1893

His fourth shot of whiskey was supposed to be his cut off, sunken blue eyes staring at the brown liquid held in his cup. The sight drawing him in for just one more sip, then another and another until he’s snatched the whole bottle out of the bartender’s limp hand, daring him to protest with a simple look.

Pleased by the lack of confrontation, Arthur begins to drink straight from the bottle. As time passes, a feminine hand brushes his kitchen, ruffling the soft textured curls where the cut flips. It’s a testament to his lack when he shudders before he even sees her.

Arthur politely turns, an easy decline already on the tip of his tongue. He ain’t in the business of spending money on the working girls, he isn’t good at casual. The last woman he casually spent a night with fell pregnant. Then died. Celibacy comes easier to him in his increasing age, no point in having sex if it doesn’t mean nothing.

Only when his eyes meet hers, she doesn’t seem like she’s workin’ at all. Sure, her top has a little too much cleavage exposed, and the corset making her waist unnaturally thin pushes her breast damn near to her chin.

Not many women could compete with her face though, skin clearer than his vision, lips thick and natural, eyes warm like the sun shines in them despite it being hours past sundown. Before him is a clean-looking no make-up woman, just sweet beauty. And for once, he actually spares a double-take.

“Company, sweetie?” She murmurs, tone not that over push to come across sexual and attractive.

There’s grace to her movements, soft fingers carding through his hair. A warmth to her as she smiles down at him, experienced in her field, confident that she’ll get her pay for the night.

Arthur clears his throat, when he realizes he never answered the lovely woman. He offers her a soft smile, choosing to do the right thing and decline the way he started to in the first place. “Nahh.” He drawls. “I’m alright. ‘Fraid I’d just be a bore tonight.”