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Feb. 5th, 2010 07:40 pm
Drabble-Month: Day #5
At first, it’s no more than just the brushing of hands, a lingering look, an occasional mild little event in which maybe they’re dancing and Sean is taking the lead, but last night has taken the cake. Ash is still nursing his Scotch as he sits at the bar at Eddie’s, hating the fact that he’s gotten so worked up about this.
Thing is, when he used to work the flop, he espoused how simple it was. No big deceit, just a hit of the car, a picture of some old broken bones, and that’s that. This is complicated. This is them having had to work the ‘artist-and-his-muse’ angle and Ash may be an artist of the highest calibre when it comes to fixing a con, but he’s not exactly Da Vinci.
Sitting there with paintbrush in hand, though, and watching Sean let that robe drop right off…
Well, it brings him back to the thoughts of why he’s drinking.
“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” is Mickey’s greeting as he clasps him by the shoulder.
Mickey, of all people, ought to know about the damn Kennedys. He and Emma have been dancing their little ring-around-the-rosy for months now and they’ve had the benefit of talking about it. What’s Ash supposed to do? Pull Sean aside and tell him, ‘Incidentally, I’ve been noticing that sometimes you look at me and sometimes you touch my back just a second too long and do you like me, check yes or no’. Ash Morgan is not a grass and he’s not a bloody lovesick fool, either. Mickey and Emma, yeah, they’ve got it right. Discuss it like professional adults and deem is a bad idea.
Ash just lifts his glass and grimaces. “It’s the office, ain’t it?”
“Yesterday went fine? At the studio?”
Ash swallows an even larger amount of liquid from his drink and nods. He may be lying to Mickey, but he’s not sure he’s done lying to himself.
“Went peachy as Sean’s fuzzy face,” he concurs, trying to herd stray thoughts like sheep away from other peachy parts of Sean.
“Good. Good,” Mickey repeats, more assured. “Next step is tomorrow. The mark needs to catch you both in bed together.”
God, Lord, and Mother Mary have mercy on Ash, but he’s utterly fucked, to put it plainly.
Thing is, when he used to work the flop, he espoused how simple it was. No big deceit, just a hit of the car, a picture of some old broken bones, and that’s that. This is complicated. This is them having had to work the ‘artist-and-his-muse’ angle and Ash may be an artist of the highest calibre when it comes to fixing a con, but he’s not exactly Da Vinci.
Sitting there with paintbrush in hand, though, and watching Sean let that robe drop right off…
Well, it brings him back to the thoughts of why he’s drinking.
“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” is Mickey’s greeting as he clasps him by the shoulder.
Mickey, of all people, ought to know about the damn Kennedys. He and Emma have been dancing their little ring-around-the-rosy for months now and they’ve had the benefit of talking about it. What’s Ash supposed to do? Pull Sean aside and tell him, ‘Incidentally, I’ve been noticing that sometimes you look at me and sometimes you touch my back just a second too long and do you like me, check yes or no’. Ash Morgan is not a grass and he’s not a bloody lovesick fool, either. Mickey and Emma, yeah, they’ve got it right. Discuss it like professional adults and deem is a bad idea.
Ash just lifts his glass and grimaces. “It’s the office, ain’t it?”
“Yesterday went fine? At the studio?”
Ash swallows an even larger amount of liquid from his drink and nods. He may be lying to Mickey, but he’s not sure he’s done lying to himself.
“Went peachy as Sean’s fuzzy face,” he concurs, trying to herd stray thoughts like sheep away from other peachy parts of Sean.
“Good. Good,” Mickey repeats, more assured. “Next step is tomorrow. The mark needs to catch you both in bed together.”
God, Lord, and Mother Mary have mercy on Ash, but he’s utterly fucked, to put it plainly.
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