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[It's their first Friday in the new world.
She's been trying as best she can not to think about it, but the fact of the matter is that after what she and Dave have been through at Hell Hotel, there's really no shaking off the apprehensions that inevitably come attached to the standard repetitive weekly cycle. Mondays are the only day one can let one's guard down; Tuesdays are tense with anticipation for some new horror. Wednesday and Thursday are survival days. Thursday nights are impossible to sleep. Fridays are —
She died on a Friday.
It's practically a nursery rhyme, isn't it? Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday; christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, grew worse on Friday, died on Saturday, buried on Sunday. Sometimes the memories feel a little bit like that; grew worse on Friday is always unfailingly true, isn't it.
But supposedly that's not how it's going to be, not this week, not here. This isn't the bed and breakfast, but they're under a roof and behind walls with doors that open to the outside whenever they want; there's been no danger and no despair, and everyone they've met has seemed content to simply live in harmony, rather than growing desperate and plotting murder.
Even so, she's up all night. She's known all week that she was going to be, once Thursday night rolled around.
But she suspects Dave isn't going to be sleeping either, so a little bit after midnight she goes to find him, bundled up in borrowed clothes and carrying her stuffed chinchilla rabbit close to her chest like a little girl after a nightmare.
But then, maybe that's precisely what she is: a little girl, after a nightmare.]
She's been trying as best she can not to think about it, but the fact of the matter is that after what she and Dave have been through at Hell Hotel, there's really no shaking off the apprehensions that inevitably come attached to the standard repetitive weekly cycle. Mondays are the only day one can let one's guard down; Tuesdays are tense with anticipation for some new horror. Wednesday and Thursday are survival days. Thursday nights are impossible to sleep. Fridays are —
She died on a Friday.
It's practically a nursery rhyme, isn't it? Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday; christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, grew worse on Friday, died on Saturday, buried on Sunday. Sometimes the memories feel a little bit like that; grew worse on Friday is always unfailingly true, isn't it.
But supposedly that's not how it's going to be, not this week, not here. This isn't the bed and breakfast, but they're under a roof and behind walls with doors that open to the outside whenever they want; there's been no danger and no despair, and everyone they've met has seemed content to simply live in harmony, rather than growing desperate and plotting murder.
Even so, she's up all night. She's known all week that she was going to be, once Thursday night rolled around.
But she suspects Dave isn't going to be sleeping either, so a little bit after midnight she goes to find him, bundled up in borrowed clothes and carrying her stuffed chinchilla rabbit close to her chest like a little girl after a nightmare.
But then, maybe that's precisely what she is: a little girl, after a nightmare.]
[He doesn't even try. To sleep, that is.
Dave can't not be aware of the inexorable, orderly progress of time, heavy like chain links he can dart around and through and back and forth but never, just like anyone else, leave behind. He spent his whole day--the whole week, really, but especially today--busy. He's been looping freely to shovel the whole neighborhood, pausing in between to take naps on the soft, perfect, horrendously ugly couch he found; he's been, at one point, in about four places at once today.
It's night, now, and it's cold, and Dave was never going to sleep anyway. Also, he's kind of sore from all the shoveling and running around.
He would have wanted to just be with Meridiana, to listen to her heart beat and murmur stories to each other in the dark, but he's been trying--he doesn't know. Not to lie or anything, or to block her protectively from the truth, but to really firmly treat this as something they can Handle, something that doesn't have to totally upend their lives, despite all evidence to the contrary. It's not unlike them to cling like children on any Thursday night, but he wants Meridiana to have all the sleep she can get.
So, knowing he was going to hold a vigil all night, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand still, knowing he was going to tense at every sound in this unfamiliar old house--knowing she's so attuned to him, she'll wake when he does--Dave kissed her good night with a weary kind of smile and told her he'd be up for a while. In the meantime, he patrols the house silently in three pairs of socks, learning its shadows and corners in the darkness, too, until it's theirs.
He's quiet every time he passes the bedroom door, but not silent. He's here. He's fine. She won't wake up alone. Sometimes he pauses there and thinks about how Haruka can't sleep anymore unless it's in a bedroom, afraid of breaking the rules, and he wonders if they'll ever really get out of that hotel.
When the door opens, he's just about to walk the corridor again. He stops, silent, then exhales as he releases a tension he didn't even know he was holding.
Dave lets go of the poor, ragged edge of his arm-warmer and holds his hand out to Meridiana.]
Hey.
[It was always going to be like this.]
We can make hot chocolate.
