Wherein a word or phrase can be the start of something fun and wonderful.
Some are simply stand-alone ficlets or drabbles. Some link up with published stories. Some end up previews for things yet to come.
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I wish I had that talent - she sighs, staring at the beautiful sketch hanging on the opposite wall.
"Which talent, exactly?"
Blinking, and sputtering maybe just a little, she turns to examine the man who had uttered the question. The – wow – striking man just randomly inserted himself into her morning coffee routine, her morning musings.
He continues, nonplussed by her reaction. A small smile expands across his features in the beat that follows, pulling his pinkish lips away from annoyingly straight teeth. "And which would you give up to have it?"
"What?"
As he lowers himself into the other seat at the table, she becomes acutely aware of just how much coffee she's had this morning. Her heart is hammering. Plus: coffee breath. It's to be expected in a coffeehouse but still, she'd much rather flirt with this angular man without – wait. Give up?
He shifts his shoulders to better align himself to their newfound conversation. "Give up. Yes. Give one to get one. That's sort of the way these things work. Nothing for free."
She finds herself nodding, though she doesn't quite understand. Well, she understands everything having a price.
"For example," he flexes his fingers in a rolling motion quite similar to the way one might entertain a centipede crawling over their digits. "Being able to re-energize from a few minutes spent sitting and enjoying a warm liquid. Or devote a period of time to translating what one feels to paper and stir the emotions of others as result, as the artist of that piece has done."
"But... those aren't talents." She hazards a reply while he's glancing back at the artwork that she'd been admiring. Had she been that blatantly obvious while admiring it? "Those are just... traits..."
The protestation dies when he looks back at her, giving her a firm shake of his head. "Talents. Trust me on that. But don't worry," he leans forward, the action at once conspiratorial and predatory, "there are hundreds within you. You simply need to choose which you'd like to exchange for another."
He waits, wanting her to answer to fill the gap he's left. "The ability to..." she muses, but then laughs at herself. It's silly. She knows it takes years of practice. One can't very well say: the talent of Michelangelo! But... so long as one is careful in how they say it... She darts her eyes beyond him, gaze settling on sketch on the wall. "The patience to get as good?"
His smile remains the same, but there's a slight sparkle in his eyes when he asks her, "In exchange for?"
Now there's a question. What talents did she possess? What would she give up? Time to stall, and think. "Would they – she – did you see the name of the artist written somewhere or... never mind. Would it be, I don't know, would they get mine, and I get theirs?"
That makes him stop smiling long enough to laugh. It's a delightful laugh, one that warms her in dangerous places. The intensity of his focused joy is what does it. She'd made him laugh like that. But – had it really been all that funny?
He shakes his head, a chuckle still rumbling his torso when he replies, "No."
Oh. But he had said it was an exchange. She's not sure how to feel about taking something from someone and not giving something back in return. But then... how did the exchange work, then? Hadn't he said... She glances sidelong at the artwork. How badly did she want to be able to draw like that? Uncertainty grips her, and she draws out her response. If she doesn't continue to play along will he just get up and leave, as abruptly as he sat down? "I, I don't know."
"Hmm." When she looks to him again he is appraising her, eyes hooded. "So many you don't use. Or hardly use."
What does that mean.
Arching an eyebrow, he continues to study her, "I'd love to test a few. But we can get to that, after..."
Again she feels a thrill run through her, the quiet whispers for caution ebbing away as he focused on her. There were several hundred promises in his manner, and his words. She shifts in her seat while entertaining the thought of every last one of them.
That sharp, otherworldly smile has reappeared, and he has edged closer to her. He's now almost perched on the edge of his chair, "Let's see which talent you volunteer, first."
