A Question of Ability
"Uhm, Charon?"
"Yeah?"
"What would happen if, like, by pure chance, I gave you an order for something you couldn't do?"
Charon paused in cleaning his shotgun to give the kid a look that clearly said he doubted she could throw a monkey wrench like that his way.
"I'm just saying," she said, hands lifted placatingly.
"Look kid," he continued, going back to his work, "If you're smart, you'll know what I'm good at, know what I'm here for, and not push it. Go looking for something and you're an ass."
There was an awkward beat of silence.
"Yeah, that'd be pretty anal, wouldn't it?"
Charon grunted, inspecting some minute detail of his work. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The girl was almost gratingly nice, but she got some nutty ideas. If he didn't spend almost every damn nanosecond mucking around with her, he'd say she had too much time on her hands. Although, considering what they did, it might still be true. Who honestly had leisure time to cart scrap back to the Underworld as much as they did? Fuck that, who cared that much?
Her voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Y'know, just forget I asked about it, 'kay? It was a stupid question." The look on her face was all apologies.
"If that's what you want, mistress. Live to serve, all that shit."
The 'I'm sorry' look slowly turned exasperated, tinged with something like mirth or maybe mischief. Charon had learned to be wary of that tinge.
"Hey. Think you can cut the formality down a little? I've told you before, it's not necessary."
If he was perfectly honest with himself, breaking the habit of forced politeness might have just be an aforementioned impossible task. It had been ingrained in him more deeply, more brutally than he like to admit. But... He smiled wryly, back turned so she wouldn't catch it.
"I see what I can do."
A/N: First in a series of cute, light little scenes between the LW and Charon. Because there can never be enough fluff. :D
Review? Pwease?