Dave can't not be aware of the inexorable, orderly progress of time, heavy like chain links he can dart around and through and back and forth but never, just like anyone else, leave behind. He spent his whole day--the whole week, really, but especially today--busy. He's been looping freely to shovel the whole neighborhood, pausing in between to take naps on the soft, perfect, horrendously ugly couch he found; he's been, at one point, in about four places at once today.
It's night, now, and it's cold, and Dave was never going to sleep anyway. Also, he's kind of sore from all the shoveling and running around.
He would have wanted to just be with Meridiana, to listen to her heart beat and murmur stories to each other in the dark, but he's been trying--he doesn't know. Not to lie or anything, or to block her protectively from the truth, but to really firmly treat this as something they can Handle, something that doesn't have to totally upend their lives, despite all evidence to the contrary. It's not unlike them to cling like children on any Thursday night, but he wants Meridiana to have all the sleep she can get.
So, knowing he was going to hold a vigil all night, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand still, knowing he was going to tense at every sound in this unfamiliar old house--knowing she's so attuned to him, she'll wake when he does--Dave kissed her good night with a weary kind of smile and told her he'd be up for a while. In the meantime, he patrols the house silently in three pairs of socks, learning its shadows and corners in the darkness, too, until it's theirs.
He's quiet every time he passes the bedroom door, but not silent. He's here. He's fine. She won't wake up alone. Sometimes he pauses there and thinks about how Haruka can't sleep anymore unless it's in a bedroom, afraid of breaking the rules, and he wonders if they'll ever really get out of that hotel.
When the door opens, he's just about to walk the corridor again. He stops, silent, then exhales as he releases a tension he didn't even know he was holding.
Dave lets go of the poor, ragged edge of his arm-warmer and holds his hand out to Meridiana.]
Hey.
[It was always going to be like this.]
We can make hot chocolate.
[Hey.
She remembers the conscious process of adapting to that, the transition from a more proper good day or why hello into accepting the flatter, stranger hey as her greeting of choice. It's a silly thing to dwell on, but the fact of the matter is that she's sort of dwelling on everything right now; it's only to be expected when it's so easy to get caught up in the riptide of encroaching memories in the dark of the night.
He offers his hand and she gravitates to it, to him, as naturally as breathing. If they're holding on tight, they can't be separated from each other. That's just how it is.
That's the comfort right now, even moreso than the prospect of hot chocolate.]
I think...I could use a hot chocolate, very much so. And you, too.
[She leaves that vague, open to interpretation — does you, too mean she's not the only one who needs a hot chocolate, or is the chocolate just not the only thing she needs right now.]
I don't think I've any chance of sleeping anymore, for a while.
She remembers the conscious process of adapting to that, the transition from a more proper good day or why hello into accepting the flatter, stranger hey as her greeting of choice. It's a silly thing to dwell on, but the fact of the matter is that she's sort of dwelling on everything right now; it's only to be expected when it's so easy to get caught up in the riptide of encroaching memories in the dark of the night.
He offers his hand and she gravitates to it, to him, as naturally as breathing. If they're holding on tight, they can't be separated from each other. That's just how it is.
That's the comfort right now, even moreso than the prospect of hot chocolate.]
I think...I could use a hot chocolate, very much so. And you, too.
[She leaves that vague, open to interpretation — does you, too mean she's not the only one who needs a hot chocolate, or is the chocolate just not the only thing she needs right now.]
I don't think I've any chance of sleeping anymore, for a while.
I probably should've just set up camp with you to start with. Sorry.
[He holds her hand between both of his to warm it, to apologize, then lifts it to his lips for a soft kiss before leading her kitchenwards. They have pots and pans, they have groceries. Dave starts to heat the milk he pretty much only uses for this and for cereal and watches the little flames on the gas range for a moment without speaking.]
It is kind of like before, isn't it.
[Night never was the time for bravado.
At night, Dave was always with someone else, talking quietly, sleeping back to back, making just as much noise as breathing makes to remind himself they're alive, he's alive, he's not alone.
He's layered shirt over shirt under sweater and he still feels cold, like memory is its own phantom pain, untreatable.]
[He holds her hand between both of his to warm it, to apologize, then lifts it to his lips for a soft kiss before leading her kitchenwards. They have pots and pans, they have groceries. Dave starts to heat the milk he pretty much only uses for this and for cereal and watches the little flames on the gas range for a moment without speaking.]
It is kind of like before, isn't it.
[Night never was the time for bravado.
At night, Dave was always with someone else, talking quietly, sleeping back to back, making just as much noise as breathing makes to remind himself they're alive, he's alive, he's not alone.
He's layered shirt over shirt under sweater and he still feels cold, like memory is its own phantom pain, untreatable.]
