Stone Circle countdown to doomsday

484 words

A good con relies on a few concrete things. The more you can couch your trick in reality the better off it will be; for instance, Phyllis knew her age was not a great asset since it meant she wasn't going to be around for long, but that's what helped her push to truth - she knew she wouldn't make it without help, and likely wouldn't survive long even with a pack to back her up, but it was an easy tug on the heart-strings. Her age was also a sign of a life already lived - skills acquired, experience gained, and so forth. She had a limited amount of time (a negative) but she was skilled (presumably), and that was good.

The guardswoman did not react much to the sob-story that Phyllis used, but the newcomer, the Alpha female, was softer of heart. That other thing you need to perpetuate a good con — you need people, and the ability to understand them. Phyllis was far from pure with her intention but she could be convincing; that's where her abilities lay, that's where all of her experience had led her. She could read the people around her and use them - it would take more time and effort to work through the stone-faced guard's defenses, but she was confident she could do it. Not that it mattered much what Ira thought of her. At the moment, Phyllis needed to only charm the dark-coated leader.

She seemed sympathetic to the plight of Phyllis' longevity. Her comments made the woman smile one of those slow, drawn-out, tired grins common to grandmothers trying to remember the names of all their children. I.. well, hm. When I was a girl I was often used as a messenger; I can hunt, but that's no surprise since everyone has to do that to survive, her voice took on a lighter tone and she let out a small chuckle, the corners of her eyes crinkling. I've had children, helped others have children, looked after them, taught them things - and they've taught me a lot too. My daughter — oh, she looks a lot like you, miss, — we would spend hours together exploring and gathering herbs, something she absolutely loathed doing, dear me! She would much rather stomp all over the flowers or pull up herbs like they're weeds, but not -- not gather them, use them -- The woman's eyes glossed; it was from the chill in the air but at that moment, it seemed more like she was growing emotional over the memory.

Ah, I am sorry, I am getting a bit... Distracted. She blinks away the shine on her eyes and takes a deep breath, sighing, easing herself back to the present. It is all just a ruse but she is very, very good at what she does. But yes, I... I have some skills. Family-based ones, which I think you could benefit from, miss.