“Good. Alright! That’s … good.”
Color her surprised, honestly. As restful as his presence had been – as little as he had asked for her – Fantine had been doing this too long to be anything other than wary of his kindness. (To think there were other women who had been doing this for years – it was enough to make her want to weep from exhaustion. She must go on; she must. To give up was unthinkable. And yet somewhere in her bones she knew that her current state could not last.)
He had paid for dinner, and that was unusual, because most men didn’t want to linger. It was as though, despite the fact that they indulged anyway, they knew how distasteful the whole thing was, so they just got it over with as quickly as possible. Not a problem, really – it was the few that pretended at kindness and gallantry that got under Fantine’s skin. As though telling her she was pretty when she so clearly wasn’t anymore was something to thank them for. As though making her pretend she was happy with their attention was something she wanted to do. If there was one thing she missed about the musician – and it was the only thing she missed about him – it was his bluntness.
This particular gentleman seemed content to play politeness before the other shoe dropped. She wished he would be a little more direct about it, but then, beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers. And the other thing – even the ‘nice’ ones would usually be pawing at her by now. What was this one playing at?
Confusion made her a little less shy. “Do you know how to play brusquembille, monsieur? I learned how to play it in Paris.”
He could feel the unease and discomfort coming off of her like waves. Like she was preparing herself for him to change into some monster at any moment (if only she knew). Although, Crowley supposed, if he was one of her usual suitors, he would have tried something long ago, and he would have already left. It wasn’t the demon’s job to judge humans for their actions, quite the opposite usually, since he tended to be the one tempting them into doing bad things, but that didn’t mean he approved of how far some humans could go at hurting one another. He wasn’t sure exactly what cause Fantine to have such a guarded look, but he was certain whatever it was was crueler than anything he could have come up with.
And if he was Management Downstairs, that would be good news. Humans damning each other without much demon help is good for business. More souls to torture, more soldiers for the eternal war, etcetera, etcetera. But being himself and being here to see it, it only left him with a cold feeling in his chest. He could have said it made his heart hurt, if he had a heart.
“Brusquembille? It’s been a few years since I played, but I remember most of the rules. How do we decide who goes first?”
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