None whatsoever. Together is the only thing I want to be.
[And for a while, that's all that they are, until at length she rouses herself from the dreamy contentment of being together and reaches for the next card in the spread to flip it over.
The tone of her voice is changing, too; she's less reading at this point and more just talking, turning over the cards like their faces are old friends instead of somber omens, recalling their meanings like fond memories instead of harbingers of doom.]
Mmm. The Three of Cups in the above position — that one is our goal or aspiration, the best outcome of the situation. What ought we to seek or work towards? The Three of Cups says it's...community. Like we all were at the bed and breakfast, the lot of us — about being together with others, and having the support of friends all together to face our challenges and find our safety.
[Frowning, Dave opens his mouth to protest; his first reaction is to note that they can't have the community they had at the bed and breakfast, all their friends and family and fellow survivors. The people who get it not because they've scrutinized him and Meridiana so well, but because they were there. Because they're the same.
But that's not it either, is it? That's not even how their collective at the bed and breakfast started. They'd had to learn each other, and it's only time that brought them where they are.]
So... it's telling us to make friends?
[It aches in an itchy way, like picking at an almost-healed scab, to think about doing that all over again, but he sees the logic in it. Even if he doesn't want to re-learn how to trust strangers in a strange place, he sees why, according to some objective ABC family perspective, it's probably a "good thing."
His thoughtful hum sounds more doubtful than eager, but he doesn't complain outright, at least.]
I think so...but there's another card further in that's meant specifically for advice, so I think it's less a direction to make friends and more...
[She hums under her breath, looking for the words she wants to fit to the idea she has in mind.]
It's more that if we had them, it'd fix the question. Don't you think? Because they're like us. If we had that, everything would be different...which I suppose means that a great deal of the problem we're facing is that, at the moment, we don't.
[Dave rolls that around like he would a jawbreaker on his tongue, then nods.]
Yeah. Yeah, it would. I mean, even if everyone else was the same and we still didn't know them, if we had, like. Just one more person. Silver, or Ryoji... yeah.
[It's not like they're fighters like Tucker or Wash, but those two are the ones they've been living with, the ones who, like them, decided, when they had nowhere else to go, to go there together.]
Silver would...he'd take something like this as badly as we are, I think. Oh, not this again, for one thing, but...
[She doesn't finish the thought, but she suspects she won't have to, since Dave will likely be able to do it just as well for himself — that Silver would take one look at the free-for-all that is the grocery stores and the abandoned shops and their wares, and he'd decide that one house wasn't nearly enough. He'd fill one, and then move on to the next, just in case.
And yet, in his way, Silver would be more prepared for this than any of them. Silver had always been the best at surviving. It's why she'd been so shocked when he'd turned up as a ghost right on her heels.]
I wish he were here too. Or Ryoji, or both of them — but even just one. Good things come in threes, isn't that how the saying goes?
That would be nice. Two by two, through and through.
[She leans up to nuzzle lightly against his jaw, just for a second or two, and then goes to flip over card number six.
It's very apparent that her predicting is getting calmer and more laid-back by now; she's turning over the cards and following them to her own conclusions all in the same smooth motion, and letting go of some of the Fortune Teller Theatrics™ that she so often has otherwise.]
Mmm. The "below" is the Three of Wands. Below is about the subconscious, the hidden. It means thoughts of what's underlying our current situation, and the Three of Wands is about...expansion into the future. It's about looking past boundaries, as we see them. And it seems...the greatest "boundary" facing us is the need to feel safe, isn't it? So I think what the Three is saying here is that where it might be our inclination to only focus on the short-term, that might just as well be a folly. We mustn't forget the long-term, either, no matter how compelling it might be to ignore it in favor of the other.
[Dave frowns, opens his mouth, shuts it without saying anything--a Christmas miracle, or an oddity, anyway--and resettles in their seat again, like getting comfier might bring the cards' meaning into focus.
Eventually he sighs.]
I think. I don't totally understand that one.
[Babe, tasukete.]
I get the concept, but I don't know how to apply it in our case. Think of the long-term... beyond safety?
[He'd been thinking of the future--their future--before they'd arrived here, of course, but that's. Complicated, now.]
I think...mmm. Perhaps it's meant to say something like, "one mustn't sacrifice opportunity for safety". Or at least, one oughtn't do that without careful consideration of everything else.
[She pauses, chiming in with a sigh of her own.]
