hard, but not too hard for him to buy. He knocked his head back and finished his bourbon in one swallow, then folded the napkin and slid it into his pocket.
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