http://soursanguine.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] soursanguine.livejournal.com) wrote in [personal profile] sweetsalome 2012-08-12 06:17 am (UTC)

"Oh, God, don't even joke about that." He shudders at the very thought of there being more than one Susan--not that her royal highness would allow such a thing to happen. She would have foreseen it and smothered her successor before the babe even had a chance to crawl. Thankfully, though, if she takes after any mother, it's her real one, who, despite being a stripper and probably a whore, was a fairly sweet girl. Not the smartest, but still a decent lady.

If Richard knew the truth of Salome's origin, some things would make a hell of a lot more sense, that's for damn sure. Most significantly, her hair color, which is still the biggest mystery he's ever encountered, right up there with her empathy.

Her reaction to his joke is worth another burst of laughter all on its own. "You have only yourself to blame, babydoll, you leave yourself wide open for these jokes and expect me to not go for them."

Someday she'll learn that the pleasure of making terrible, horrible jokes is right up there with his penchant for murdering hookers.

Adjusting his shoulders and nick, Richard pats Salome in silent thanks for her sweet but wholly unneeded assistance. He's too proud for that. Really, he should probably use a walking stick on worse days, but he'd rather be crippled and silently pained than show any outward sign of weakness. Instead of completely accepting her help, he simply kisses the corner of her mouth, his lips lingering before he pulls away.

Of course, as soon as they're in the restaurant and she darts off, he drops himself into a booth with a relaxed sigh. Even this little hellhole is better than the car, and as the too-peppy waitress comes by to take his drink order, he points to the bathroom and sketches her a brief outline of the situation. That girl he came in with? Yes, it happens that it's her birthday. Do you do cakes and maybe sing? Yes? Wonderful. If you could bring it out once the entree is finished, that would be perfect.

The waitress gives a cheesy wink and scribbles something down while Richard orders a couple of sodas, constantly glancing between the woman before him and the door of the ladies' room. She bustles off, then, party to his conspiracy, and he settles back to let his eyes close for just sixty sweet seconds.

Everything is proceeding as he has foreseen.

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