sandandwater | Anticipation [RP thread for fey

Current Mood: anxious
Current Location: Last Call
Current Music: Breaker Street sound check

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Anticipation [RP thread for fey_fire]

It’s half past eight and Pippa’s going through the motions of opening Last Call for business. It’s a routine she can perform mostly by rote: sweep the floors, take the chairs down from the tables, wipe off the bar and the table tops, deal with petty cash for the register…let the band in the back door when they arrive. The band. Breaker Street. Rory.

.

She closes her eyes and forces herself to take a deep, calming breath. Normally, she loves Wednesdays. Loves being the only one here as they set up the stage with their instruments, tune up. She usually helps Morrie run the sound check. Chats with the band and gazes longingly at Ro whenever he’s not looking at her. But tonight—

The red haired woman has a feeling that tonight’s going to be

much

different. She hasn’t seen Ro since their phone call revelations and she’s counting on (hoping, really) him keeping his word about kissing her. She’s even gone so far as to dress a bit nicer this evening. A simple baby doll smock with capped sleeves and jeans. Her usual funky collection of jewelry. Heeled shoes that give her considerably more height, taking into account Rory’s tall, lanky frame.

She hears the solid cadence against the metal fire exit doors. That’d be Kreske, the drummer tatting out some ridiculous rhythm instead of just knocking.

Here goes nothing

…Pippa smooths a hand over her riot of curls and hurries across the bar to let them in. She tucks her blistered and bandaged hand behind her back as she uses her free arm to brace the door open. “Hey, guys…”

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She echos his toast in a quiet murmur, a gentle smile and a silent thought of her own. Oh, yes...please let this only be the beginning of something wonderful.

Pippa's gaze falls to their hands, letting her fingers slips easily between his. It feels natural, comfortable. Right. Swallowing her own sip of wine, she furrows her brow and tilts her head to the side before answering Rory's question. "You know...it's the oddest thing, yesterday it hurt like--well it hurt quite a lot, actually. But ever since last night, it doesn't seem so bad."

She places her glass on the coffee table, freeing her hand to brush her fingers over the bandages crossing the wounded palm of her other one. "This certainly isn't the first time I've been careless or clumsy in the studio and given myself a blistering burn, but this is the first time it's ever started to heal so quickly."

Edited 2008-09-14 07:39 (UTC)

Well there you are. You're not going to get a better opening than that if you wait all evening.

But ... can't I wait just a little longer? She's going to think I'm stone daft, and that's the best-case scenario.

And delaying will change that how, exactly?

But--

No more buts, boyo. Out with it.

Rory did take another sip-- all right, a swallow -- of his wine to cover his apprehension before setting his glass down as well. Folding his left hand around her right, he met her gaze earnestly.

"That's ... one of the things I need to talk about with you, Pippa. The main thing, actually." Here goes everything. "You see, there's a reason your hand is feeling better, and that reason has to do with me. With what I am."

Talk? Now? ...I had hoped to at least get through dinner first--what is he saying? Not knowing what to say to a comment like that, Pippa looks down at their hands again, at the way they are stacked and folded, clasped and entwined. "I'm...I'm really not sure I know what you're getting at, Ro."

She's far too polite to simply say she thinks he's being odd, a little weird even. More than that, she's hoping he really isn't going to prove to be some sort of nutty eccentric--goodness knows that New York is full of those types. "What you are has to do with my hand healing? I don't quite follow..."

Pippa's looking at him again, her blue eyes full of wary apprehension at what he might say next. She's also fighting the instinctive impulse to pull her hands away from him. Just in case.

We should have waited.

... shut up.

Like it or not, he was in it now. Time to find out if she could handle this revelation or not.

"I'm sorry, sweet. I don't mean to disturb or upset you," he said, his voice as gentle and sincere as he could make it. "What I have to say is going to sound strange; there's no way around that. But maybe I should start with a demonstration."

With that he releases her right hand to pick up her left from the back of the couch and cradle it in both of his. He still carries a portion of the energy he took in during last night's performance, and he uses it to do now what he wanted to do then. Sending warmth flowing down from her wrist and in through his fingers, he focuses on the burn underneath Pippa's bandages, soothing pain, healing flesh and smoothing away scar tissue.

She's confused, a little uneasy and yet...he's so kind and his voice so soft that she can't make herself pull away or even laugh at the ridiculous notion he's just suggested.

