( Admitting that he hopes there will be no incidents is a severe understatement — but even then, it's still letting out some of his trepidation, even if it's kept light-hearted. Still, it's there, a small bud of anxiety that could threaten to blossom into something uncontrollable, so easily. If someone were to start shouting, or any of the flames to catch hold of something.... Little feels fear, or maybe dread, creeping and crawling up under his skin, more active in this particular environment. Even the sound of someone's laughter from somewhere way across the space, a little high-pitched, makes him oddly on edge, even if just for a moment.
Wynonna's response, however, makes him look back over at her again, not just towards this time, but actually at, for a moment. She meets his little flicker of trepidation with assurance, confidence, which are certainly never atypical for Wynonna, and yet it catches him freshly each time.
He never asks for it. That reassurance. He never has to. It's just there, a part of her existence beside him, the same as any of the other times. (Her hands pressing tight to him as she leads him through the smoky remains of a house, his lungs screaming for air and his mind frozen with shock; her hands pressing tight to him as she drags him through the snow, bleeding out and barely conscious.)
She does it here, too, even if the situation is far less harrowed than any of the others before it. Squeezes him tighter, presses herself to him tighter, solidifies their presence together. Keeps hold of him. (He's not alone. It's safe.)
'And if something did, we'd get everybody out.'
That part is what causes his pause to linger with a soft exhale of surprise. We'd get everybody out. As matter of fact as anything. And— it emboldens him, that reassurance not just for him, but in him. She trusts him to help, they'd do it together. )
You're right, ( he breathes with quiet relief. Whatever was coiling tight in him softly loosens, leaving him with only his original layer of nerves, the ones belonging simply to the fact he's here with her while she's dressed like that. Little takes a moment to breathe again when she fixes him up a cup and then takes it carefully into his hand, gazing down at it for a moment as he listens — a brief and purposeful lift of brows when she alludes to murderous intent at a party from home; surely she's joking, but knowing Wynonna..... maybe not. But hey, he can relate, offering a hapless smile that's quickly hidden once he takes a polite sip of his own pine wine.
When he lowers it again, he's watching her, feeling freshly flushed from the inside out as she mentions the dancing— which almost certainly isn't due to taking one single sip of alcohol. No, it's not that at all, and he shifts, holding his tongue for a moment. Just a moment.
Her eyes are sparkling, brighter, playful and maybe something else. There's maybe something especially dangerous about what he thinks to say in response to her question, what he wants to say. Wants to do. )
Well, I thought— it might be nice to try my hand at dancing, as well. I haven't done much of it, ( he adds, quickly (big surprise there, Edward Little hasn't done much dancing or anything remotely fun.)
Another breath, his grasp on his cup tighter, worn glove squeezing the back of his hand. It's hard to hold eye contact with her when she's looking at him like that. )
Would you— would you care to join me? Later on, if you like, if you're tired out from it now, of course.
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Wynonna's response, however, makes him look back over at her again, not just towards this time, but actually at, for a moment. She meets his little flicker of trepidation with assurance, confidence, which are certainly never atypical for Wynonna, and yet it catches him freshly each time.
He never asks for it. That reassurance. He never has to. It's just there, a part of her existence beside him, the same as any of the other times. (Her hands pressing tight to him as she leads him through the smoky remains of a house, his lungs screaming for air and his mind frozen with shock; her hands pressing tight to him as she drags him through the snow, bleeding out and barely conscious.)
She does it here, too, even if the situation is far less harrowed than any of the others before it. Squeezes him tighter, presses herself to him tighter, solidifies their presence together. Keeps hold of him. (He's not alone. It's safe.)
'And if something did, we'd get everybody out.'
That part is what causes his pause to linger with a soft exhale of surprise. We'd get everybody out. As matter of fact as anything. And— it emboldens him, that reassurance not just for him, but in him. She trusts him to help, they'd do it together. )
You're right, ( he breathes with quiet relief. Whatever was coiling tight in him softly loosens, leaving him with only his original layer of nerves, the ones belonging simply to the fact he's here with her while she's dressed like that. Little takes a moment to breathe again when she fixes him up a cup and then takes it carefully into his hand, gazing down at it for a moment as he listens — a brief and purposeful lift of brows when she alludes to murderous intent at a party from home; surely she's joking, but knowing Wynonna..... maybe not. But hey, he can relate, offering a hapless smile that's quickly hidden once he takes a polite sip of his own pine wine.
When he lowers it again, he's watching her, feeling freshly flushed from the inside out as she mentions the dancing— which almost certainly isn't due to taking one single sip of alcohol. No, it's not that at all, and he shifts, holding his tongue for a moment. Just a moment.
Her eyes are sparkling, brighter, playful and maybe something else. There's maybe something especially dangerous about what he thinks to say in response to her question, what he wants to say. Wants to do. )
Well, I thought— it might be nice to try my hand at dancing, as well. I haven't done much of it, ( he adds, quickly (big surprise there, Edward Little hasn't done much dancing or anything remotely fun.)
Another breath, his grasp on his cup tighter, worn glove squeezing the back of his hand. It's hard to hold eye contact with her when she's looking at him like that. )
Would you— would you care to join me? Later on, if you like, if you're tired out from it now, of course.