ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴜᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴀᴋᴇ.

[innominata]

Date & Time: This afternoon
Location: A bar.
Characters: "Cat" and you.
Summary: Little girl hangs out at age-appropriate locations. Because that's how she rolls.


[ The girl sits at a table near the door. She has a good view of it and of the rest of the locale. She kicks her feet idly as she eats. The chair is too high for her to touch with anything but the very tip of her toes—and then only if she strains.

The owner had not been too pleased when she first began to frequent it, but she had not caused trouble and had money and had widened her eyes and jutted her lower lip and he had caved. Sometimes now he will even let her have a small cup of watered beer. She smiles and is sweet and he'll sit at the table with her when there aren't many patrons and entertain her with stories.

People like to hear themselves talk.

At the moment, she is alone. Her cup is near empty as is her plate. She takes her time. It is always cold and wet outside; she hung her cloak to dry on the chair beside her.

She shuffles a deck of cards one-handed. She has been practicing every day. The cards are as much an extension of her hands as her sword. ]

Comments

[innominata]

I can keep secrets.

[solitaire]

Well, sharin' them can't be done like this.

_{( He pulls out a chair at her table, waiting to see if she waves him off before sitting. )}

Name's Gambit. _{( He extends a hand. )}

[innominata]

[ She stares without comprehending. ]

Do you want something?

[solitaire]

Ah, never mind.

_{( He retracts his hand sheepishly. )}

Got a name, fille?

[innominata]

Yes.

[ There's no reason for being a brat other than being a brat. ]

[solitaire]

_{( He barks out a laugh. )}

Well-played. Alright, I won't ask again.

[innominata]

I'll give you mine if you give me yours.

[solitaire]

Just said, didn't I? Gambit. _{( Which is a truer name than Remy, in some respects. )}

[innominata]

Your parents named you Gambit?

[solitaire]

_{( A shrug. )} If I ever meet 'em, I'll be sure ta ask.

[innominata]

You don't know them?

[solitaire]

Not the ones that would've given me life, no.

_{( He spreads his arms as he says that, very disparagingly. But he's smiling. )}

[innominata]

[ It's okay. She doesn't care. ]

You a bastard?

[solitaire]

_{( He raises one brow. )}

I was an orphan. Now I'm old an' none a' that seems ta much matter, anymore.

[innominata]

[ She shrugs. ]

I guess.

[solitaire]

You think it matters?

[innominata]

Others think so. I don't care. I'm not a bastard.

[solitaire]

So you don't care, but y'felt the need ta say it.

_{( What he's saying isn't accusatory, merely thoughtful. In his context it's never been a big deal--he grew up on the streets with orphans and thieves, none of who knew their parents' names, and by the time he had a surname of his own he understood the gravity of it. Before then, it had never mattered. )}

[innominata]

It's true.

[solitaire]

As you say. _{( A simple nod. )}

So, I gave you my name, an' half my life story, too. You goin' ta repay the favor?

[innominata]

My name's Cat. What do you want to know?

[solitaire]

_{( His smile is a little distant. )}

Nothin', really. Stories are something y'share if you want to. If you don't, there's not a lot a' point.

[innominata]

People get paid for stories. They do it for coin, not because they want to.

[solitaire]

Yeah, but they want the coin.

[innominata]

Doesn't mean they want to share.