chapter word count: 410
noir heart: eighty-two
Bottles of whiskey in a paper bag under his arm, Jack's eyes remain solely on the sidewalk as he strides back home. Downing a bottle wasn't going to be an option tonight, but after Rapunzel's visit...his heavy steps only reinforce his separation from the world. It passes him by. Oblivious. Apathetic. Just like the bullet in his father's revolver.
His steps slow as he approaches the bundle of clothes huddled against the steps, and though he really doesn't feel like it, he faintly smiles nonetheless. "Hey, Beatrice."
She looks up, and her eyes brighten along with a toothy smile. "Aw, hey there Jack. Ça va?"
Jack's eyes fall momentarily, and his smile falters. "Could be better."
Beatrice's expression morphs to that of sympathy, and she huddles her blanket closer around her. As Jack bends to place the second bottle on the ground to her left, she says abruptly enough to make him pause, "Somethin' to do with your ex-wife?"
Jack chuckles once - he should've known better than to think his southern belle would have missed it. "Saw that, did you?" She's almost as observant as he is - or is supposed to be.
"Mm-hm. Seems like der was trouble in paradise, cher. You don't look happy."
Jack straightens up, and looks off toward the closed entrance doors. "I guess I'm not," he sighs, and pulls the other bottle out from under his arm.
"Not surprised," Beatrice says sagely, "but...you know, I always thought the two of ya were never right for each other. She mighta loved ya, but she was too gentle. She never gave you dat kick up the derriere you needed back then. Now, dis other woman. I like her. She got fire."
Jack frowns. "What other woman?"
Beatrice's hand pokes out of the blanket to grasp the bottle, and pulls it close to her. Unhurriedly, she unscrews the cap whilst saying in a voice of nonchalance thoroughly unbecoming of her, something that arouses a strong prickle of discomfort in Jack's spine, "Blonde hair in one of dem braids. Blue eyes. Pretty little thing. Clever, too."
Jack's hand tightens around the bottle hard enough for it to shudder in his hands, and the muscle in his jaw tenses. Elsa Black.
It gets worse when Beatrice, completely oblivious, says, "Matter o' fact, you jus' missed her. She went upstairs fifteen minutes ago."
jpbake: it's not to do with naysayers. It's more to do with the fact that a very close friend of mine, who reads my stories was incredibly distressed by the reaction to the last few chapters due to a personal experience. Therefore, I feel guilty and that I have messed up because I'm the one that elicited those reactions. I take responsibility for that.
special thanks to: doomstone, maravillakatana47, vrupd.1992, hornedgoddess, heartonfire, blarg, stefalove, ghost angel14, jpbake, oninoko, lunasnoir and deadbreath for the reviews.