[It makes her wonder, watching him, if the reason why he didn't end up setting up camp with her is because his track record back in the hotel had been particularly ugly in that respect — going to sleep with someone else in the room and then waking up alone, and coming to find that the reason he was alone was because they were dead. Maybe that's just superstitious, but she still wonders; maybe that's part of the reason for his vigil, for his pacing.
Maybe he's trying to keep her safe in two ways — one by standing guard over her, the way he'd done when she was sick or distraught or couldn't rest, and the other by not getting too near her on a Thursday night, lest she be the only one for his curse to take hold of...and take away from him.
While he works, she moves around behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her cheek somewhere vaguely between his shoulderblades and letting him feel her hanging on without tangling up his hands from the task he's trying to complete.]
Too much like it for my comfort, at least.
[She closes her eyes.]
But...it's strange. It's as though I know full well that we're safe, but I can't seem to...make the rest of me believe in it.
Maybe he's trying to keep her safe in two ways — one by standing guard over her, the way he'd done when she was sick or distraught or couldn't rest, and the other by not getting too near her on a Thursday night, lest she be the only one for his curse to take hold of...and take away from him.
While he works, she moves around behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her cheek somewhere vaguely between his shoulderblades and letting him feel her hanging on without tangling up his hands from the task he's trying to complete.]
Too much like it for my comfort, at least.
[She closes her eyes.]
But...it's strange. It's as though I know full well that we're safe, but I can't seem to...make the rest of me believe in it.
[When Meridiana holds him, something unlocks. Dave tilts his head back and breathes out, long and shivery, and places one of his hands on her wrist.
It means a lot to him, that his people let him into their space, are pleased with his tactile gestures of affection and respond with welcome and joy. It means something else when they initiate. When they show they'll hold onto him even when he doesn't. It's important. He needs them to want what he does; needs them to want him, too.]
I think. I think I don't know that at all, yet. That we're safe.
[The unrestricted ability to flip back and forth through time as he pleases is proof against many things, but also not the sole platform he wants their safety to rely on. Dave knows too many ways time travel can go wrong, and too many reasons depending on a single weapon is a stupid idea. He's broken too many swords.
With his free hand, he stirs the milk slowly. Gotta heat it up even or it'll do the gross filmy thing.]
The people are nice and all but there's too much they don't know, so I can't... I dunno how to make sure we're ready.
[Besides stocking their space with all the non-perishables he can find. And looking for weapons to hide around the house. Never will he ever again let them be helpless.
Dave can't shake the feeling that something's going to come, eventually, that they'll need to be ready for. He sighs.]
And I like everybody. But. ...Well.
[He likes a lot of people he doesn't know how to trust.]
It means a lot to him, that his people let him into their space, are pleased with his tactile gestures of affection and respond with welcome and joy. It means something else when they initiate. When they show they'll hold onto him even when he doesn't. It's important. He needs them to want what he does; needs them to want him, too.]
I think. I think I don't know that at all, yet. That we're safe.
[The unrestricted ability to flip back and forth through time as he pleases is proof against many things, but also not the sole platform he wants their safety to rely on. Dave knows too many ways time travel can go wrong, and too many reasons depending on a single weapon is a stupid idea. He's broken too many swords.
With his free hand, he stirs the milk slowly. Gotta heat it up even or it'll do the gross filmy thing.]
The people are nice and all but there's too much they don't know, so I can't... I dunno how to make sure we're ready.
[Besides stocking their space with all the non-perishables he can find. And looking for weapons to hide around the house. Never will he ever again let them be helpless.
Dave can't shake the feeling that something's going to come, eventually, that they'll need to be ready for. He sighs.]
And I like everybody. But. ...Well.
[He likes a lot of people he doesn't know how to trust.]
[It'll occur to her someday, maybe, that one of the benefits of a big house isn't so much that there's more room to live in — but rather that there's more room to store safeguards in, for someone who can't help but prepare for the worst in expectation that it'll be along sooner or later.
What occurs to her in the moment, however, is that she feels bad about Dave being left to those preparations mostly alone, simply because defense of others has never been something she's been very good at, and self-defense is something even less so. It isn't right that Dave is the one kept up to pace the halls, to examine and re-examine their situation for any possible weaknesses, to shore them up with forethought and razor blades. If she could do more of that, it would lift some of the burden from his shoulders, but she knows she can't. For Dave, it's at least a burden he can bear to hold; for her, it'd crush her before long.
That's why there are other things she needs to do instead, other ways to support and contribute to their continued survival. It still makes her sad that Dave is left to suffer like this, have no doubt. But she has to keep reminding herself that her inability to take that from him doesn't mean she's powerless in every respect. There are still ways he needs her, still things she can do that he can't.
