Yes. That was a yes, wasn’t it? He wasn’t quite sure what he had been expected. That was the answer he’d wanted after all. Maybe a bit more hesitation? The Charlotte he knew from the past was all hesitation. He was surprised, after her, to learn how quickly other women and girls of her status fell to his charms. He had been expecting something more arduous, taxing— a longer chase. But he was warming their beds within the month. His record was just shy of three days. Quickest con he’d ever pulled with a sizeable gain. He’d treated Syl to a nice dinner that night.
And yet, the approval came remarkably quickly. Perhaps she was right; being at sea far from the confines of shores seemed to loosen one’s inhibitions. He certainly wasn’t going to complain. He’d seen her face fall then brighten with his invitation. He was already halfway to the end of his game. The coldness in him smiled, ignored the pang in his heart.
“Lovely,” he said, forcing an expression of pleased relief onto his face. His internal dialogue prompted him, reminding him like an actor reading from a script— Mr. Kensington does not have the same calculating nature as Stas Kelevra, Mr. Kensington is new money, worried he will never be enough for a woman he loves should she come from a higher status. Mr. Kensington does not read expressions like Stas Kelevra; he does not know what reply to expect before it comes, he does not plan a response tailored to what the person opposite him would like to hear. Mr. Kensington is intelligent, but not wicked and clever. Mr. Kensington is a fool.
He had processed the information about her room number quickly, hadn’t let it phase him. It was interesting information, but he’d always known she was very wealthy. Now he knew exactly how wealthy. Some sick part of him was curious about the proximity she might afford him to the tenants of Room 1. Who exactly was put up in there? An older man, surely, but maybe one with a deadbeat son, seeking a competent successor? Perhaps one with a much younger wife, idle and bored, seeking some enjoyment? He shook the thoughts from his mind. Pursuing two jobs at once in such close quarters was too much, even for him. And he had already decided to dedicate himself to this one.
“I’ll be seeing you then.” He offered one last smile, then headed off to the exit. He waved at a man and offered a quick greeting (one he was sure would wave back despite not knowing him, one who would assume they’d met and have been too embarrassed to express that he’d maybe forgotten about the young man), another subtle action meant to cement his identity and validity in Charlotte’s eyes. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.
Following that train of thought, he pondered how exactly he was going to procure a proper outfit for the night. He’d brought his best suits, of course, and nice suits they were, but ultimately, at the night of the night, they were just suits. He’d need a tux. A proper one, sleek with no wrinkles.
He was pleased to have the time to gather his wits. There was no acquaintance to meet, obviously, but the meeting with Charlotte had caught him off-guard, and even slightly off the ball was never a good place to be with a mark. Especially one he’d once had an emotional vulnerability to before.
He retired to his room (Syllia showed up some time later, and obviously in a foul mood. He avoided speaking too much to her, and only filled her in on the basics of his evening plans) where he drew up a plan of attack, both for finding himself the nice tuxedo he required and for the evening in general. Sometime around 5:30 (the perfect time for the wealthy to start milling about the bar area to chat before dinner), he changed into a simple, almost dirty, outfit. One that reflected his true status in society. He mussed his hair, found dirt to put under his fingernails and on his hands. And then he walked into a staff-only room on the ship and no one paid him a second glance. From there, he took a staff uniform off a rack, changed in the changing rooms. On the deck of the first class, he walked by a maid staff. He bumped into her, apologized profusely, offered a charming smile. While she was blushing, he slid a hand to her waist and lifted the master set of keys off of her. He wondered how long he had before she noticed. She was sweet though, and he made a mental note to return the keys if he bumped into her again so she wouldn’t find herself in too much trouble.
With the keys, he ducked into a suite some ways down, found a tuxedo hanging in the closet, and changed right in the room. He threw the staff uniform out the porter window. It was 6:30 by then, and he had plenty of time to wash off his hands and face and fix his hair in the borrowed bathroom before simply continuing down the hall some to the front door of the second suite. He waited the thirty seconds it took for his newly acquired watch to reach the seven mark before knocking.
She opened the door and Stas let his jaw slacken slightly, eyes traveling down slowly as if to take in her appearance, a smile, seemingly almost involuntary, lifting the corners of his lips as he did. He laughed when she mentioned the incident she’d had with powder, lightly but with good humor.
“Nonsense,” he said, tilting his head to look down at the offending marks on her dress. He paused, then looked up again to meet her eye. “I think it gives it character. You’ll be the loveliest woman there.”
