[ The alcohol is hitting her, a little; she's familiar with this particular kind of earnestness, the sort that feels like it's working under a timer. There's only so much time before she slips from 'pleasantly tipsy and willing to be honest' to 'forgot what the hell she said thirty seconds ago,' even though she's not here to get drunk — and isn't that kind of strange in itself? this might be the first night here where she hasn't wanted to drown everything in a haze of alcohol.
Just this seems like the perfect amount. It's warming her from the inside, a gentle, tingling buzz like sleepy bees trundling along her veins, and the fire is warming her from the outside, now burning low and steady and casting a gentle glow over the couch and the two of them that softens everything. It's not the first time she and Little have sat together in front of a fire, the darkness of a cabin closing quietly in around them, but that's about the only similarity this has to those hours spent hiding from the blizzard.
The firelight flickers over him, picking out the waves of his dark hair and lending some warmth to his skin and it's easier now to admit to herself that he's a handsome man, despite the tragic presence of those ridiculous muttonchops. She teases him and he lightens like someone struck a match, just about laughing, and she was absolutely not prepared for the way his eyes — already unfairly thickly lashed and deeply, warmly brown — crinkle a little at the corners. It's such a small thing but it changes so much about his face; turns those sad beagle eyes into something brighter, livelier. It's like flipping a switch — no, it's like one of those shades that goes snapping up when you tug the cord, leaving you blinking in a sudden wash of sunlight.
It's worse by far than when he turns those same eyes on her, looking deeply moved, almost like he's blinking back tears, and oh shit, oh no, she's not going to let this get weepy. She wants to see him laugh again. She wants to know what it might look like for him to really smile.
She's still thinking about it moments later, and... what was she saying? ]
Some people — [ her, for example, ] shit just happens to them. You know? They're born into it, fall into it, whatever. But you actually worked for it all. Someone saw you doing a good job and thought: 'yeah, that guy should be a Lieutenant.'
[ A beat. ] I don't know how the Navy works. But I bet they don't just go around handing out ranks to people who don't earn them, most of the time. So, you know. As far as being 'simply a person' goes... you could be a lot worse off. And it's not like you have to be a Lieutenant for people to like you, you know? You seem fine to me.
[ He's relaxed, slouched back on the couch, and she shifts to mirror him, still turned toward him. Leans her head against the back of the couch, her shoulder pressing into that soft material as she snuggles into the couch cushion. Shifting down like this means her hip and leg need to move; her knee slides forward, just nudging the seam of his trousers. She wonders if that sweater is as soft as it looks; gets distracted by the utterly unusual nature of what happens next: Little teasing her, very gently. He's almost laughing, again, and she's grinning, again, cheeks dimpled and eyes soft at the corners, the firelight turning their clear gray-blue to a warmer, gentler smoke. ]
Nope.
[ Elongated, lazy. Nnnnnnnnope. ]
Different kind of heir. Heir to a... different kind of thing. It's a long story... not a very happy one. I'll tell you some other time.
[ It feels good, to make that promise. She's told a few people here bits and pieces, but none of them know the whole story, and she wants to tell him the whole story, which is a thought that only a few weeks ago would have been laughable. Tell Edward Little, ambulatory greatcoat and general stick in the mud, about the curse, her part in it, what she's done, what she has to do?
But she no longer thinks he'll shun her, when he knows. Not after all of this, everything they've talked about tonight, everything he's shared and she's shared, truths brought slowly to light.
It's not because she thinks he'll react badly that she doesn't want to tell him. It's just that this has been maybe the nicest evening she's had since she got here, and the best reaction in the world from him wouldn't stop that story being a bucket of ice water getting dumped all over this pleasant moment. ]
This is... really nice. I don't want to ruin it. But I'll tell you later... promise.
no subject
[ The alcohol is hitting her, a little; she's familiar with this particular kind of earnestness, the sort that feels like it's working under a timer. There's only so much time before she slips from 'pleasantly tipsy and willing to be honest' to 'forgot what the hell she said thirty seconds ago,' even though she's not here to get drunk — and isn't that kind of strange in itself? this might be the first night here where she hasn't wanted to drown everything in a haze of alcohol.
Just this seems like the perfect amount. It's warming her from the inside, a gentle, tingling buzz like sleepy bees trundling along her veins, and the fire is warming her from the outside, now burning low and steady and casting a gentle glow over the couch and the two of them that softens everything. It's not the first time she and Little have sat together in front of a fire, the darkness of a cabin closing quietly in around them, but that's about the only similarity this has to those hours spent hiding from the blizzard.
The firelight flickers over him, picking out the waves of his dark hair and lending some warmth to his skin and it's easier now to admit to herself that he's a handsome man, despite the tragic presence of those ridiculous muttonchops. She teases him and he lightens like someone struck a match, just about laughing, and she was absolutely not prepared for the way his eyes — already unfairly thickly lashed and deeply, warmly brown — crinkle a little at the corners. It's such a small thing but it changes so much about his face; turns those sad beagle eyes into something brighter, livelier. It's like flipping a switch — no, it's like one of those shades that goes snapping up when you tug the cord, leaving you blinking in a sudden wash of sunlight.
It's worse by far than when he turns those same eyes on her, looking deeply moved, almost like he's blinking back tears, and oh shit, oh no, she's not going to let this get weepy. She wants to see him laugh again. She wants to know what it might look like for him to really smile.
She's still thinking about it moments later, and... what was she saying? ]
Some people — [ her, for example, ] shit just happens to them. You know? They're born into it, fall into it, whatever. But you actually worked for it all. Someone saw you doing a good job and thought: 'yeah, that guy should be a Lieutenant.'
[ A beat. ] I don't know how the Navy works. But I bet they don't just go around handing out ranks to people who don't earn them, most of the time. So, you know. As far as being 'simply a person' goes... you could be a lot worse off. And it's not like you have to be a Lieutenant for people to like you, you know? You seem fine to me.
[ He's relaxed, slouched back on the couch, and she shifts to mirror him, still turned toward him. Leans her head against the back of the couch, her shoulder pressing into that soft material as she snuggles into the couch cushion. Shifting down like this means her hip and leg need to move; her knee slides forward, just nudging the seam of his trousers. She wonders if that sweater is as soft as it looks; gets distracted by the utterly unusual nature of what happens next: Little teasing her, very gently. He's almost laughing, again, and she's grinning, again, cheeks dimpled and eyes soft at the corners, the firelight turning their clear gray-blue to a warmer, gentler smoke. ]
Nope.
[ Elongated, lazy. Nnnnnnnnope. ]
Different kind of heir. Heir to a... different kind of thing. It's a long story... not a very happy one. I'll tell you some other time.
[ It feels good, to make that promise. She's told a few people here bits and pieces, but none of them know the whole story, and she wants to tell him the whole story, which is a thought that only a few weeks ago would have been laughable. Tell Edward Little, ambulatory greatcoat and general stick in the mud, about the curse, her part in it, what she's done, what she has to do?
But she no longer thinks he'll shun her, when he knows. Not after all of this, everything they've talked about tonight, everything he's shared and she's shared, truths brought slowly to light.
It's not because she thinks he'll react badly that she doesn't want to tell him. It's just that this has been maybe the nicest evening she's had since she got here, and the best reaction in the world from him wouldn't stop that story being a bucket of ice water getting dumped all over this pleasant moment. ]
This is... really nice. I don't want to ruin it. But I'll tell you later... promise.