How strange, to think that there are things she can do that someone else can't.
She hugs him a little tighter, leaning a touch more of her weight onto him so he can feel her more solidly.]
But disagreeable people are never the ones to watch out for.
[She won't name names. She's never going to. But plenty of disagreeable people ended up victims of murder before their eyes, and plenty of kind, generous, agreeable ones ended up with blood on their hands.]
I've been thinking...perhaps I should try to read my cards for some of them. They'll learn something about themselves, to be sure...but that will mean we'll learn something about them, too. At least a little more than we knew before.
What occurs to her in the moment, however, is that she feels bad about Dave being left to those preparations mostly alone, simply because defense of others has never been something she's been very good at, and self-defense is something even less so. It isn't right that Dave is the one kept up to pace the halls, to examine and re-examine their situation for any possible weaknesses, to shore them up with forethought and razor blades. If she could do more of that, it would lift some of the burden from his shoulders, but she knows she can't. For Dave, it's at least a burden he can bear to hold; for her, it'd crush her before long.
That's why there are other things she needs to do instead, other ways to support and contribute to their continued survival. It still makes her sad that Dave is left to suffer like this, have no doubt. But she has to keep reminding herself that her inability to take that from him doesn't mean she's powerless in every respect. There are still ways he needs her, still things she can do that he can't.
How strange, to think that there are things she can do that someone else can't.
She hugs him a little tighter, leaning a touch more of her weight onto him so he can feel her more solidly.]
But disagreeable people are never the ones to watch out for.
[She won't name names. She's never going to. But plenty of disagreeable people ended up victims of murder before their eyes, and plenty of kind, generous, agreeable ones ended up with blood on their hands.]
I've been thinking...perhaps I should try to read my cards for some of them. They'll learn something about themselves, to be sure...but that will mean we'll learn something about them, too. At least a little more than we knew before.
[Dave's stirring slows, stops. He contemplates the saucepan for a moment, then glances back in her direction.]
How are you so smart. What's your secret, I gotta know.
[He rubs her arm, grateful, and turns his attention back to the stove since necks don't bend that way. What would he even do without her around, he has no idea. She works things out he'd never in a million years even see, understands problems in ways he can't.
Dave walks his hand up the back of hers, weaves his fingers into hers like cloth, rubs her knuckles.]
...Have you read for us, too?
[He remembers how scary-accurate Meridiana's reading was for him, back then.]
How are you so smart. What's your secret, I gotta know.
[He rubs her arm, grateful, and turns his attention back to the stove since necks don't bend that way. What would he even do without her around, he has no idea. She works things out he'd never in a million years even see, understands problems in ways he can't.
Dave walks his hand up the back of hers, weaves his fingers into hers like cloth, rubs her knuckles.]
...Have you read for us, too?
[He remembers how scary-accurate Meridiana's reading was for him, back then.]
I've been thinking about it.
[But. That also confirms that she hasn't yet, and the why of that is soon to come out, as she curls her fingers a little tighter and holds on just a touch more securely.]
But I didn't want to do it alone. It...doesn't come out right, sometimes, if my feelings start to interfere with things.
[The curse of the fortune-teller — and the reason she was always better at telling fortunes when she was little more than an emotionless doll, as opposed to a girl with strong memories and stronger feelings.]
If you drew the cards, though — and I only read them, that is — then I think something might come of it. Some help, some...guidance. Of some sort. It's always easier to answer questions when they're not my own.
[But. That also confirms that she hasn't yet, and the why of that is soon to come out, as she curls her fingers a little tighter and holds on just a touch more securely.]
But I didn't want to do it alone. It...doesn't come out right, sometimes, if my feelings start to interfere with things.
[The curse of the fortune-teller — and the reason she was always better at telling fortunes when she was little more than an emotionless doll, as opposed to a girl with strong memories and stronger feelings.]
If you drew the cards, though — and I only read them, that is — then I think something might come of it. Some help, some...guidance. Of some sort. It's always easier to answer questions when they're not my own.
[He nods. That makes sense, of course tarot readings work better like that. Most things do.
Together, that is.]
Want to try over chocolate?
[It's something to do. More than that, it's work against the stark unknown of this place, and action to take against the stifling, shut-in downtime of night.]
I got a better sense of how asking the questions works now, anyway.
Together, that is.]
Want to try over chocolate?
[It's something to do. More than that, it's work against the stark unknown of this place, and action to take against the stifling, shut-in downtime of night.]
I got a better sense of how asking the questions works now, anyway.
Mmhmm. Make the cocoa a little too hot, and then it can cool on the table while we go get my cards.