...Take Giorno, for instance. He frightens me a little, from how...familiar he is, in some ways. Some of his bearing, that is, and some of his...just something about him. So, perhaps I might feel like avoiding him for that. But if I do, I might miss out on far more than I realize, for the security of not feeling...pushed past those very narrow boundaries.
[He's pretty something, Dave's not sure what. Like a lead actor commanding the stage with his very entrance, except all the time. He can't help but remember a certain man climbing up on the table for a speech. Purple Hamlet.
He thinks, Meridiana dredged all that up again for a reason. And that reason is, as uncomfortably familiar as she must have found Giorno, she knows, too, that Dave felt the same way. Wound like a spring-loaded mousetrap, ready to snap shut on the interaction as soon as he got too close.
If Meridiana's going to be brave about it, how can Dave do anything less? How can he ask her to face that struggle alone? He gathers her more closely, but here he is, just proving her point: He's stronger with her here, but more afraid, too.]
Yeah, okay. I get you. [He makes the admission quietly, then releases a breath through his nose.] Also, he's our next-door neighbor now, so he'd be pretty hard to avoid either way. I just.
[He thinks over his words, then forces himself to relax. Yeah, she's got him, here.]
...Well. At least it's not such close quarters as the hotel, even so...
[Neighbors is something different, fundamentally, from effectively dorm-mates. Living on the same block is a big departure from living in the same hallway.
But for a little while she doesn't really say anything; she just leans against him and sort of basks in him, nebulously gauging all his smallest fidgets and tells with a mixture of her own natural empathy and her long familiarity with his habits and mannerisms.
Eventually, though, she sits up and wriggles lightly out of his hold, in favor of pivoting and clambering up to sit in his lap outright instead of merely leaning on him.]
I know.
[She wraps her arms around his shoulders, weaving her fingers through the hair at the back of his head as she thinks of tattered red armwarmers and a pale face across the trial circle from her, how he'd run to her and longed to save her and she'd slipped through his fingers on a fatal technicality anyway.
Safety, first and for always. No one could survive a murder game and not come out feeling that way on the other side, of course.]
[O-oh. Goodness, he's getting spoiled tonight. He blinks his eyes wide when suddenly!lap girlfriend derails his entire train of thought. The Cognitive Process Express just jumps the tracks like Flipper going after all of Porter Ricks's pompanos like a total asshole, except then it flounders around belly-up and useless, scattering coal and train parts and squeaking pathetically with a sad kind of whistle.
The point is, Meridiana's move effectively TKO's Dave's mood and he doesn't even miss it. He almost starts to close his eyes when he feels those fingers in his hair--wants to savor it--but he catches himself, looks at her. Manages a smile.]
Gasp. No way. I'm gonna tell all the other kids at school.
[He circles his arms around her again and sinks back into the couch. He's mollified, for now; he hasn't quite solved the general issue of plans beyond safety, but he feels safe to do so, now. He feels safe. He leans up to kiss her, grateful.]
[It's always a little difficult to believe that there is, in fact, a certain strength and support in this. We all need something, but we can all provide something too — we're all strong in our own ways; that was a lesson it'd taken a stay in school to learn, when for so long she'd thought that strength and agency were things that belonged to someone else, and her lot in life was simply to cling to the coattails of the ones who had it.
It's strange that this works, that it turns out the one thing Dave needs and craves is something she knows she can provide, and that she herself derives strength from offering him. His powers are unfathomable, his determination unprecedented, his loyalty unbreakable — and there are still times when she is his knight and not the other way around, and she can defend him by loving him when he needs it most.
Breathtaking.
So she keeps her fingers moving easily through his hair, keeps his head cradled in her hands, and lets him kiss her awhile before taking back the lead, making sure his forehead and brow and cheek aren't left unkissed as well.]
I'll borrow your letter sweater and they can all work it out for themselves.
[It's a reference she only gets mostly right, still with a few very slight flaws in the execution, but a joke doesn't have to be perfect to be what's needed, anyway.]
I'm okay, too. Not...not so scared that I can't still be okay. It's not perfect, far from it, but it's...getting easier to be okay all the time. Is what I mean.
[A soft, pleased noise warbles out of his throat when, once again, Meridiana takes charge of their direction. It's a surprise and a delight every time, because normally he's the one, starved for touch, to rub his nose in her hair, to insinuate himself into her space like a needy cat, to ask wordlessly to play with her hand.
