sandandwater | Anticipation [RP thread for fey

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

Entry tags:

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…”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She does know his likes and dislikes as far as what he prefers to drink on the nights his band performs, she also has her own tastes in mind as she dries her hands on a dish towel, mindful of her still quite tender palm. She studies her hand for a moment, odd how it is far less aggravated today than it had been the previous night. Still, Pippa shrugs. It would be absurd to complain about better than usual healing.

Taking a pair of wine glasses down from the wooden rack above the counter and then retrieving an already-open bottle of white wine from the fridge, she pours them both a glass. He isn't going to be on stage, surely he wouldn't object to a glass or two of wine. Besides, Pippa certainly feels the need for something to calm another round of mounting nerves.

"Sauvignon Blanc, it's a bit smokey but from a wonderful little vineyard in New Zealand. I hope you don't mind, it's what I already had opened..." Pippa offers him one of the glasses with a half smile as she sits beside him. She sits at an angle facing him, one foot tucked beneath her in a casual manner, elbow resting against the back of the couch. I could so get used to Sundays like this. The thought wanders across her mind as she lifts her glass to him in an understated salute.

Not being affected by alcoholic drinks doesn't prevent Rory from enjoying their flavors, so he accepts the glass of wine with a smile and a murmur of thanks. His eyes follow Pippa's graceful form as she moves to sit beside him. When she raises her glass, he touches his to it with a delicate clink.

"To beginnings," he says softly, his eyes on hers. Not as original as he might like, but he hopes that this is the beginning for them.

As he takes a sip, he shifts to twine their fingers together. So much to tell her, so much to discuss ... but he can't deny himself the contact right now. His fingers brush her bandage lightly. "How's your hand, sweet?"

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Anticipation [RP thread for fey_fire]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject