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The french words filtered through his head, he could catch and understand only a handful. What she said mattered little, he already knew that she was caught by him, her face and tone indicated much of the same as she spoke. “Parler anglais, s’il vous plait. Silly me, I don’t understand french, remember?” His tone was dull, his face stotic, as if he was speaking just to keep the conversation running. Yet all the while he was watching her, taking in her facial expression. Learning more and more every minute. His ability to read people went hand and hand with his ability to pretend to be other people. The more one understood about others, the better they acted. One day he could pretend to be Whinifred perfectly, able to fool anyone if not for his bulky husky body and his deep, masculine voice.
“I don’t need to barter, ya goose. I can get what I want without it.” He sighed heavily, as if this conversing back and forth was growing wearisome. Inside, as almost always, he was jovial and giddy, outside he seemed like a wet noodle. No life. The ashen male remained that way as the short female sidled up to him, her hand placed firmly on his chest. He liked the feeling of it there, like to see how gutsy she was knowing what he could and would do. Yet outwardly all he managed to do was smirk. “You’re delusional Whini. I’m not who ya think I am. Not at all.”
Her words of flattery of course boosted his ego, which was already inflated, but he did not mind hearing them. To have someone proclaim that they belonged to you, it was always nice to hear. “Well, won’t that be a pity for them, eh? Running around acting as silly as ya are now.” His charms varied from day to day, depending on what kind of person he wanted to be in the morning, but Whinifred was right, there would probably be another fool or two who fell for his tricks. He wouldn’t be unhappy about it either. “Look miss, did ya come here for something, or not? I have cleaning to do.”
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