Didn't finish again yesterday...
May. 16th, 2024 01:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chicatingbut the wacky prompts are kind of fun.
Rebecca dressed carefully, trying to strike a balance between looking poor and sad and showing cleavage. As usual, she was the youngest, and dare she say prettiest at the pawnshop.Not that any of the guys in there did much more than give her breasts a cursory perving. She clutched the tablet and hoped the proprietor didn’t ask too many questions.
She remembered when it was a lot harder to work up the tragic-damsel tears. Life had been hard, but not as much as she wanted this hardened guy behind the counter to think. But still, thinking of being a forty-year-old sweetheart scammer gave her plenty of reasons for the view of the ugly room to swim in front of her face. It had been so long she’d even made a friend, much less touched a guy for non-professional reasons. There were so many people in her life, but she was lonely.
PawnShop Guy looked at her with so little interest it was almost a blow to her professional pride. Which was probably why she wore the black bra instead of the pink one. She made sure to bend, take a moment, pull the thing which she got with her quick fingers from the heirloom-looking quilt. “I hate to sell, but my family’s in a bind.” Lack of details were her friend.
The proprietor made a non-specific, but still interested grunt. Rebecca caught a whiff of her own sweet, powdery perfume. “My grandmother carried this into America on an ox-cart. It says “Victory is mine,” in Aramaic.”
“Three fifty.”
“It’s a fricking heirloom, Henry. Give me a break. I should spit on any offer less than a thousand.”
“If you do, don’t come back in here. I think I’ve been more than generous given the lack of information about provenance.”
“Not to mention,” a smoother voice, with a hint of British in it. “That you should know it reads “cheaters never prosper.” Since you are so attached.”
She thought her face would catch on fire. “Where do these wacky family legends get started? Guess you know I half-assed my bat mitzvah.”
“Quite. Though it’s not the same language.”
Rebecca dressed carefully, trying to strike a balance between looking poor and sad and showing cleavage. As usual, she was the youngest, and dare she say prettiest at the pawnshop.Not that any of the guys in there did much more than give her breasts a cursory perving. She clutched the tablet and hoped the proprietor didn’t ask too many questions.
She remembered when it was a lot harder to work up the tragic-damsel tears. Life had been hard, but not as much as she wanted this hardened guy behind the counter to think. But still, thinking of being a forty-year-old sweetheart scammer gave her plenty of reasons for the view of the ugly room to swim in front of her face. It had been so long she’d even made a friend, much less touched a guy for non-professional reasons. There were so many people in her life, but she was lonely.
PawnShop Guy looked at her with so little interest it was almost a blow to her professional pride. Which was probably why she wore the black bra instead of the pink one. She made sure to bend, take a moment, pull the thing which she got with her quick fingers from the heirloom-looking quilt. “I hate to sell, but my family’s in a bind.” Lack of details were her friend.
The proprietor made a non-specific, but still interested grunt. Rebecca caught a whiff of her own sweet, powdery perfume. “My grandmother carried this into America on an ox-cart. It says “Victory is mine,” in Aramaic.”
“Three fifty.”
“It’s a fricking heirloom, Henry. Give me a break. I should spit on any offer less than a thousand.”
“If you do, don’t come back in here. I think I’ve been more than generous given the lack of information about provenance.”
“Not to mention,” a smoother voice, with a hint of British in it. “That you should know it reads “cheaters never prosper.” Since you are so attached.”
She thought her face would catch on fire. “Where do these wacky family legends get started? Guess you know I half-assed my bat mitzvah.”
“Quite. Though it’s not the same language.”
