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[She gives him a speculative look.]
Let's go talk somewhere.
Let's go talk somewhere.
[Grabbing him by the bandanna she starts leading him off towards the small hotel a few stores down. She's not bothered to uncuff him. Where's the fun in that?]
[Well, apparently he's just going to be dragged along, then. Not that he's complaining all that much.]
[Dragging him along is fun!
She drags him along into the hotel and up the stairs and down the hall to a rather small room, where she then pushes him into a chair.]
She drags him along into the hotel and up the stairs and down the hall to a rather small room, where she then pushes him into a chair.]
[He flops down into the chair, and looks up at her with big, innocent eyes.]
So. You need a business partner?
So. You need a business partner?
I might need one, possibly.
[She drops onto the bed and drops a gun next to her, close enough to grab and shoot, but far enough away that he can't.]
Bounty hunting isn't always the easiest thing to do, I will admit to that. Finding you people can be rather tiring.
[She drops onto the bed and drops a gun next to her, close enough to grab and shoot, but far enough away that he can't.]
Bounty hunting isn't always the easiest thing to do, I will admit to that. Finding you people can be rather tiring.
It's amazing what people will do for a pretty lady.
I have to admit that I've always enjoyed pulling off a good con. But you need a good partner for that.
I have to admit that I've always enjoyed pulling off a good con. But you need a good partner for that.
Well, I gotta say, I ain't half bad at a con.
Are you better at cons than you are getting arrested?
Infinitely better. I've never gotten caught at a con, y'know.
No, I wouldn't.
[She laughs though.]
Well, perhaps we could work something out. I'm still going to have to drag your ass out of here handcuffed though.
[She laughs though.]
Well, perhaps we could work something out. I'm still going to have to drag your ass out of here handcuffed though.
While, yes I do rather like the way you look all helpless there, I did publicly capture you to turn you in for a bounty. It wouldn't look any good to have you walking free, now would it?
[Shame on you, Jimmy. Think for a moment.]
[Shame on you, Jimmy. Think for a moment.]
Nah, I guess not, but...
[He grins at her.]
If you're not careful, I might start to like bein' handcuffed, too, 'n then you won't be able to use it as a threat anymore.
[He grins at her.]
If you're not careful, I might start to like bein' handcuffed, too, 'n then you won't be able to use it as a threat anymore.
[She leans forward and grins at her.]
What makes you think I'd use it as a threat?
What makes you think I'd use it as a threat?
You kinda seem like the type of person that would.
[He's just going to lean forward a little, too, because why the hell not.]
[He's just going to lean forward a little, too, because why the hell not.]
I think it'd be more of a promise than a threat.
[She's leaning pretty close now.]
[She's leaning pretty close now.]
The good kinda promise, I hope.
[Yeah, just keep leaning over here, Laruna. He's not complaining; it's a nice view.]
[Yeah, just keep leaning over here, Laruna. He's not complaining; it's a nice view.]
[She blushes, color rising in her cheeks at being comforted as much at his foul language—perhaps it is presumptuous to even consider that she could upset him at all, but the look on his face was so troubling...
Not that it is her place to delve into his private matters, to dig into his past and uncover his buried memories, bitter or otherwise. He has a wife, after all, and who is she but just another party guest, some woman he has decided to speak with, just to pass the time? She knows little about him, just as he should know as little about her. They're little more than lukewarm strangers, acquaintances who pass in the night and cross paths, and she has no reason to fret over his frown, or—or to feel reassured by the sight of his smile.
She forces herself to laugh, then, a strange mixture of gin-induced giggles and the attempt to smother the lump of tears in her throat. Aren't they both a couple of wrecks? Her with her husband, him without his wife, both trying not to upset the other and making a regular disaster of the whole evening! It's almost funny, the whole business, in a morbid sort of way.]
Mr. Darmody—
[She struggles for a moment, grasping for the right words, how to assure him that she isn't in need of assuring, that she never meant to insult him, that he is a perfectly fine man and she never meant to imply he is in need of a woman—
Instead, she gives the most brilliant smile, her eyes damp and swallowing down everything she could never hope to say.]
Call me Daisy. I absolutely insist.
Not that it is her place to delve into his private matters, to dig into his past and uncover his buried memories, bitter or otherwise. He has a wife, after all, and who is she but just another party guest, some woman he has decided to speak with, just to pass the time? She knows little about him, just as he should know as little about her. They're little more than lukewarm strangers, acquaintances who pass in the night and cross paths, and she has no reason to fret over his frown, or—or to feel reassured by the sight of his smile.
She forces herself to laugh, then, a strange mixture of gin-induced giggles and the attempt to smother the lump of tears in her throat. Aren't they both a couple of wrecks? Her with her husband, him without his wife, both trying not to upset the other and making a regular disaster of the whole evening! It's almost funny, the whole business, in a morbid sort of way.]
Mr. Darmody—
[She struggles for a moment, grasping for the right words, how to assure him that she isn't in need of assuring, that she never meant to insult him, that he is a perfectly fine man and she never meant to imply he is in need of a woman—
Instead, she gives the most brilliant smile, her eyes damp and swallowing down everything she could never hope to say.]
Call me Daisy. I absolutely insist.
Daisy...
[He says it slowly, like he's really savoring the sound of it, and maybe he is. It suits her, he thinks, and the smile he gives her says that much, although it's not something he'd be likely to say aloud. He's sure she's heard similar things before, insipid lines talking about a beautiful name for a beautiful woman, and since that's not particularly how he'd mean it -- not that she's not beautiful, but that's certainly not the only reason he thinks it suits her -- he's not going to go down that road.]