He's like that because Meridiana likes it, because she likes to know she's loved, revels in the freedom to touch, and it amazes him to be able to give her that, to convey feeling towards her with fingers or lips. And he knows she's the same, that she's touchy, too, but more polite about it; this, right here, has nothing to do with polite.
And Dave fucking adores it. Her. He laughs breathlessly, forgetting his earlier discomfort with their subject of conversation as she peppers his face with kisses, and lets his hands slip up to rest on her back, neither pushing nor pulling. He closes his eyes for real, face tilted towards her, a heliotrope.]
Uh-huh. Yeah. That, me too.
[He's so utterly lost for her. Good thing she'll always know how to find him. He lifts one hand to brush along the edge of her curls, to let a lock of hair glide between his fingers.]
Definitely more okay than before. Warming up to further okayness. Hey, am I always this easy to persuade. It's okay, you can tell me. Happy to own it.
[And she does know him well. Certainly well enough to know what to look for in the little nuances of his inflection and his word choices — the lazy way the questioning part of his questions seems to slide off of the end of his sentences; the way his thoughts grow shorter and more clipped, sometimes missing words here and there that these days she never has any difficulty with filling in.
(In his best moments, Dave's spoken word looks precisely the way his bold red text does. It's one of the things that made adapting to the notion of texting come to her as easily as it did — the fact that she could look at the words in front of her, and know exactly how his voice would sound if he were saying them to her instead.)
Dave on guard versus Dave relaxed isn't a matter of hard versus soft, so much. No, if she had to try to put it into words, she'd sooner say that when Dave relaxes, it's like watching color run a little bit at the edges, like a candle melting from the proximity of light and heat, still put-together but a little easier to leave fingerprints in than before.]
But yes. You're terribly easy to persuade. Why, I rather almost think you'd give me anything I could ever ask for, if only I asked for it like this. As though I could wish for the moon and you'd pull it down from the sky to present it to me.
[One of her hands skims down from his hair, tracing over his shoulder to rest against his heart.]
Really, I rather almost think I could wish for the last brownie in the pan and you'd let me have it without a fuss, when you're like this.
[He leans back a little to look at her, mouth half-open to protest, but he gets caught staring at her eyes, the curve of his mouth, for long enough that he forgets what he was going to say.]
Oh no, you're right, fuckkk. Meridiana.
[He slumps back again, defeated, but the corners of his eyes are scrunched with laughter held in, breathy under his whining and wheedling. Lightly, he runs his hand up to hers, lines his fingers up with her between-finger spaces without trapping her. Just following her lines.]
Promise. You can't use your power for evil. You'll make a really hot supervillain but I won't match at all, I don't look good in bad guy palettes, they're all cool colors and greens and I just can't work it.
I always rather wonder about those supervillainesses, you know, in the movies and such. Shoes with heels that high can't possibly be comfortable, and if they're already the heads of their villainous organizations and whatnot as it is, why shouldn't they be allowed to wear whatever shoes they so please?
[This is what the future has done to her. Look out, world, Film Critic Meridiana Everett is here to judge your high-heeled supervillainess shoes and PVC leotards.]
Black would be all right, though, I should think. Aren't black and red suitable villain colors? So, a nice black suit with red piping, perhaps, that'd match wonderfully and be just in line with your style.
[Dave makes a show of his serious consideration, then nods firmly and buries his face comfortably in her collarbone.]
'S cool then, our potential partnership in villainy. [Because the #aesthetic was his only concern.] Maybe that's what we should've asked the cards about, if crime really nets you better benefits. Dental. Paid vacation. What have you.
[He looks up, eyes sparkling a moment.]
Oh my god, you'd be my boss. Workplace relationship. Scandalous.
Really! Is that how it is, it's a workplace relationship that's scandalous, now?
[As opposed to, say, this scandalous cuddling they're doing right now, which is positively rife with iniquity and vice. Obviously.]
...You know, when you put it that way, it does cast a rather different light on the usual knight and lady relationship, doesn't it. If he's performing a service to her, that would make her his employer of sorts, wouldn't it? My goodness.
Volunteerism, I think. Dunno. Might depend on the monetary worth of her token and whether she gifts them as regular wages, though you could make an argument for hankies being standard office supply.
[Office supplies. Sexy.]
Now, if the lady were the queen, on the other hand. Kind of a different dynamic then, yeah?
[He does work his fingers through hers for a moment, but changes his grip and brings her knuckles to his lips while he watches her face.]