Again, he smiled, widely this time, combined with a short huff of a breathy chuckle. “Just give it a bit of a shake if you’re worried. It’ll be hardly noticeable. People will be much too caught up in your eyes and charming conversation to give it a second glance, I can promise you.”
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The day had been... exciting, to say the least. Still, she was more than glad to be put all of the events that had occurred far behind her. If she was going to be on the ship for much more time, she’d have to keep an eye out for the man, be sure to avoid him. With any luck, she thought, he’d forget about her in a day or two and she’d never have to worry about seeing his mug ever again.
Truth be told, the whole harrowing experience was terribly frightening. She’d been terribly worried he’d hand her off the ship’s guards, that they’d keep her in holding until the end of the journey, that she’d rot in prison, or, Christ, that she’d never see her brother again.
She had nervous tendencies, it was true. Her mind raced in dangerous situations, and even though she always managed to squash the thoughts down, push them to the back of her mind until she found a solution, they always came back to haunt her when she was clear. Case in point, her hands was shaking like mad after she ran out onto the deck. It certainly didn’t help that she saw him chase her down. She spent a good couple of minutes darting from crowd to crowd, trying to avoid his gaze. Very nerve wracking. Just terrible.
When she was sure she was clear, she took the fastest route down to her cabin. She was surprised to see Stas, would have figured that he’d be casing out the top deck for good marks, but the events of the morning had dampened her mood, and she didn’t question him too much, not even when he told her of his evening dining plans.
Sometime after Stas slipped off to do god knows what, Syllia decided some nice air was in order. Help alleviate her mind and bring her back into good spirits again. She changed into a clean pressed shirt (not as stiff and starchy as the one Stas had forced on her that morning) but kept on the pants and, of course, her newsboy cap. It was ideal for her profession— concealed her face if needed, but never looked out of place. This time, she let her hair down. No need to conceal her gender. She wasn’t trying to pass off a member of the first class; she just needed to be easily forgettable.
Up on the deck of the ship, she spent some time simply watching the boat stir the water, keeping an eye on the horizon and letting the wind press against her face. After some time, she sat and pulled out her deck of cards to practice her counting. But a child, impressed with the fluid motion of her shuffling, approached and looked on with wide-eyed innocence. A grin sprung to her face as she demonstrated a simple trick for him. And then another. And another. Before long, there was a small crowd gathered around her, some second-class children but mostly poorer looking kids. Her heart ached for them. She was the same once, entranced and enchanting by the small illusions of cards and coins. The false magic provided a small escape. She did her best to entertain them.
“Is this your card?” she asked, for the second time. The child shook his head vigorously. Syllia feigned a frown. “Hmm,” she said, lifting a hand to stroke her chin. “Well, I don’t know what’s gone wrong then. Surely, it must be around here somewhere. Can’t have just gone off and disappeared could it have?” Again, she stroked her chin as the child squinted and looked down at the deck she held in her left hand. As he looked away, she took the card she had palmed much earlier and bit the edge of it as she brushed her hand over her mouth, leaving it hanging there. The bright grin on the child’s face as he looked up and saw his missing card hanging from Syllia’s mouth was priceless. She laughed as she pulled it away, but the general joy of the atmosphere was interrupted by a voice she (sadly) recognized. She jumped up from the crate she’d sat down on, ready to bolt along with the escaping children. But the boy she’d just shown the trick to had, in his fright, clung to her leg. She quickly shooed him away as gently as possible, but by the time he’d run off, it was already too late.
She found herself face to face with the man from earlier, caught in his bruising grip with a very small chance of escape. She winced for the second time that day, but this time it was in pain. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms, which, lamentably, had always bruised incredibly easily. She’d be nursing the pain there for days.
“Come on,” she half groaned, half whined. “You can’t just let it go, mate, can ya?” She huffed and turned her chin up to return his glare, looking him square in the eye. “I didn’t cheat you nothing. It’s called sleight of hand, yeah? You heard of that before, have you? It’s not cheating. It’s a part of the game. Which, if you’ll recall, you agreed to play.” She lifted her forearm, using the minimal space between them to take the opportunity, despite her lack of much movement capability, to poke him hard as she could in the chest. “Cheating would have been if I’d switched out the queen entirely. But I didn’t. You never said I had to make it easy for you.”
RPG
