[ He wasn't expecting the smack — something familiar, playful, (and of course, one could say, inappropriate, which seems to be the word of the hour here....) but something that he doesn't quite mind or meet with as much.... startled horror as he ordinarily might.... and surely did the last time Wynonna Earp gave him a bit of a smack.
No, this time, he finds himself almost laughing, almost too amused to feel anything but that, almost delighted — all such rare things to feel in the face of any of this. He never really... plays around with anyone. Is never played around with. As much as Little struggles to feel comfortable around others, others struggle to feel comfortable around him.
(Has he always been that way? Surely there was a time, once, when he knew how to enjoy the company of others. It's difficult to even find that man again now, after everything that has happened and so much time has passed, but sometimes he feels him there, just under his own skin. Never for long, just another shadow.)
It's easier to feel him here, now, around Wynonna. She's delighted by him, pleased by him; he's made someone smile and almost laugh too; she says she's proud and he knows she means it with amusement, knows the light-heartedness meant behind all of it all. Maybe it's all a fleeting thing, but he feels himself enjoy it. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed anything.
And even if what comes next is sobered, it's all right, and he thinks he's enjoying that, too. Again — the conversation, the insight, the chance to sit and talk to someone. He listens, head still turned to face her, and posture nothing compared to its normal resolute stiffness; by this point he's almost slouching a little, back into the sofa. It's easy to, with how comfortable it is, how pleasantly lulled the drink makes him feel. He folds his arms over his middle, loose and easy as he watches her.
The heir. The burdens she's alluded to having. The business with this Peacemaker of hers. He doesn't quite know exactly what the heir means for her, entails. He wants to know, doesn't know how to ask. It's less about offending some social norm, now, and more about not wanting to offend her. Just her. Some risk of souring the conversation, of touching upon something sore. He'd like for her to think nicely of him, not because it's what's expected but because he likes that he's made her delighted and he doesn't want to ruin that, doesn't want to hurt her feelings or upset her heart or make her uncomfortable and these are all thoughts melting into one another as he sits there and stares at Wynonna, eyes a little half-lidded, glossy. Attentive but relaxed — what a concept for him....!
When she reaches to poke him with that playful familiarity, his head lolls towards her a little, and his body stays relaxed, not tensing at all, no rippling waves of discomfort to be found at all. For a long moment, he just stares — absorbing what she'd said, slow and steady, and through it all realising that (once again, somehow,) Wynonna Earp has said the things that, perhaps unknowingly, he's been wanting to hear for a very long time. As though someone has gently dipped their hands right into the core of him and found what he most needs. Edward's almost awed of it, of her, watching her with a quiet but focused intensity, marveling to himself of it.
'So I'm guessing there's plenty left.'
Ah..... That touches him, and he feels his eyes become a little strange, a little heated, a little too wet. (And the drink.... does make it a bit worse in him; he's maybe prone to getting a bit weepy...) Little blinks, eyelashes fluttering for a moment, gives a soft exhale as though waking himself back up from the long moment of silent staring at the woman. ]
Thank you.
[ It's earnest as ever, even if the words come out feeling slower, heavier than normal. He's a little sleepy, he thinks, with the warmth of alcohol in his belly and the warmth of the nearby fire at his skin and the warmth of her very close to him. ]
That means a very great deal to me. It is often..... difficult, to see it, myself. I suppose it is easy for me to forget that I am... simply a person, as peculiar as that may be to say.
[ Now he does laugh, quietly; he feels a certain amusement as he sits and analyses himself. ]
I suppose if anyone would understand such a concept, it would be an heir. [ An inheritance of something..... she must carry even more burdens than he does, more burdens than most could ever know. Edward pauses for a beat or two, studying her, before he asks — but it's not severe and somber, not asked with a serious tone at all. It's with shining eyes and a spirited lilt of his voice, head tilted at her, thoughtful and playful in equal parts. ]
no subject
No, this time, he finds himself almost laughing, almost too amused to feel anything but that, almost delighted — all such rare things to feel in the face of any of this. He never really... plays around with anyone. Is never played around with. As much as Little struggles to feel comfortable around others, others struggle to feel comfortable around him.
(Has he always been that way? Surely there was a time, once, when he knew how to enjoy the company of others. It's difficult to even find that man again now, after everything that has happened and so much time has passed, but sometimes he feels him there, just under his own skin. Never for long, just another shadow.)
It's easier to feel him here, now, around Wynonna. She's delighted by him, pleased by him; he's made someone smile and almost laugh too; she says she's proud and he knows she means it with amusement, knows the light-heartedness meant behind all of it all. Maybe it's all a fleeting thing, but he feels himself enjoy it. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed anything.
And even if what comes next is sobered, it's all right, and he thinks he's enjoying that, too. Again — the conversation, the insight, the chance to sit and talk to someone. He listens, head still turned to face her, and posture nothing compared to its normal resolute stiffness; by this point he's almost slouching a little, back into the sofa. It's easy to, with how comfortable it is, how pleasantly lulled the drink makes him feel. He folds his arms over his middle, loose and easy as he watches her.
The heir. The burdens she's alluded to having. The business with this Peacemaker of hers. He doesn't quite know exactly what the heir means for her, entails. He wants to know, doesn't know how to ask. It's less about offending some social norm, now, and more about not wanting to offend her. Just her. Some risk of souring the conversation, of touching upon something sore. He'd like for her to think nicely of him, not because it's what's expected but because he likes that he's made her delighted and he doesn't want to ruin that, doesn't want to hurt her feelings or upset her heart or make her uncomfortable and these are all thoughts melting into one another as he sits there and stares at Wynonna, eyes a little half-lidded, glossy. Attentive but relaxed — what a concept for him....!
When she reaches to poke him with that playful familiarity, his head lolls towards her a little, and his body stays relaxed, not tensing at all, no rippling waves of discomfort to be found at all. For a long moment, he just stares — absorbing what she'd said, slow and steady, and through it all realising that (once again, somehow,) Wynonna Earp has said the things that, perhaps unknowingly, he's been wanting to hear for a very long time. As though someone has gently dipped their hands right into the core of him and found what he most needs. Edward's almost awed of it, of her, watching her with a quiet but focused intensity, marveling to himself of it.
'So I'm guessing there's plenty left.'
Ah..... That touches him, and he feels his eyes become a little strange, a little heated, a little too wet. (And the drink.... does make it a bit worse in him; he's maybe prone to getting a bit weepy...) Little blinks, eyelashes fluttering for a moment, gives a soft exhale as though waking himself back up from the long moment of silent staring at the woman. ]
Thank you.
[ It's earnest as ever, even if the words come out feeling slower, heavier than normal. He's a little sleepy, he thinks, with the warmth of alcohol in his belly and the warmth of the nearby fire at his skin and the warmth of her very close to him. ]
That means a very great deal to me. It is often..... difficult, to see it, myself. I suppose it is easy for me to forget that I am... simply a person, as peculiar as that may be to say.
[ Now he does laugh, quietly; he feels a certain amusement as he sits and analyses himself. ]
I suppose if anyone would understand such a concept, it would be an heir. [ An inheritance of something..... she must carry even more burdens than he does, more burdens than most could ever know. Edward pauses for a beat or two, studying her, before he asks — but it's not severe and somber, not asked with a serious tone at all. It's with shining eyes and a spirited lilt of his voice, head tilted at her, thoughtful and playful in equal parts. ]
.......Are you royalty, Miss Earp?