[ In the end, there's really only one important thing to say, and she's just going to have to try and get it out before he tells her to get the fuck off his porch. Which is all well and good in principle, but it doesn't stop her stomach from lurching when the door opens – under his hand this time, not hers, the very least she can do is stop shoving her way into his space – and Edward Little's there, looking at her with blank astonishment.
For a long second, she stares at him and he stares back at her in an awkward stand-off, like people who haven't seen each other for years who suddenly ran into one another at a coffee shop, and she's got absolutely no fucking idea what to say to that Miss Earp that sounds so surprised. Of course he's surprised, considering the way she slammed her way out of here before; what she doesn't get is the lack of exasperation or even outright anger that ought to follow it. She'd expected him to be mad, and when he isn't it feels like a rug has been yanked out under her feet. To give herself a second to think, she blinks and wrenches her glance away from his to give him a once-over; he looks better. There's color back in his face and his voice is back to that pleasant rumble that's been a problem since day one, and he's holding himself more like he used to... but he looks different, too. He's sock-footed, which is both bizarre and kind of endearing, wearing just a sweater with his uniform pants, and without his cap his hair is all slightly rumpled dark waves and he just seems... softer around the edges, lacking all the trappings of his rank.
He looks almost like a regular guy, and she realizes, belatedly, that he's not actually that much taller than she is. The boots and greatcoat and cap had lent him more of a physical presence; without them he turns out to be... just normal, if a little sad around the eyes and mouth. It's nice and weird in equal measure and she squirms internally, uncomfortable with it for no very good reason.
Thank god his expression shifts into one she recognizes on his face: uncertain worry. Thank god he asks her a question she can actually answer. ]
Yeah. Or... getting there, anyway. No, I just came to, uh...
[ Everything is categorically not all right, but she's not lying. It does seem to be getting there. She's feeling better, and it looks like he is, too, although she's a little worried about how dressed down he is. Should she be concerned or relieved that it was Edward who came to the door and not the First Lieutenant?
Or how about she just be grateful he showed up at the door at all and stop overthinking shit? Wynonna drifts into a lean, her shoulder pressing against the doorframe, and looks up with eyes big and solemn and eloquently remorseful as a dog that tore apart something necessary and expensive, like a couch. She chews her lip. But, weirdly, now that the moment has come, it actually feels easy to say: ]
Apologize. I came to apologize.
I'm really sorry.
[ She shifts; lifts the bottle by its neck. What's left of the few hours of sunlight they get these days slants through the bourbon inside, making it glow invitingly golden. ]
no subject
For a long second, she stares at him and he stares back at her in an awkward stand-off, like people who haven't seen each other for years who suddenly ran into one another at a coffee shop, and she's got absolutely no fucking idea what to say to that Miss Earp that sounds so surprised. Of course he's surprised, considering the way she slammed her way out of here before; what she doesn't get is the lack of exasperation or even outright anger that ought to follow it. She'd expected him to be mad, and when he isn't it feels like a rug has been yanked out under her feet. To give herself a second to think, she blinks and wrenches her glance away from his to give him a once-over; he looks better. There's color back in his face and his voice is back to that pleasant rumble that's been a problem since day one, and he's holding himself more like he used to... but he looks different, too. He's sock-footed, which is both bizarre and kind of endearing, wearing just a sweater with his uniform pants, and without his cap his hair is all slightly rumpled dark waves and he just seems... softer around the edges, lacking all the trappings of his rank.
He looks almost like a regular guy, and she realizes, belatedly, that he's not actually that much taller than she is. The boots and greatcoat and cap had lent him more of a physical presence; without them he turns out to be... just normal, if a little sad around the eyes and mouth. It's nice and weird in equal measure and she squirms internally, uncomfortable with it for no very good reason.
Thank god his expression shifts into one she recognizes on his face: uncertain worry. Thank god he asks her a question she can actually answer. ]
Yeah. Or... getting there, anyway. No, I just came to, uh...
[ Everything is categorically not all right, but she's not lying. It does seem to be getting there. She's feeling better, and it looks like he is, too, although she's a little worried about how dressed down he is. Should she be concerned or relieved that it was Edward who came to the door and not the First Lieutenant?
Or how about she just be grateful he showed up at the door at all and stop overthinking shit? Wynonna drifts into a lean, her shoulder pressing against the doorframe, and looks up with eyes big and solemn and eloquently remorseful as a dog that tore apart something necessary and expensive, like a couch. She chews her lip. But, weirdly, now that the moment has come, it actually feels easy to say: ]
Apologize. I came to apologize.
I'm really sorry.
[ She shifts; lifts the bottle by its neck. What's left of the few hours of sunlight they get these days slants through the bourbon inside, making it glow invitingly golden. ]
Pax?