Complainte De La Butte || Rose & Shunsui
playkinshara:
“another, okay”
Even as the words left his mouth, Rose wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea. On the one hand this man was his saviour; effectively scooping him up and saving him from a less than desirable fate once his landlord discovered he was unable to pay the rent, and, in his naïve, sheltered noble brain – it made sense that one might wish to do a fellow stranger a kindness; he’d hadn’t really been immersed in this world of glitter and darkness to understand the undercurrents such an offer held. However, on the other hand, there was something about this level of generosity that struck Rose as rather off. This man was offering a lot, all things considered, and even in his quiet desperation, there was a part of Rose who had to question why. The idea of personal gain from an altruistic action was not completely lost on him, although he struggled to put a finger on exactly what this stranger could want with him.Only one way to find out though, he thought, aware that however small his misgivings might be, without the money he had no other option but to take the offer and hope for the best.
He placed his empty flute back on the bar and let his benefactor take care of refilling it, then settled back on the bar stool, perched more elegantly than the others frequenting this place.
“So, mein herr” he began, tilting his head to one side and fixing the Itallian with a one of his more penetrating looks “I suppose if my immediate destiny resides with you, then introductions are probably in order”
He held out a soft, well maintained hand, expecting it to be taken.
“Rojuro, more commonly known as Rose”
The kid looked like he was thinking better of Shunsui’s offer - for the drink, or for the lodgings, or for both - and even Shunsui had to admit he felt more than a little pleased with himself when the kid replaced his champagne flute on the bar. Shunsui smiled and filled it, and he kept his eyes veiled, schooled into a not-quite-sideways slant of disinterest as the kid took the flute back, settled himself into an elegant posture that he apparently found comfortable, and began to speak again.
Shunsui listened, his expression easy and unchanged. The kid stuck out his hand, and still, Shunsui remained constant in his facade of relative boredom. He allowed himself to raise a single eyebrow before he let out a light, little sigh, extended his own hand, and took the kid’s in his own. He knew full well what the kid was expecting - a handshake, probably, something run-of-the-mill - and Shunsui knew that he had to take things slow here, or he’d risk scaring the kid off. Even so, an image of himself lifting that soft, pale, German hand to his lips and kissing it flashed across his mind. Not yet, he had to tell himself. Give that time. The boy might even come to you begging for that later, if you play your cards right.
Still, Shunsui wasn’t interested in playing by all of the rules. He grasped the boy’s forearm instead, clapping him in an earnest, man-to-man exchange. “Enchanté,” Shunsui said. “I suppose you’ll want to know my name, too, hm?”
And now, Shunsui did let his face betray him, just a little. A spark glinted in his stormy eyes, because when he introduced himself these days, Shunsui couldn’t help but be proud. His name carried weight in these parts, and it hadn’t always been that way, and it was weight that Shunsui had earned with time and sweat and blood - literally, and in copious quantities. “You can call me Shunsui if you like,” he told the boy, “but around here, folks tend to know me as L’homme des Ombres. Among other things, of course - but drop that name, and it’ll get you pretty far, ragazzo mio.”