[You want to talk about direct hits, now that's one that lands on her with almost the same magnitude as the brownies had on Dave. As glad as she is to be from London, there are some things that will never wholly fade, and it turns out that this is one of them: those dreams of having a title in front of her name, those summer days playing with Elise in the garden and dreaming of wealth and rank and parties and love.
Queen Meridiana. The ring of it pales only slightly next to Queen Victoria, but of course a name that itself means victory is a hard act to follow by anything.
Her eyes fall halfway closed; her long lashes fringe heavy where they frame them. Your Majesty, he says, and chases it with a touch of his lips to her hand.
When he says it, she could really make herself believe it, folly though she knows full well it it.]
[He observes the change in her expression with interest, then weaves his fingers loosely through hers, bouncing their joined hands lightly from side to side, softly playful.]
When we're done here, do you want to build a pillow castle. We'll make you a crown and everything; you'll be Queen of the world.
[He can't think of a better way to spend a sleepless night like this, two frightened children in a strange, dark city. Playing games. Creating worlds. It's all he was ever made for, building towers and pretending at adulthood.
He leans towards her more, touching his nose to hers.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[And for a while, that's all that they are, until at length she rouses herself from the dreamy contentment of being together and reaches for the next card in the spread to flip it over.
The tone of her voice is changing, too; she's less reading at this point and more just talking, turning over the cards like their faces are old friends instead of somber omens, recalling their meanings like fond memories instead of harbingers of doom.]
Mmm. The Three of Cups in the above position — that one is our goal or aspiration, the best outcome of the situation. What ought we to seek or work towards? The Three of Cups says it's...community. Like we all were at the bed and breakfast, the lot of us — about being together with others, and having the support of friends all together to face our challenges and find our safety.
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But that's not it either, is it? That's not even how their collective at the bed and breakfast started. They'd had to learn each other, and it's only time that brought them where they are.]
So... it's telling us to make friends?
[It aches in an itchy way, like picking at an almost-healed scab, to think about doing that all over again, but he sees the logic in it. Even if he doesn't want to re-learn how to trust strangers in a strange place, he sees why, according to some objective ABC family perspective, it's probably a "good thing."
His thoughtful hum sounds more doubtful than eager, but he doesn't complain outright, at least.]
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[She hums under her breath, looking for the words she wants to fit to the idea she has in mind.]
It's more that if we had them, it'd fix the question. Don't you think? Because they're like us. If we had that, everything would be different...which I suppose means that a great deal of the problem we're facing is that, at the moment, we don't.
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[Dave rolls that around like he would a jawbreaker on his tongue, then nods.]
Yeah. Yeah, it would. I mean, even if everyone else was the same and we still didn't know them, if we had, like. Just one more person. Silver, or Ryoji... yeah.
[It's not like they're fighters like Tucker or Wash, but those two are the ones they've been living with, the ones who, like them, decided, when they had nowhere else to go, to go there together.]
I'd feel better. Safer.
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[She doesn't finish the thought, but she suspects she won't have to, since Dave will likely be able to do it just as well for himself — that Silver would take one look at the free-for-all that is the grocery stores and the abandoned shops and their wares, and he'd decide that one house wasn't nearly enough. He'd fill one, and then move on to the next, just in case.
And yet, in his way, Silver would be more prepared for this than any of them. Silver had always been the best at surviving. It's why she'd been so shocked when he'd turned up as a ghost right on her heels.]
I wish he were here too. Or Ryoji, or both of them — but even just one. Good things come in threes, isn't that how the saying goes?
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[Who cares if it's the number of death in Japan? Ryoji's Death, too, and he's great.]
Eight wouldn't be bad, either. More than that and we'd need a bigger house.
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[She leans up to nuzzle lightly against his jaw, just for a second or two, and then goes to flip over card number six.
It's very apparent that her predicting is getting calmer and more laid-back by now; she's turning over the cards and following them to her own conclusions all in the same smooth motion, and letting go of some of the Fortune Teller Theatrics™ that she so often has otherwise.]
Mmm. The "below" is the Three of Wands. Below is about the subconscious, the hidden. It means thoughts of what's underlying our current situation, and the Three of Wands is about...expansion into the future. It's about looking past boundaries, as we see them. And it seems...the greatest "boundary" facing us is the need to feel safe, isn't it? So I think what the Three is saying here is that where it might be our inclination to only focus on the short-term, that might just as well be a folly. We mustn't forget the long-term, either, no matter how compelling it might be to ignore it in favor of the other.
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Eventually he sighs.]
I think. I don't totally understand that one.
