She’s watching him, he’s watching her. It’s an interesting show down between the two of them, although Jeremiah is painfully aware that he is the bug behind the glass and she the giant on the other side. He blinks with wide eyes at her, something like reverence in his expression though it might still be laced with a little fear – something he thinks she might also enjoy instilling in others. Perhaps, particularly, of the male variety.
He’s confused when Bee says it’s his greatest talent. He hasn’t ever thought of it that way – he’s always considered it a rather strange and bizarre personality trait that most people tended to avoid. He found out quite early that most people don’t like to be informed of their habits by an overly excited Jeremiah who’s spent days watching them. It’s weird. But Bee seems to think it’s valuable. “I’m used to not being seen. I kind of like it that way.” He admits, and his voice is small. He’s good at that, too, making himself smaller and more insignificant than he really is.
Jer swallows another sip of the shitty iced tea as Bee informs him of what he’d be getting himself into. His brows raise, and his lips twitch when she tells him just how much land she owns. She uses that little trick of pretending to lack the hubris of knowing exactly what she’s got, but Jer sees through that – at least enough not to prod too hard. “I’m sure I’ll learn all about it later.” He says, one eyebrow curved, a little bit of light dancing in his warm, brown eyes.
Jer takes a second to consider it, rubbing his lips together as he plays a little math game in his head, eyes on the napkins and table that separates them. Before answering, he inhales deeply through his mouth, then makes eye contact with Bee again. “Let’s say I agree – and I do all this little mouse detective work for you, and I agree to be groomed to be your heir, would I not have time to pursue the passion of my education? Or would my doctorate simply collect dust on an office wall?”
“Most people would agree with you. Being seen is intimate, personal, no one likes when they’re seen.” Oh how she likes him, how his clever mind works not yet where it could be but dangerously close. “It’s a talent only if you stop concerning yourself with the views of others. See them before they’re seen.” Betrice smiles and it’s a softer edged thing now as she says simply, “Most are either too naive or too frightened to acknowledge the things you and I notice. So they act with the only tool they have; violence. With words, with fists, anything to make you hurt for exposing them. No one reacts well to truth because there’s no fighting it, no denying it. Find the truth people are hiding? You own them.”
Jer takes a sip and her smile grows a fraction. It’s hard to swallow, shitty tea that tastes like ashtrays mixed with water and not nearly hot enough to melt the sugar at the bottom. Betrice knows he could order something else, set aside the drink, anything at all - but he chose to trust her. Just as he chose to lead her here to this quaint little dinner with shitty vinyl seats and old memories. Just as he speaks and she sees him, that light in his eyes like kindling sparking to life beyond the fear and awe.
It takes him a while to finally ask the question she’s known he would get to with enough time. All he needed was a little push, a few puzzle pieces. She lays out the framework of a future, a life where he wouldn’t have to risk being arrested at the cost of his passions. Betrice delights in watching him, seeing the gears turn and how quickly he pieces it all together into a whole grander picture. Jeremiah takes a breath and asks the question in so many words; is it worth it?
Reaching out, her fingers delicately pluck the iced tea away in favor of looking towards their waitress. A little wave and she dons her best smile for the woman. “Could we get coffee? With cream as well on the side? Thank you so much.” The woman gives a relieved sort of look, scurrying off while Betrice sets the iced tea to the side. It’s only when the waitress comes back, a tremor in her hands as she pours the cup for Jeremiah, does she look away from him. “My doctorate is collecting dust because only fools fixate upon a piece of paper telling them what they can and cannot do. Pride is the only thing keeping me from using the damn thing as kindling. The time you commit to your education is more than what’s spent between four walls. Darling, only fools believe tired old professors are the end all be all fonts of knowledge.”
The waitress chews her lip before leaving with a hushed, “Y’all let me know if you’re gonna need something else.”
Alone at their table, Betrice is quiet a long moment. “Mouse detective work,” she finally says, folding her hand carefully in her lap and nodding towards the flustered waitress just at their table.
“If you think your education is limited and defined by an institution, I’ll be severely disappointed. Now, if you’ve been paying attention, this should be easy. Tell me about Vivian.”
