Craftsman, indeed. This wild man, with his hardly-tamed hair, his stubbly jaw and deep gaze, heâs skilled at what he does, and thatâs evident. Oh, the woman doesnât suspect a thing, and he could almost feel guilty for it.
Dirt releases a short chuckle of a laugh. âAhh, but I do agree. Flattered Iâm an exception to the rule, Miss Duchess, I try my best.â
Looking at her, Dirt wants to kiss her pretty smirk, those painted lips that purse around her cigarette holder, feel those hands ungloved on his face and neck. The desire runs fiery inside of him and it starts a flame in his gaze. He canât. He shouldnât. But Dirt is⊠already halfway there.
âThe drink suit you fine?â
âWell, your best is quite nice.â The words are accompanied by a smirk and a rather significant look up and down at the man. She has to admit, itâs an enticing sight.
Though Duchess has adapted well to the glitz and glamour required of her lifestyle here, high class New York gin joints arenât where she originated either. The bartender makes her somewhat nostalgic, as well as intrigued. Itâs easy enough to admit sheâs attracted to him; that easy smile and deep voice, those eyes that always seem to be laughing at some private joke, those large, rough hands that she can easily imagine feeling on her bare skin. But even more than that he makes her curious, which has never been something sheâs been able to resist.
âMighty fine. You always remember just how I like âem, Dirt.â Duchess chuckles and takes another lingering sip, keeping her gaze locked with his. She smiles against the rim of her glass. âYou know, thatâs an odd moniker you got there. Ainât one Iâd imagine a fella like you would hold onto without good reason.â
She cocks her head and lifts an eyebrow, hoping for something interesting.
Mmm, she wants a story. Something to hold her attention, something... glamorous. Like her, in that floor-length slinky number, gloves up to her elbows, those sultry eyes that speak so much and so little. Yes, Miss Duchess is dazzling, and Dirt wants to dazzle her in return.
He hums, in deep thought. How to weave a tale that will light up that face he's grown so fond of, the past few weeks of working here?
"A name's a name, Miss Duchess, but yes. A man like me has reasons." Dirt takes up a glass to polish as he ponders, and then begins to speak. To storytell. "One has to leave identities behind when traveling. Not even of their own accord, no. It's simply something that happens. A part of yourself always stays. Names can be like that, sure. And sometimes, one has to figure a new one. Something... suitable. Well, long ago, Miss Duchess, on my own travels, I took on a name. Folks were callin' me Dirt already, they said it... well, it fit me. I'd be out wranglin' herds all day and come back town-way covered head to toe-in-dust. Now, you think, hey, clever, Dusty, right? No, no, these townfolks weren't clever enough. They took a look, 'n they called me Dirt. Sometimes Dirt-boy, sometimes just boy, but mostly... just Dirt. I was young and it made me mad, but I had to take it in stride, didn't I? I wanted the work, after all."
Dirt sighs, setting down the freshly polished glass under the bar so he can take up a new one.
"And then one day, I wandered back into town. Day of wranglin' gone by. Covered head-to-toe in dust. But when I went through the streets, there was no one. And I went to the saloon, and there was no one. They was all gone. Every last one of 'em, Miss Duchess, now ain't that the strangest thing you ever heard?" Dirt tsks, and he shakes his head. "Since then, I took on a few different names movin' along the coast. Switched around here 'n there. But, Dirt... it stuck with me. Reminded me of that old town mystery, you understand? So I always like goin' back to it."
Ah, the story itself was half-true. Certainly Dirt was merely the name he was given at birth, but there was never a shine to it until the mystery of the Gone Town. All those folks who would call it out, chipper as day, bright as sun, and Dirt grew to love it.
Perhaps the greatest mystery of all is that there wasnât any mystery. No, most of those townfolks rotting bones could be found strewn in a nearby cave, gnawed as if by a dog. A very large dog, with a mouth full of very dangerous teeth...