[Babe, tasukete.]
I get the concept, but I don't know how to apply it in our case. Think of the long-term... beyond safety?
[He'd been thinking of the future--their future--before they'd arrived here, of course, but that's. Complicated, now.]
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[She pauses, chiming in with a sigh of her own.]
...Take Giorno, for instance. He frightens me a little, from how...familiar he is, in some ways. Some of his bearing, that is, and some of his...just something about him. So, perhaps I might feel like avoiding him for that. But if I do, I might miss out on far more than I realize, for the security of not feeling...pushed past those very narrow boundaries.
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[He's pretty something, Dave's not sure what. Like a lead actor commanding the stage with his very entrance, except all the time. He can't help but remember a certain man climbing up on the table for a speech. Purple Hamlet.
He thinks, Meridiana dredged all that up again for a reason. And that reason is, as uncomfortably familiar as she must have found Giorno, she knows, too, that Dave felt the same way. Wound like a spring-loaded mousetrap, ready to snap shut on the interaction as soon as he got too close.
If Meridiana's going to be brave about it, how can Dave do anything less? How can he ask her to face that struggle alone? He gathers her more closely, but here he is, just proving her point: He's stronger with her here, but more afraid, too.]
Yeah, okay. I get you. [He makes the admission quietly, then releases a breath through his nose.] Also, he's our next-door neighbor now, so he'd be pretty hard to avoid either way. I just.
[He thinks over his words, then forces himself to relax. Yeah, she's got him, here.]
Safety's still the first long-term investment.
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[Neighbors is something different, fundamentally, from effectively dorm-mates. Living on the same block is a big departure from living in the same hallway.
But for a little while she doesn't really say anything; she just leans against him and sort of basks in him, nebulously gauging all his smallest fidgets and tells with a mixture of her own natural empathy and her long familiarity with his habits and mannerisms.
Eventually, though, she sits up and wriggles lightly out of his hold, in favor of pivoting and clambering up to sit in his lap outright instead of merely leaning on him.]
I know.
[She wraps her arms around his shoulders, weaving her fingers through the hair at the back of his head as she thinks of tattered red armwarmers and a pale face across the trial circle from her, how he'd run to her and longed to save her and she'd slipped through his fingers on a fatal technicality anyway.
Safety, first and for always. No one could survive a murder game and not come out feeling that way on the other side, of course.]
I love you, you know.
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The point is, Meridiana's move effectively TKO's Dave's mood and he doesn't even miss it. He almost starts to close his eyes when he feels those fingers in his hair--wants to savor it--but he catches himself, looks at her. Manages a smile.]
Gasp. No way. I'm gonna tell all the other kids at school.
[He circles his arms around her again and sinks back into the couch. He's mollified, for now; he hasn't quite solved the general issue of plans beyond safety, but he feels safe to do so, now. He feels safe. He leans up to kiss her, grateful.]
Love you, Meridiana. I'm okay. Are you okay.
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It's strange that this works, that it turns out the one thing Dave needs and craves is something she knows she can provide, and that she herself derives strength from offering him. His powers are unfathomable, his determination unprecedented, his loyalty unbreakable — and there are still times when she is his knight and not the other way around, and she can defend him by loving him when he needs it most.
Breathtaking.
So she keeps her fingers moving easily through his hair, keeps his head cradled in her hands, and lets him kiss her awhile before taking back the lead, making sure his forehead and brow and cheek aren't left unkissed as well.]
I'll borrow your letter sweater and they can all work it out for themselves.
[It's a reference she only gets mostly right, still with a few very slight flaws in the execution, but a joke doesn't have to be perfect to be what's needed, anyway.]
I'm okay, too. Not...not so scared that I can't still be okay. It's not perfect, far from it, but it's...getting easier to be okay all the time. Is what I mean.
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He's like that because Meridiana likes it, because she likes to know she's loved, revels in the freedom to touch, and it amazes him to be able to give her that, to convey feeling towards her with fingers or lips. And he knows she's the same, that she's touchy, too, but more polite about it; this, right here, has nothing to do with polite.
And Dave fucking adores it. Her. He laughs breathlessly, forgetting his earlier discomfort with their subject of conversation as she peppers his face with kisses, and lets his hands slip up to rest on her back, neither pushing nor pulling. He closes his eyes for real, face tilted towards her, a heliotrope.]
Uh-huh. Yeah. That, me too.
[He's so utterly lost for her. Good thing she'll always know how to find him. He lifts one hand to brush along the edge of her curls, to let a lock of hair glide between his fingers.]