[Because there will be no separating or parting ways, with them. Not tonight. Everything they do, they're going to do it together; the notion of losing physical contact is unheard of, unthinkable.]
Do you remember the more involved one I know how to do? Not the three-card, like I do for people who want their fortunes told, but the ten-card one for more solemn inquiries and insights into things. That's the one we ought to do, I think.
[She hesitates.]
I...think we need answers, moreso than we need to know where we've been before and where we might be going later.
[Because there will be no separating or parting ways, with them. Not tonight. Everything they do, they're going to do it together; the notion of losing physical contact is unheard of, unthinkable.]
Do you remember the more involved one I know how to do? Not the three-card, like I do for people who want their fortunes told, but the ten-card one for more solemn inquiries and insights into things. That's the one we ought to do, I think.
[She hesitates.]
I...think we need answers, moreso than we need to know where we've been before and where we might be going later.
Yeah, definitely. [He nods willingly, then huffs a breath of wry self-awareness.] Maybe it's just me--[Doubtful.]--but I've done enough thinking about where we've been before already, tonight. Hang on, though.
[Dave lets go of her hand for a moment so he can test a drop of the milk against the back of his hand. Oh, ow, hot enough, yeah. He licks it and reaches up for where the shaved chocolate's stored--because if there's anything Dave's learned to appreciate over the last year and a half with her, with people who understand that food's not just a vehicle for calories, but an art, something that is allowed to be good, it's how to be fucking decadent when the situation calls for it--and starts stirring it into the milk.]
Marshmallow in yours?
[Why does Victorian Nowheresville have marshmallows, he does not understand.]
[Dave lets go of her hand for a moment so he can test a drop of the milk against the back of his hand. Oh, ow, hot enough, yeah. He licks it and reaches up for where the shaved chocolate's stored--because if there's anything Dave's learned to appreciate over the last year and a half with her, with people who understand that food's not just a vehicle for calories, but an art, something that is allowed to be good, it's how to be fucking decadent when the situation calls for it--and starts stirring it into the milk.]
Marshmallow in yours?
[Why does Victorian Nowheresville have marshmallows, he does not understand.]
It's not just you. And yes, please, to the marshmallow.
[Did you know that they had marshmallows in 1897? They sure did. There was a marshmallow revolution of sorts, they started making them with gelatin instead of mallow plant sap and it was quite a Big Deal.
But anyway.
She turns her head, nuzzling her face into the mass of sweater and shirt covering his back, and then gradually untangles without ever quite letting go, so that she can move around and stand at his side instead of behind him.]
Several, if we're treating ourselves. I think we can stand to treat ourselves, can't we?
[Did you know that they had marshmallows in 1897? They sure did. There was a marshmallow revolution of sorts, they started making them with gelatin instead of mallow plant sap and it was quite a Big Deal.
But anyway.
She turns her head, nuzzling her face into the mass of sweater and shirt covering his back, and then gradually untangles without ever quite letting go, so that she can move around and stand at his side instead of behind him.]
Several, if we're treating ourselves. I think we can stand to treat ourselves, can't we?
[The embrace has worked its magic, anyway. They have a plan of action, even if it is sort of a spooky-vague, short-term plan, and Dave feels less like a ghost haunting the house and more like SHSL Boyfriend, all making hot chocolate for them at midnight, look how domestic she's got him. He bumps her lightly with his bony hip.]
I'm always treating myself, 'round here.
[He thinks about it, then tries to insinuate himself even closer, somehow, warm and embarrassed even as he pours and marshmallows their mugs.]
The implication's that you're a treat. Just thought I'd put that up here on the counter with all the rest of this gooey sweet shit, where we both can see it.
I'm always treating myself, 'round here.
[He thinks about it, then tries to insinuate himself even closer, somehow, warm and embarrassed even as he pours and marshmallows their mugs.]
The implication's that you're a treat. Just thought I'd put that up here on the counter with all the rest of this gooey sweet shit, where we both can see it.
If you hadn't said it, I would've.
[She loves this boy. God, she loves this boy so much, this unexpected boy from a world away and a century ahead of her time who stumbled into her life and flushed red when she touched a hand to his face, who defends her and listens to her and tried to save her from a death she'd earned but never deserved — who, of all the gifts she's ever been given, offered her the very most precious of all: the freedom to grow and the automatic support of whatever directions she might choose, and the outstretched hand to help her to her feet and open doors that she'd always otherwise found closed.
She couldn't possibly love him more than she does, not more deeply and not more fiercely.
For all that she doesn't want to be here, there's a small part of her that accepts she'd rather be here than anywhere else, if this is where Dave is going to have to be.]
