#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #midnightconversations


“I…would go,” he said, feeling awkward again. “But I have some concern that Captain Harkness might be still on the premises, and should he learn that you are alone…” And he somehow couldn’t face his own dark, empty room. Not tonight.

“I imagine Ned’s disposed of _him_,” she said, standing up. She cleared her throat. “But don’t go. If you do, Madge will send somebody else up.” She took off her petticoat, with no display of coquetry or artifice in the motion. There was a screen in the corner; she went behind this and he heard the splash of her using a chamber-pot.

She came out, glanced at him, and with a brief wave at the screen, said, “Just there. If you—“

“Uh…thank you.” He did in fact need to piss fairly badly, but the thought of using her pot, so soon after her own use of it, caused him an unreasonable amount of embarrassment. “I’ll be fine.” He looked round, found a chair, and sat down in it, ostentatiously thrusting out his boots and leaning back in an attitude of relaxation. He closed his eyes…mostly.

Through slitted lids, he saw her observe him closely for a moment, then she leaned over and blew out the candle. Ghostlike in the darkness, she climbed into her bed—the ropes creaked with her weight--and drew up the quilt. A faint sigh came to him over the sounds of the brothel below.

“Er…Arabella?” He didn’t expect thanks, exactly, but he did want _something_ from her.

“What?” She sounded resigned, obviously expecting him to say that he’d changed his mind about buggery.

“What’s your real name?”

There was silence for a minute, as she made up her mind. There was nothing tentative about the young woman, though, and when she did reply, it was without reluctance.

“Jane.”

“Oh. Just—the one thing more. My coat—“

“I sold it.”

“Oh. Er…good night, then.”

There was a prolonged moment, filled with the unspoken thoughts of two people, then a deep, exasperated sigh.

“Come and get into bed, you idiot.”

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