Definitely more okay than before. Warming up to further okayness. Hey, am I always this easy to persuade. It's okay, you can tell me. Happy to own it.
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[And she does know him well. Certainly well enough to know what to look for in the little nuances of his inflection and his word choices — the lazy way the questioning part of his questions seems to slide off of the end of his sentences; the way his thoughts grow shorter and more clipped, sometimes missing words here and there that these days she never has any difficulty with filling in.
(In his best moments, Dave's spoken word looks precisely the way his bold red text does. It's one of the things that made adapting to the notion of texting come to her as easily as it did — the fact that she could look at the words in front of her, and know exactly how his voice would sound if he were saying them to her instead.)
Dave on guard versus Dave relaxed isn't a matter of hard versus soft, so much. No, if she had to try to put it into words, she'd sooner say that when Dave relaxes, it's like watching color run a little bit at the edges, like a candle melting from the proximity of light and heat, still put-together but a little easier to leave fingerprints in than before.]
But yes. You're terribly easy to persuade. Why, I rather almost think you'd give me anything I could ever ask for, if only I asked for it like this. As though I could wish for the moon and you'd pull it down from the sky to present it to me.
[One of her hands skims down from his hair, tracing over his shoulder to rest against his heart.]
Really, I rather almost think I could wish for the last brownie in the pan and you'd let me have it without a fuss, when you're like this.
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[He leans back a little to look at her, mouth half-open to protest, but he gets caught staring at her eyes, the curve of his mouth, for long enough that he forgets what he was going to say.]
Oh no, you're right, fuckkk. Meridiana.
[He slumps back again, defeated, but the corners of his eyes are scrunched with laughter held in, breathy under his whining and wheedling. Lightly, he runs his hand up to hers, lines his fingers up with her between-finger spaces without trapping her. Just following her lines.]
Promise. You can't use your power for evil. You'll make a really hot supervillain but I won't match at all, I don't look good in bad guy palettes, they're all cool colors and greens and I just can't work it.
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[This is what the future has done to her. Look out, world, Film Critic Meridiana Everett is here to judge your high-heeled supervillainess shoes and PVC leotards.]
Black would be all right, though, I should think. Aren't black and red suitable villain colors? So, a nice black suit with red piping, perhaps, that'd match wonderfully and be just in line with your style.
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[Dave makes a show of his serious consideration, then nods firmly and buries his face comfortably in her collarbone.]
'S cool then, our potential partnership in villainy. [Because the #aesthetic was his only concern.] Maybe that's what we should've asked the cards about, if crime really nets you better benefits. Dental. Paid vacation. What have you.
[He looks up, eyes sparkling a moment.]
Oh my god, you'd be my boss. Workplace relationship. Scandalous.
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[As opposed to, say, this scandalous cuddling they're doing right now, which is positively rife with iniquity and vice. Obviously.]
...You know, when you put it that way, it does cast a rather different light on the usual knight and lady relationship, doesn't it. If he's performing a service to her, that would make her his employer of sorts, wouldn't it? My goodness.
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[Office supplies. Sexy.]
Now, if the lady were the queen, on the other hand. Kind of a different dynamic then, yeah?
[He does work his fingers through hers for a moment, but changes his grip and brings her knuckles to his lips while he watches her face.]
I could work with that. Your Majesty.
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[You want to talk about direct hits, now that's one that lands on her with almost the same magnitude as the brownies had on Dave. As glad as she is to be from London, there are some things that will never wholly fade, and it turns out that this is one of them: those dreams of having a title in front of her name, those summer days playing with Elise in the garden and dreaming of wealth and rank and parties and love.
Queen Meridiana. The ring of it pales only slightly next to Queen Victoria, but of course a name that itself means victory is a hard act to follow by anything.
Her eyes fall halfway closed; her long lashes fringe heavy where they frame them. Your Majesty, he says, and chases it with a touch of his lips to her hand.
When he says it, she could really make herself believe it, folly though she knows full well it it.]
Y...Yes. A-A very different dynamic, indeed...
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When we're done here, do you want to build a pillow castle. We'll make you a crown and everything; you'll be Queen of the world.
[He can't think of a better way to spend a sleepless night like this, two frightened children in a strange, dark city. Playing games. Creating worlds. It's all he was ever made for, building towers and pretending at adulthood.
He leans towards her more, touching his nose to hers.]
And I can play knight or dragon. Up to you.