Pippa's gaze travels from his face to her hand and back again, not knowing what he's doing or how he expects her to react. She doesn't have to wonder for long, as the burn heals and the familiar itch of skin renewing, the tightness of scars forming then the sensation of it all vanishing, she gasps and her eyes go wide. "I...how...I...what...you...I...that's not..."

She's so eloquent when shocked or flustered. What she feels in her hand makes no sense to her and she starts to gingerly peel away and unwind the gauze wrapped around her hand. Her palm revealed and apparently healed, Pippa simply stares at it.

Then at Rory.

Stunned amazement. Yes, that's a perfectly reasonable first reaction. He just hopes the second doesn't involve screaming, locking herself in the bathroom or calling the police. Or any combination thereof.

All he can do now is forge ahead in that same soft tone. "I'm a púca. A Faerie, one of the Other Folk. I don't normally tell people, but--" He flounders to a stop at the look in her eyes, swallowing hard.

"I know it sounds crazy, sweet, I know it. But it's true. And whatever I am is nothing you'll ever need fear." Quashing his inclination, Rory leaves his hands in his lap. He doesn't think he can handle her flinching away if he reaches out to her.

"Oh, I see..." Her tone makes it perfectly clear that she doesn't and Pippa is rather relieved to have her hands back to herself.

"I--" Nervous laughter is the best she can do at this point, maybe he's making a joke about this...please let it be a joke and there is some rational explanation for her hand that will be forthcoming. "No, I don't think I'd tell people that either, to be honest."

Pippa hasn't a clue what a púca is but he's throwing around words like faeries and otherfolk so she's imagining an over-grown Tinkerbell of sorts and coming to the conclusion that she shouldn't have offered him alcohol. He's obviously already high.

Ah yes, as predicted, she thinks he's a lunatic. An overwhelming temptation washes over Rory at that moment: go ahead, pass it off as a joke, or a dare from a friend. Do anything but keep pushing toward the truth. He wants to. He can't.

"Pippa. Look at your hand." His voice, though still gentle, has turned firm and persuasive. "Could I have done that if what I've told you wasn't true?"

His thoughts are equal parts please believe me and please don't fear me. He wonders how much is showing through his eyes.

That he persists with this and clearly isn't making a joke or trying to be funny, Pippa gets to her feet and moves across the room. If she's going to have to ask him to leave, she prefers to do that from a distance.

She really doesn't want things to come to that...she's known him for so long and always thought of him as such a charmingly wonderful man. And he does have a point about her hand, even if everything else he is saying is sheer madness. From her place by the window, Pippa does as he asked, looks at her hand. She brushes her fingers across the healed palm, touch light enough to tickle at first and then more firmly as it's proven that the flesh is no longer tender.

"But..." She looks over at him, at the expression on his face and carefully chooses her next words. "Ro, I'm sorry but this really is insane. Do you really expect me to believe that you're a--what did you call yourself? I don't know what to think about this." She holds up her hand, "But I do know that I haven't believed in faerytales since I was a little girl. A very little girl."

Stinging disappointment combines with a leaden feeling in his gut when she moves away from him. So ironic that he goes so long hiding what he is, only to be disbelieved when he finally does tell the truth. But what else could he expect? What else can he do?

"A púca," he murmurs in response to her question. "A horse-fey. Irish, hence the accent." A wry humor overtakes him. "I suppose I could turn into a horse to convince you, but that would be rather hard on your flooring." Leaning forward, he braces one elbow on his knee and rests his forehead on the heel of his hand. "Or I could show you what my eyes really look like. Though how that's supposed to convince you when your hand didn't, I don't know ..."

Pippa does give him a bit of a wry smile when he remarks about his own accent. She enjoys his speaking voice quite a lot because of the lilt, always amused at the way it seems to go away when he sings.

Still rubbing at her hand, almost absently now, she takes a few steps closer to him, stopping at the mention of his eyes. (The nonsense about turning into a horse she opts to disregard for sanity's sake, some things are simply too ridiculous to consider.)

"Really look like? Ro...Ro, really, I'm just confused here. I am." She bites her bottom lip at she watches him sitting there, head in his hand and her puppy still draped across the toe of his shoe. He looks quite miserable, really and in turn this makes her feel sorry for him if nothing else.

Pippa moves closer and kneels between the sofa and the coffee table, taking the time to scoot Mr. Beaker out of the way before she places her hands on his knee. Her head tipped back so that she's looking up even as he's looking down, Pippa speaks just as quietly as he has been. "Ro...Rory, I can't explain what you did to my hand. I just can't. It's...surreal is the best word I can come up with and even if I could find a way, a sane way, to explain it...how in the world am I supposed to assume this means you're--an Irish horse fey?"