Well, if I'm gonna call you that, then you gotta call me Jimmy.
[It's a certain kind of intimacy they're extending to each other, he thinks, and that's not so bad. Then again, he's never been particularly hesitant about being intimate with anyone, and it's gotten him into trouble countless times in the past. He wonders, for just a second, what kind of trouble Daisy could get him into.]
You're...
[He'd been going to mention something about the way he notices her blushing, about the way she seems seized with some kind of emotion, and there seem to be tears welling up in her eyes, but nobody ever likes having that pointed out. So instead he settles for something else, something perhaps even less reassuring.]
D'you ever get sick of parties like this?
[Her name sounds curious on his lips, sweet and delicate and pronounced with all the awkwardness of strangers. As if he's never really handled such fragile names and the fragile women they belong to, trying it out for the first time to see if he likes the shape of it. It's her turn to speak his name, she supposes, and she feels a bit silly for being on such informal terms so soon.]
—Jimmy, then.
[It takes more effort than she thought, and she is breathless when she utters it. She feels unbearably childish for suggesting they leap onto first-name basis so quickly. How must he think of her, for being so bold?]
They wouldn't be very enjoyable if I got sick of them. I think they're wonderful.
[They are, truly—or at least they had been, in the beginning. She adored it all, getting lost in the grandiosity and gaiety, able to forget certain thorns in her heart with a glass of champagne or three or five. Who had time to worry about domestic troubles, when women were cooing over her diamond necklace, when men kept fumbling for her hand, weighted with gold rings and pearls, with undisguised greed and envy? Yes, how could she not adore these vibrant little types of gatherings, where her husband made simpering eyes at every lithe young actress who crossed his way, and all anyone, anyone ever wished to discuss was the Sweetheart of Louisville, the golden girl, how lovely and wealthy and happy she must be!]
Just wonderful.
[She repeats, a little flatly, her smile souring slightly at the edges. Recently, only Gatsby's parties have been something she has genuinely been able to enjoy, but for reasons other than simply the fireworks and entertainments—none of which he needs to know about.]
—Jimmy, then.
[It takes more effort than she thought, and she is breathless when she utters it. She feels unbearably childish for suggesting they leap onto first-name basis so quickly. How must he think of her, for being so bold?]
They wouldn't be very enjoyable if I got sick of them. I think they're wonderful.
[They are, truly—or at least they had been, in the beginning. She adored it all, getting lost in the grandiosity and gaiety, able to forget certain thorns in her heart with a glass of champagne or three or five. Who had time to worry about domestic troubles, when women were cooing over her diamond necklace, when men kept fumbling for her hand, weighted with gold rings and pearls, with undisguised greed and envy? Yes, how could she not adore these vibrant little types of gatherings, where her husband made simpering eyes at every lithe young actress who crossed his way, and all anyone, anyone ever wished to discuss was the Sweetheart of Louisville, the golden girl, how lovely and wealthy and happy she must be!]
Just wonderful.
[She repeats, a little flatly, her smile souring slightly at the edges. Recently, only Gatsby's parties have been something she has genuinely been able to enjoy, but for reasons other than simply the fireworks and entertainments—none of which he needs to know about.]
They do seem like nice parties. It's just...
[What's he supposed to tell her? That he isn't a fan of parties like this because they always involve doing business and they always mean he has to spend his time talking to people who act as though they're so much better than he is? That he doesn't like showing up and pretending to fit in with the kind of guys who wear a tuxedo like it's a second skin, but that he feels hurt when they recognize that he doesn't fit in all the same? No, he's not going to tell her any of that.
But there's a part of him that would certainly like to.]
Y'know, it seems overwhelmin'.
[That's a half-truth, really. They're not overwhelming so much as they are simply... Wrong somehow. He'd thought, when he'd gone away to college, that maybe he'd finally learn how to blend in at events like this. Would he have, if he'd stayed there instead of going off to war? Probably not. As much as he can pretend to be Nucky Thompson's son -- and as much as his biological father, who he shudders at even thinking of, is an important man -- he's pretty sure everyone can tell that he, himself, comes from...
He shouldn't go down that mental pathway. His emotions always show too strongly on his face, and he doesn't want to frown again. So he just turns it into a smile instead, a small one, somehow more intimate and flirtatious than his bigger grins have been.]
[What's he supposed to tell her? That he isn't a fan of parties like this because they always involve doing business and they always mean he has to spend his time talking to people who act as though they're so much better than he is? That he doesn't like showing up and pretending to fit in with the kind of guys who wear a tuxedo like it's a second skin, but that he feels hurt when they recognize that he doesn't fit in all the same? No, he's not going to tell her any of that.
But there's a part of him that would certainly like to.]
Y'know, it seems overwhelmin'.
[That's a half-truth, really. They're not overwhelming so much as they are simply... Wrong somehow. He'd thought, when he'd gone away to college, that maybe he'd finally learn how to blend in at events like this. Would he have, if he'd stayed there instead of going off to war? Probably not. As much as he can pretend to be Nucky Thompson's son -- and as much as his biological father, who he shudders at even thinking of, is an important man -- he's pretty sure everyone can tell that he, himself, comes from...
He shouldn't go down that mental pathway. His emotions always show too strongly on his face, and he doesn't want to frown again. So he just turns it into a smile instead, a small one, somehow more intimate and flirtatious than his bigger grins have been.]
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