I'm very sweet, you know. And I'd be more than happy to prove that again...if you should like to kiss me and remind yourself, that is.
[She loves this boy. God, she loves this boy so much, this unexpected boy from a world away and a century ahead of her time who stumbled into her life and flushed red when she touched a hand to his face, who defends her and listens to her and tried to save her from a death she'd earned but never deserved — who, of all the gifts she's ever been given, offered her the very most precious of all: the freedom to grow and the automatic support of whatever directions she might choose, and the outstretched hand to help her to her feet and open doors that she'd always otherwise found closed.
She couldn't possibly love him more than she does, not more deeply and not more fiercely.
For all that she doesn't want to be here, there's a small part of her that accepts she'd rather be here than anywhere else, if this is where Dave is going to have to be.]
I'm very sweet, you know. And I'd be more than happy to prove that again...if you should like to kiss me and remind yourself, that is.
[It's been a year and a half. He lives with her. They're (give or take a couple weeks on either end--thanks for nothing, Ruby City) engaged to be married. Why is he STILL BLUSHING.]
Are you casting aspersions on my powers of recall, Meridiana.
[Doesn't stop him from leaning right on over, an arm threaded loosely around her waist, for a kiss, though. Just to make sure.
Just because she asked. There's not a thing he wouldn't give, if she asked. He wants her to have the world, because then she'd have everything that makes her happy in it.]
Well, what do you know. You're right. Truly scrumptious.
Are you casting aspersions on my powers of recall, Meridiana.
[Doesn't stop him from leaning right on over, an arm threaded loosely around her waist, for a kiss, though. Just to make sure.
Just because she asked. There's not a thing he wouldn't give, if she asked. He wants her to have the world, because then she'd have everything that makes her happy in it.]
Well, what do you know. You're right. Truly scrumptious.
I'm doing no such thing.
[It's a relief, though, to have that rich fleeting moment of his mouth against hers and his arm at her waist. It's something they both needed right now, a ray of sunlight in a storm, a spot of goodness in the valley of their fears and doubts.]
Come now, let me get one of the mugs, and you take the other. One each, that's only fair, isn't it?
[And that will leave them each a hand to stay holding on to the other. That's what she really means, and it's for the best.]
[It's a relief, though, to have that rich fleeting moment of his mouth against hers and his arm at her waist. It's something they both needed right now, a ray of sunlight in a storm, a spot of goodness in the valley of their fears and doubts.]
Come now, let me get one of the mugs, and you take the other. One each, that's only fair, isn't it?
[And that will leave them each a hand to stay holding on to the other. That's what she really means, and it's for the best.]
Uh-huh.
[Without letting go right away, he turns to silently count the number of marshmallows in each mug, fingers moving quickly as he tallies them up. It takes a second, and then he takes the mug with one fewer marshmallow. #chivalry.]
And when we're done with the reading, we can do slumber party stuff. Like, curl our hair and talk about boys. I always wanted to talk about boys.
[This is a joke. On the other hand, good lord but Ruby City has a lot of boys to talk about.]
[Without letting go right away, he turns to silently count the number of marshmallows in each mug, fingers moving quickly as he tallies them up. It takes a second, and then he takes the mug with one fewer marshmallow. #chivalry.]
And when we're done with the reading, we can do slumber party stuff. Like, curl our hair and talk about boys. I always wanted to talk about boys.
[This is a joke. On the other hand, good lord but Ruby City has a lot of boys to talk about.]
Curled, is it? Would you like yours done up in rings, like G.G.'s?
[It's intentional, the way she borrows the nickname Dave had used for Giorno — gentler somehow than bringing him up directly, thanks to the inherent humor in hearing Dave's vocabulary and phrasing in her sweet dulcet tones.
Even mourning can be made funny when poor despairing Meridiana is lamenting the death of sweet noble Mr. D-Pops, after all.]
...Really, though, I'd like that. Sitting up with you, doing slumber party things. That was the first time we played Never Have I Ever, remember? And you all had to teach me how to play, when I didn't know.
[She laughs a little, under her breath.]
I felt so out of sorts, at first! I was so sure it'd be simply mortifying, talking of things we'd never done when I was so certain that I wouldn't have done any of them, coming from London instead of the present day like the rest of you.
[It's intentional, the way she borrows the nickname Dave had used for Giorno — gentler somehow than bringing him up directly, thanks to the inherent humor in hearing Dave's vocabulary and phrasing in her sweet dulcet tones.
Even mourning can be made funny when poor despairing Meridiana is lamenting the death of sweet noble Mr. D-Pops, after all.]
