Fae Gaz must have been having a fucking ball in the 1880s. All the misery and want to get away from this terrible life. Hunter faes were just scooping these guys up.
You've hit one of my special interests, the Victorian era, congrats.
It's easy to be a weaver when everyone is desperate. Medicine is heroic because nothing works. Literature is all escapism and desire. People are miserable and fulfilled in equal measure. Life is uncomfortable, but indulgent. Sugar has recently become mainstream, fashion is elegant and elaborate, people are less trustful of fairy tales...
Gaz has a little shop where he sells goods, well, where he sells services. Sort of an apothecary, sort of a devil's bargain. The industrial age makes it hard to wander between mushroom rings, but the city makes a buffet look bare. Shop life is fairly boring, it's a lot of waiting, but it's better than hitting a molly bar or a gentleman's club. Besides that he gets bored when he has too many of the same sort of customer.
Why does everyone want to leave their wife anyway? Pathetic.
At least with a shop he gets a variety of wants to sink his hooks into. Cures for maladies, passing out changelings, running away from a marriage(good for them, Gaz thinks, making one less whiner at the club), wanting money or recognition, it's all so pedestrian. It's all so easy. Sometimes he just passes people off to Soap to see if he can do anything interesting with them.
Price keeps coming around to check on him, to check on his offer. It's bad for business having him and Ghost hanging around the shop. Or, well, actually watching Price deal with people is sort of intoxicating. There's something so elegant in the sinister way he works, the way his voice drops low and his victims seem to melt for him. It almost works on Gaz too. When Price leans against the shop counter and asks if he's still happy playing shop --they both know he isn't-- Gaz almost caves to the smoke Price swirls around the room.
"Aren't you tired of waiting for someone to walk through the door? Thought you were smart enough not to like easy." Price's eyes stare through him, asking questions he already knows the answer to. Anyone else and Gaz might think they were trying to be rude. No, Price is saying it to be sure Gaz has heard his unhappiness out loud.
"Easy keeps you fed." Gaz drums his fingers against the counter.
"Not in any way that matters," Price tells him. Gaz lets out a breath, shaking his head. He thinks about Soap's artists, shorter lived each time. Still, as much as he may hate them there are rules.
"Do you always stick your nose where it doesn't belong?" Gaz asks, unwilling to come up short in this exchange. That's probably the same attitude that got him here in the first place.
"Only when I think it's worth the effort," Price's smile is confident, he raises a hand and Ghost disappears somewhere. The shop is silent, save for Price's low voice. "You're not doing yourself any favors with this web, you know that as well as I do. At some point the gloves have to come off, and when they do you might find that your rules are more flexible than you'd thought."
"This is why people hate creditors," Gaz tells him quietly, it's a joke, just to see the amused shine in Price's eyes.
"And why you'll make a damn good one." Price holds out a small card, "You do your job right, and no one knows you were ever there. Doesn't that sound like more fun than waiting for a trap to spring?"
Gaz hums, taking the card and examining it. It's blank. Price tugs at a small tether now strung between them. He hadn't even thought- No it was something else, some warp of perception that Price had about him. Trustworthy, Gaz thinks, there's no threat behind his words. "When you want a drink you'll know where to find me," Price doesn't sound smug, doesn't sound like he's won anything, he's friendly, "Don't keep me waiting too long."
"I won't." And it's strange, but he means it. When Price nods, accepting his promise, Gaz feels something lock in, like a switch being flipped. This might actually be fun.
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