She's trying to speak to him calmly and without sounding as if she's speaking to a small, somewhat addle-patted child, but the note of amused humoring creeps into her words anyway.

"You're not," he sighed. "But I had to tell you, Pippa. I have to be honest with you, even if you won't believe me." The corners of his lips curl up a bit at her touch. Even if she's humoring him, it's still better than her standing stiff and wary across the room.

Time for step two. "Right. The eyes it is then," he murmurs, lightly stroking one of her hands. "Just ... try not to be frightened, okay?"

He blinks, and in between the lowering of his eyelids and the lifting of them, he drops the glamour that makes his eyes look human-normal. Deep, velvet brown animal eyes look into Pippa's blue.

"Well, I do appreciate honesty but--" She's still trying to humor him, at least until he blinks and Pippa finds herself looking up into impossibly big, brown eyes. Of course his eyes themselves aren't any larger, it's just that the irises...Pippa's not thinking of that, she's falling backwards to land flat on her ass out of total shock.

"Oh, my God!" And there's the yelp and hand flying up to cover her mouth. Her reaction also sets off the dog, Mr. Beaker letting out a series of sharp barks as he jumps around his owner.

Ignoring the dog's barks, Pippa pulls Mr. Beaker to her chest, hugging the little animal protectively (or maybe using him as a shield) as she continues to gape at Rory. She stares eyes wide, her mouth forming a perfect little 'o' and she's trying not to tremble. If she could actually get her mind to focus on anything other than the fact that there is a very not normal man in her apartment, odds are Pippa would be scrambling back and away from him again.

As it is, she's just going to sit there and be stunned. A lot.

He doesn't blame her, he truly doesn't, but still the flinch makes him flinch in turn. Rory's trying so hard to do the right thing, and instead he keeps making things worse. With another sigh he thinks soothing thoughts at Mr. Beaker. At least he can calm the pup's fears, if not those of his mistress.

So what have all his efforts to be honest with someone who's become rather special to him gotten him so far? Dinner and a nice evening ruined, possibly a friendship as well, plus a large dose of awkwardness to come every time Breaker Street plays at Last Call. Rory can only sit for a minute, feeling very low and trying to collect himself.

"I'm sorry Pippa," he says at last, his reassuring tone only slightly roughened around the edges. "I really didn't come here to scare you. I'll leave if you want me to."

Mr. Beaker quiets and stills, relaxing in her arms and then wiggles again as he wants to be let free. Pippa obliges the dog without taking her eyes off Rory, setting the little Doberman on the floor and not paying him any mind as he flops over the puca's feet once more.

This isn't what she wants. This isn't what she wants, not at all. It's not what she had envisioned the evening to be, nowhere close. And it saddens her as much as his revelations scare her.

It's not until he speaks, offers to leave, that Pippa lowers her gaze. What is she doing? What is she doing? She's trying to make logical sense out of the insanity he's told her about, the amazing and surreal (yet concrete) fact that he isn't a normal person...but--

Very softly and without looking at him just yet, "Please stay. I don't want you to leave, Ro." She chews her bottom lip, marshaling her nerve before getting up from the floor while trying to look dignified about it.

Pippa remains standing but she doesn't move away from him again and if her hand is shaking slightly as she places it against the side of his face, it's not because she's afraid of him but that she's frightened of what she's doing. "Can I ask you a question?"

His eyes lift to her face the moment she asks him to stay and remain there as she stands. Rory can feel his own heart thudding, hear the rush of blood in his ears. Does he dare hope, or is Pippa just being her usual polite self?

He leans slightly into her touch, wanting to kiss away the tremors in her fingers but unable to let himself. "Of course you can," he answers, trying to keep his voice steady. "Anything."

She is, in part, being polite for the sake of giving herself something to focus on--having to keep her voice level, her words chosen with care and her demeanor controlled. It's a distraction for herself and one she's very familiar with. Familiarity is comforting, after all. Pippa is also trying very hard to remind herself that Rory isn't the only one with things to reveal and she'd be rather hurt (terribly so) if he reacted to her the way she's been carrying on. Granted, what she needs to share with him is...ordinary by comparison. Still, doesn't he deserve the very consideration she herself wants?

Of course he does.

"You pretend to be...human," Well there's something you never thought you'd utter in all seriousness, "You're not just pretending with me, are you? Last night, I mean...and the things we discussed on the phone a few days ago. You meant those things, didn't you?"