...Really, though, I'd like that. Sitting up with you, doing slumber party things. That was the first time we played Never Have I Ever, remember? And you all had to teach me how to play, when I didn't know.
[She laughs a little, under her breath.]
I felt so out of sorts, at first! I was so sure it'd be simply mortifying, talking of things we'd never done when I was so certain that I wouldn't have done any of them, coming from London instead of the present day like the rest of you.
[Dave glances hair-wards for a moment (it's late, it's flopping across his forehead more than he lets it during the day) and chuckles, his usual more-breath-than-voice laughter. His hair is probably too short to curl, but they can try.]
Didn't it turn out you did more of those things than me? Or we were about equal or something. I remember thinking something like, thank fuck, we're in this together.
[It felt good, offering his overwhelming inexperience with "normality" as something he could share with her. Dave hadn't even had time to feel self-conscious about his messed-up computer game life, when it turned out he had more in common with her than most could have thought.
His eyebrows rise slightly.]
You know, that's something we could do, too. We got a big house, we could throw a massive sleepover and get everyone to play Never Have I Ever with us.
[In removing his arm from her waist, he rubs her back and then lets his knuckles brush down her arm until he's holding her hand, so they never once lose that contact.]
It's bound to be enlightening.
Didn't it turn out you did more of those things than me? Or we were about equal or something. I remember thinking something like, thank fuck, we're in this together.
[It felt good, offering his overwhelming inexperience with "normality" as something he could share with her. Dave hadn't even had time to feel self-conscious about his messed-up computer game life, when it turned out he had more in common with her than most could have thought.
His eyebrows rise slightly.]
You know, that's something we could do, too. We got a big house, we could throw a massive sleepover and get everyone to play Never Have I Ever with us.
[In removing his arm from her waist, he rubs her back and then lets his knuckles brush down her arm until he's holding her hand, so they never once lose that contact.]
It's bound to be enlightening.
Oh, that would be fun...and not just the games, but the having guests over for the night, as well. It'd be nice, sometime, to have the house full up again.
[She says "again", because what she's thinking of isn't really the house they've claimed here in the city, but rather of the one they left behind in Kalos — big, roomy, and full of life, where people leave for reasons other than murder and there's always a tomorrow waiting on the other side of an evening.
Once he's got her hand, she gives him a little tug, leading him away from the stove and toward wherever they're going to set up shop once they go fetch her cards — the kitchen table, maybe, but possibly somewhere in the comfort of one of the other rooms too. Couches. Coffee tables. Decadance.]
I think for tonight I'm just as happy to have you all to myself, though. And —
[She hesitates a second, just one, before venturing softly: ]
...Once it's sunrise, then the night is over. Isn't it?
[Tautologically, yes, that's exactly what it means. But what she's really geting at is, once sunrise hits, then they're safe — from another week, another Thursday night, another close brush with prowling death.]
[She says "again", because what she's thinking of isn't really the house they've claimed here in the city, but rather of the one they left behind in Kalos — big, roomy, and full of life, where people leave for reasons other than murder and there's always a tomorrow waiting on the other side of an evening.
Once he's got her hand, she gives him a little tug, leading him away from the stove and toward wherever they're going to set up shop once they go fetch her cards — the kitchen table, maybe, but possibly somewhere in the comfort of one of the other rooms too. Couches. Coffee tables. Decadance.]
I think for tonight I'm just as happy to have you all to myself, though. And —
[She hesitates a second, just one, before venturing softly: ]
...Once it's sunrise, then the night is over. Isn't it?
[Tautologically, yes, that's exactly what it means. But what she's really geting at is, once sunrise hits, then they're safe — from another week, another Thursday night, another close brush with prowling death.]
[Couches are good. Couches create more opportunities for unabashed snuggling, and also for lighting a fire if they want, and putting candles everywhere, not just for visibility but for atmosphere. Dave's got one that smells like apple pie. He's excited about it.]
Yeah.
[He's glad to go where she takes him. Loves it. Trusts it, more than he can trust anything else, in any world. Meridiana loves him. It's all he needs to believe in.]
And we can watch the sky change. And the sun come up, if the sky stops shitflaking on us.
[He puts his mug down on the coffee table, then looks up at her, a happy note caught in his unconcealed eyes before it tries to creep onto his face.]
Breakfast in bed.
Yeah.
[He's glad to go where she takes him. Loves it. Trusts it, more than he can trust anything else, in any world. Meridiana loves him. It's all he needs to believe in.]
And we can watch the sky change. And the sun come up, if the sky stops shitflaking on us.
[He puts his mug down on the coffee table, then looks up at her, a happy note caught in his unconcealed eyes before it tries to creep onto his face.]
