Hestia Rust - 'You're In Now'

ihaveadifferentfinalrequest:

“I... Thank you. That's nice of you to say. But at least some of me’ll only believe it when I hear it from 'someone'. Whoever that someone is, of course."

She shook her head, grinning. “You think I’m joking, don’t you? I don’t spread these stories on a whim. I just didn’t think the guy in the corner, making the most of his drink, would really be all that bothered. If you’re anything like my…friend Lee, you might not have even remembered it.” Unless he was planning to make some serious progress, she wasn’t sure if that’d ring true at all.

“I’ve done a lot of things that I don’t share with strangers,“ he explained with a shrug, bringing the glass back up to his lips to take another swig. That stuff really wasn’t bad; not exactly what he was usually drinking, but he surely could make an exception for it now and then.

"Don't worry, I understand. I don't expect you to tell me anything anyway - I was just trying to...justify running my mouth. Back home - England, I mean - I'd be a lot more careful who I was speaking to and what I was saying. Right now, I'm one face in a crowd of people who were probably born with several more silver spoons in their mouths than I was."

In all seriousness, the thief didn’t know whether to laugh or to pity her. That story sounded like it had come straight out of a television show or a bad movie, and his lips already twitched at that thought. She just got to be kidding him. Plus, who would tell a complete stranger a story like that? Eric wasn’t running around, telling everybody about his profession, either. It was just completely insane.

She shook her head, grinning. “You think I’m joking, don’t you? I don’t spread these stories on a whim. I just didn’t think the guy in the corner, making the most of his drink, would really be all that bothered. If you’re anything like my...friend Lee, you might not have even remembered it.” Unless he was planning to make some serious progress, she wasn’t sure if that’d ring true at all.

Hestia had heard quite a bit about their host, of course, but had neglected to keep up with much of the outside world since July. So she'd have to take his word for it.

His cheeks had adopted a reddish color, the smirk not leaving his lips all the while she was talking. Head sunken slightly down, he was staring at the counter of the bar, the glass with that strange but fruity drink she had recommended. Sometimes he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and that was something his mother thought would get him killed one day.

“It’s all a bit ridiculous. Let’s just say that a little girl and her grandfather tried to kill me. And my son. When they couldn’t manage that, they ended up setting their own house on fire: overpriced curtains, forged paintings, rubbish flooring...” The stripped down details still seemed wild enough but, in all hopes, he wouldn’t be scared off by the tale.

“It sounds like someone’s an optimist... Not that that’s bad, of course. I could use a little more of that myself - optimism, that is,” she musing, glancing over at the relatively calm party.

A frown washed over his face, his hand taking hers into a firm grip as he shook it, almost forgetting to pull his own back again afterwards as he kept staring at his new friend. Her statement was confusing, really, and he had no idea why she was telling him about her bank account, but he clearly didn’t like it. But then a smirk was playing around his lips as he tilted his head.

She withdrew her hand, bringing it back to the other, and smirk overtook her lips as he walked into his own trap. And she was about to laugh, too, but thought better of it and settled with the smirk. “Honestly? It was constricting and boring. The dance, that is. As for that line, I honestly don’t mind. Half of the things that I say could be taken the wrong way ten times over.”

Hestia raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “Anyone I know will tell you I’m the biggest supporter of ‘age is just a number’, within reason, but the age factor is more his problem than it is mine.” The ‘cover story’ sounded more ridiculous than the truth. 

[text] "so i got some more info on the talisman thingy we found in that witch's lair, but now the guy says he wants to come on one of our 'treasure hunts' with us. his name's Ashe, he's an archivist or something and he seems like a pretty decent guy. he's super cute. and single. and TOTALLY your type. ;)"

[text] ashe stavros. wait so were just gonna tell him everything or…?? 

[text] Send him my way, I’ll put it as lightly as I can.

Oh god, it was hilarious with that woman. And he wasn’t even drunk. It was probably the first time that evening that he was actually and sincerely grinning, glad at last to have come to that party. Though the definition of ‘party’ was something completely different in the thief’s head - more booze, more people, more fun. And, most importantly, he didn’t have to wear that stupid suit and tie. He felt uncomfortable in it, and basically everybody could see that.

A few minutes ago, she’d been considering spending the night in a seat with her phone - at least her internet speed could never be as slow and broken up as her conversation had become. She hadn’t thought of reviving said conversation by admiring architecture with a man who called her ‘Miss Pillar Dancer’. Not that it was a particularly bad fate, by any stretch of the imagination (the conversation, not the career as a pillar dancer, of course).

“You sound like you have experience in cleaning floors, one might think you spend a lot of time near them…” She bit her lip, glancing away from him to calm the laughter bubbling up in her throat. Whatever they were actually, and she wasn’t sure about that, he seemed to be equally comfortable with ridiculous talk.

What she said about floors wasn’t even far from reality. How many times he had already woken up on the wooden floor of his apartment after a night out in a pub, that was something he had lost count already long ago. Their conversation was so ridiculous and silly that it took all the thief’s strength to keep the laughter away, and yet his lips were twitching constantly, threatening to turn into a broad grin.

“Oh, it’s such a shame. I mean, I’ve always wanted a big shining white pillar. Now I can’t have one because I can’t keep it clean.” Hestia pouted, mock disappointment written all over her expression. “But, all things considered, I think I’ll stick to what I have. Much more fun than white pillars. What am I going to do with them? Spin around them and become the world’s first pillar dancer?”

Hestia paused, the words on the tip of her tongue. They felt dramatic and cliche, and a few other choice words described them. But they didn’t fit with her at all. It was discomfort - more like making colourful stripes on a wall that had always been white. They were too loud, too obvious, too alien.

For a moment, she wondered precisely why she hadn’t let one of the others set her up as they so desperately wanted to - perhaps a little too desperately. Then the part of her that made sure the rest was placed under strict rules took the opportunity to remind her of how odd her profession was. How would she explain the bruises around her neck? The salt in her shoes? The not-so-red blood stains on her clothes?

To be entirely honest, the thief had no idea what that conversation was even about. But it was too much fun to just stop it now, as it seemed like she was just playing along - which only made it even funnier - and Eric wondered how far they were able to push it until either of them was breaking out into laughter. Or actually started to believe what the other said.

“You sound like you have experience in cleaning floors, one might think you spend a lot of time near them...” She bit her lip, glancing away from him to calm the laughter bubbling up in her throat. Whatever they were actually, and she wasn’t sure about that, he seemed to be equally comfortable with ridiculous talk.

“Well, then, maybe you’ll have to surprise me someday…” Her smile became a grin and she lifted the glass to her lips. It was oddly comforting to have someone who didn’t know all that much. Whether it was the good, the bad or the ugly. 

Hestia paused, the words on the tip of her tongue. They felt dramatic and cliche, and a few other choice words described them. But they didn’t fit with her at all. It was discomfort - more like making colourful stripes on a wall that had always been white. They were too loud, too obvious, too alien.