She keeps her palm pressed to his cheek, her eyes on his and she realizes that in those dark depths she can still see the warmth and gentleness she's come to know from Rory Stone. "Please, Ro...I need to know what you want."

His eyes don't waver as he brings his hand up to cover Pippa's as it cups his cheek. "I meant every single word." And more besides. "That's why I had to tell you. I couldn't -- couldn't move forward with you if you didn't know. I couldn't do that to you."

Taking the risk, Rory angles his head just enough to lightly brush his lips against the heel of her hand. "I want you, Pippa," he husks softly. "I want to be close to you inside as well as out. I want to share with you ... to love you."

He wants...the same things she wishes to share with him. Pippa doesn't question this, for all she resisted believing his other truths, this is the one she won't consider being skeptical about. The corner of her mouth curved upwards in a faint smile at his kiss and she nodded her head, just once. "All right."

Could it really be that simple? Just accept it, him...maybe not. She is sure she'll have other questions, concerns, curiosities certainly--but that can all wait. Right now it's enough to know that aside from alarmingly dark animal eyes and a healing touch of magic (what else could she call it?), he is still the musician she's been slowly falling in love with for the past year. He's still Ro.

Pippa brought her free hand to rest on his shoulder. "I...I want, well, I've wanted that with you too." She's searching his face with her eyes again. Should she even try to tell him her own secrets right now or let it wait until later?

All right. Only two words, but those two words brighten Rory's eyes and put a slowly-widening smile on his face. All right. Pippa wants him too. Wants to be with him. He still senses a shy hesitancy in her, but the smile is returning to her face and eyes. They can deal with anything else.

Slowly, almost reverently, he turns his head to place a kiss in her palm. Then he stands, again moving slowly to avoid jostling her, and wraps her in his arms. With a soft sigh, he dips his head to press his face against her hair.

His kiss sends warmth spiraling through her palm and up her arm and by the time he's wrapping his arms around her, Pippa is more than willing to melt into his embrace. Being held, feeling his breath on her neck as he rubs his face against her hair, she can't help but think of the previous night and the way they had stood together in Last Call's storeroom. Hesitant touches turning into hungry kisses and eagerly exploring hands...if she just thinks about that, thinks of him as the man whose kisses she wants, everything else is easy to overlook.

She turns her head then, pressing a light kiss just below his ear before offering, "I'm not afraid you."

A last trace of tension eases from his neck at her words. Rory presses Pippa just a little closer to him, savoring the feel of her warmth against the length of his body. He's humming something, and smiles to realize that it's the same tune he hummed when they danced for the first time, the tune he reworked into a song just for her.

But first ... he lifts his head to look in her eyes and murmur, "I'm so glad, sweet." When he lowers his head once more, it's to cover the full curve of her lips with his own.

"Mmmm..." The sound comes out on a soft sigh as she returns his kiss, the action nowhere near as timid as it the night before. After letting him capture her mouth and exploring his in the same manner, Pippa slowly pulls away and smiles up at him. "I really should start dinner. Come keep me company in the kitchen?"

She has no intention of letting their conversation end here and she certainly isn't going to try and put a stop to his kisses, but Pippa is determined to salvage what was a very nearly wrecked evening. She'll make dinner as promised. Dessert too. And somewhere between the two she'll find the courage to talk to him about the things she does fear.

"It would be my pleasure." Rory trails Pippa into the kitchen, still grinning. He thinks he probably won't stop grinning for a while.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he offers. "My mother made very sure that all her children knew at least the basics of cooking. If you have anything that needs peeled, chopped, washed or whatever, I'm your man."

She shakes her head and looks up at him, only pausing briefly as she catches sight of his odd eyes--they're growing on her. "No, I did most of the prep work earlier, while I was waiting for you to get here. Just talk to me."

Pippa is pulling covered bowls and containers from the fridge and placing them on the counter as she talks, her stove already laid out with the copper-bottom pots and pans she prefers to cook with. "Your mother taught you to cook?"

Maybe she'll start in slowly with things, he is giving her a bit of an opening. "That's nice. I...I don't think my mother actually even knows where the kitchen proper is in the house. I don't recall ever seeing her in there. The butler's pantry on occasion..."

Pippa stops what she's doing as she attempts to twist the lid off of a jar of marinated capers. Holding it out sheepishly, "I think I could use your help after all."

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Anticipation [RP thread for fey_fire]

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