Breakfast in bed.
[It's strange and so familiar, this little dance they're engaged in just now — the daydreaming together, the looking toward a lighter future to escape the darkness of the present, the clinging and idling and conjuring up fantasies forged in love. Once she would've been afraid of this, because there have been too many times in her past when the castles built up in the air came crashing down around her, crumbling to dust with the onslaught of a harsher reality.
But she's not afraid of this. Since the beginning, Dave has proved himself time and again — or, knowing Dave, time and time and time and time and time and time and time and again — to be different than anything she's ever known.
(Noblemen live in castles, and have spares to flee to when one turns to dust. Knights defend castles, and fight for their loved ones inside them.)
She sets her mug down as well, next to his, and she knows she ought to keep the two of them on track with their plans, but it's so much easier to just walk into his arms and press herself close against his warmth instead, so she does.]
Perhaps lunch and supper in bed, as well. If we're feeling so extravagant — and why shouldn't we?
...It's a fine thought to hold fast to, for now. That there are good things waiting for us on the other side of the morning.
But she's not afraid of this. Since the beginning, Dave has proved himself time and again — or, knowing Dave, time and time and time and time and time and time and time and again — to be different than anything she's ever known.
(Noblemen live in castles, and have spares to flee to when one turns to dust. Knights defend castles, and fight for their loved ones inside them.)
She sets her mug down as well, next to his, and she knows she ought to keep the two of them on track with their plans, but it's so much easier to just walk into his arms and press herself close against his warmth instead, so she does.]
Perhaps lunch and supper in bed, as well. If we're feeling so extravagant — and why shouldn't we?
...It's a fine thought to hold fast to, for now. That there are good things waiting for us on the other side of the morning.
'Course there are. And that's one morning closer to Second Christmas.
[Which is like second breakfast, but with fewer Hobbits, more presents, and no judgey Sean Bean to ruin the fun. Or steal the ring. Fucker best not be stealing any mamahecking rings around Dave come Second Christmas.
He links his hands together behind her back, swaying his weight slowly from foot to foot, glad for the way she fits into him no matter where they are, no matter what they weather (or what the weather, for that matter). He's content, for the moment, to hold her and be held, and to look at the two mugs together on the coffee table, marshmallows melting into fluff, steam rising side by side.
Click. He pretends he's Cam Jansen, taking pictures with his brain, then rubs his face into her hair like a cat hungry for pets.]
And there's good stuff waiting for us right now, but we gotta go get your cards first, and maybe the extra blankets, and I'd pick you up and carry you except I'm still not as buff as Silver, do you still love me and my noodle arms. Meridiaaannaaaa.
[Which is like second breakfast, but with fewer Hobbits, more presents, and no judgey Sean Bean to ruin the fun. Or steal the ring. Fucker best not be stealing any mamahecking rings around Dave come Second Christmas.
He links his hands together behind her back, swaying his weight slowly from foot to foot, glad for the way she fits into him no matter where they are, no matter what they weather (or what the weather, for that matter). He's content, for the moment, to hold her and be held, and to look at the two mugs together on the coffee table, marshmallows melting into fluff, steam rising side by side.
Click. He pretends he's Cam Jansen, taking pictures with his brain, then rubs his face into her hair like a cat hungry for pets.]
And there's good stuff waiting for us right now, but we gotta go get your cards first, and maybe the extra blankets, and I'd pick you up and carry you except I'm still not as buff as Silver, do you still love me and my noodle arms. Meridiaaannaaaa.
Mmm. Perhaps we ought to spare your noodle arms and make our way there with your dancing feet, instead.
[Given that, with the way they're standing together, they're frankly just one balloon's-width of Room For Jesus™ away from being the cutest couple at the middle school dance, as it is.
She makes the first move, though, swaying them a little more emphatically in the direction of their room, fully certain he'll follow along. Funny, isn't it, how it feels so natural to lead half the time, when once she would've believed that following prettily was all she would ever be capable of doing.]
I really don't mind it, you know, that you don't carry me like Silver does. I don't want you to be him any more than I'd have him trying to be you. I like you for you...noodle arms and all.
[Given that, with the way they're standing together, they're frankly just one balloon's-width of Room For Jesus™ away from being the cutest couple at the middle school dance, as it is.
She makes the first move, though, swaying them a little more emphatically in the direction of their room, fully certain he'll follow along. Funny, isn't it, how it feels so natural to lead half the time, when once she would've believed that following prettily was all she would ever be capable of doing.]
I really don't mind it, you know, that you don't carry me like Silver does. I don't want you to be him any more than I'd have him trying to be you. I like you for you...noodle arms and all.
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