[And the day of Valentine's, the cab pulls up as expected. Barclay's already in the back of course, his long, old-fashioned coat on, but an oxford shirt and jeans underneath. Boots of supple leather. It's a combination that he's decided suits him as well as modern fashion ever will.
He brought her black rose and calla lilies. Not too ostentatious a handful-- a neat dozen of each, the sharp contrast of their colors visible even through the window.]
[ she pops out of her place when she sees the cab, wearing a sensible-ish pair of shoes, as requested, as loathe as she is not to wear some crazy heels. When she opens the door for herself, she lets out a low, appreciative whistle, playful and teasing.]
[Barclay makes a helpless little gesture of his free hand.] Another contemporary reference beyond my ken, [he says, lightly.] But I suppose I haven't asked you to take mercy on me, and I'm not about to start now.
These are for you. [Obviously. The flowers. He presents them as if he's done it before, but he hasn't. Not since Magda, any rate. The concept of giving flowers to an object of one's affection had existed in his mind as a performative luxury reserved for people with better lives than he. But he plays it off pretty casual. They're beautiful though; the roses nearly ink-colored, though they'll betray a deep purple tinge under a bright enough light. Calla lilies swirled in in piano-key white.
It'd be a little much for a different girl. A little too Goth. But he's caught onto a few contemporary things since he came here; since he met her.] Are you cross with me, about the wardrobe request?
[ She grins when he reminds her that he's a little limited when it comes to her references and commentary at times. She takes pity on him as she slides into the cab and takes the flowers from him.] They put sexy men on calendars in my time. Their portraits-- [ she uses the bigger, more obscure word.], one for every month.
[ She looks at the flowers, looking quite impressed with them before she looks back at him.] They're beautiful, thank you. [ She touches a few of them buds before he asks his question and she feigns a pout, briefly, only to lean in and plant a playful kiss on his lips.]
No way. I can rock any look I want. [ And she really can, minus that weird short bangs phase she went through.]
[Barclay wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her back, breathing gently across her cheek. The cab driver gives them a bit of a look in the rearview-- she should definitely be wearing a seatbelt, but he was tipped very handsomely and there aren't too many vehicles around at the noon hour. He isn't going to say anything. It'll be fine.
Barclay is somewhat less confident, but you wouldn't be able to tell, from the way he draws a tiny circle around her elbow with his forefinger, then tugs her to get her attention. With his other hand, he holds up something he'd had hidden on the seat beside him in the moment before then: a blindfold, sleek and black.]
Do you reckon you'd be able to rock this one? Fifteen minutes. That's all. Which rules out entendre, before you try to make some mischief at the expense of my manhood. [WE'LL DO WHISKY DICK LATER THO]
[ She's not going to pretend she isn't completely into the way his arm wraps so easily around her waist and draws her closer as a result. Her lips curve against his for a moment, completely oblivious to the cab driver and whatever judgements he might be holding.
He beckons her attention towards the blindfold and she looks at it then at him with an eyebrow arched in suspicion. She trusts him completely, however, it's more of her being her usual sassy self when she speaks--] I'll keep my kinky--- [ she pauses and corrects herself with--] sexual comments to myself. But if this turns into some kind of 'take me out to the desert to kill me' scenario, you and I are going to have words, Barclay Odell. [ It's a tease and she moves to turn her body so he can tie the thing around her head.]
[This continent has no deserts, but Barclay thinks better than to actually mention that. He's looked at maps a lot lately, the further edges of the shoreline, the islands. It's quite relevant to his interests as a pirate. He smiles-- he knows she's joking, and he's pleased all the same when she turns to give him her head.
The blindfold settles across the smooth bridge of her nose, gathers up behind her head. He secures the knot with deft fingers. In the artificial dark, she can feel the car sway gently below and around her. And after the work is done, his arm brackets her waist again, anchoring her body in space despite the disappearance of all visual cues. Eudio's a safe place, but he knows it's a small gesture of trust nonetheless and it's not one he plans to shirk.]
I'm thinking about it, and I don't think I've ever been to a desert. Yourself?
[ She's fairly sure she hasn't heard of this place having a desert either but she hasn't been eying maps and she can't profess to being an expert on the city let alone the surrounding area's. For as world saavy as Kenzi can be, she's done little in the way of exploring the place she's been living in, at least beyond the city that is.
She scrunches up her nose a little as he secures the blindfold, trying to get used to the feeling of it and you know, the loss of one of her most important senses. She instinctively closes her eyes and her brow furrows as he turns her back towards him with that embrace, her head tilting a little towards his face.]
Canada's more of a tundra than it is a desert. [ She feels the movement of the car and she feels a momentary sensation of panic, she's not big on being out of control like this. Her hand blindly moves to rest on his leg, just above his knee, as if to anchor herself or at least give her a better sense of positioning.] I guess it would defeat the purpose of the blindfold to ask where you're taking me?
Correct. That would defeat the purpose, [Barclay answers, but his voice is gentler now, a little worried that this could be more hassle than it's worth. On the other hand, it's early yet. He knows she'd speak her mind, if she didn't want it anymore. He leaves it be, his knee secure under her fingers and his own arm braced firmly around her waist.] But we're about here. It wasn't far. [The car is slowing. She can feel the way the inertia leans through her petite frame until they're at a stop.]
I think I'm going to carry you once we're out. Make life a touch easier. All right?
[The sound of the door opening. The breeze slides in. For a moment-- transient-- there's the faint scent of brine, but the next, it's perfume of flowers gathered up against her bosom, a tinge of acrid exhaust in the background. His hand guides her by the arm, reassuring, easing her out.]
[ It's true, if she wasn't down to participate in whatever quest he's got them going on, she wouldn't be sitting next to him, blindfolded. It's exciting, this is the sort of romantic gesture she's read about or see in sappy movies, the kind of thing she never experienced. So she's into it for now.
He's not wrong, she feels the car slowing and suddenly it's stops as he explains he might carry her. ] As a modern woman, I feel like I should object but... I'm not gonna. [ Because she isn't wild about the idea of falling over or running into something and looking stupid. Not that being carried blindfolded by a tall-sexy-as-fuck pirate isn't on the weird spectrum. But she doesn't have a problem with it.
She thinks, for a moment, she might smell the ocean? But she's not exactly Suzie Detective at the moment, instead, she moves grab his arm after he climbs out, her nose wrinkling as she clutches the flowers to her chest, ready to be suddenly swept off her feet by a pair of arms she happens to like very much.] I can't tell where we are.
That is the objective. One of, [Barclay answers, playfully. Her shoes scuff to a stop on the pavement, which stays reassuringly solid beneath her, counterpoint to his hand.
And then here are his arms, right on cue. Under her legs and behind the small of her back, bracing her up. He says something to the cab driver, grateful, and then they're off. His steps are sure and swift below, boot heels clicking firmly across pavement. And then onto-- that must be wood. The air changes on her, no longer the crisp crosswind of the breeze outside but the warmer, closer air of being cloistered inside walls. The mellow, sweet scent of sawdust wanders into the air, and she's suddenly got the impression of a vast space from the vague echo carried by his strides.
His feet go onto metal. There's a mechanical clank and buzz.] You'dve told me if you were afraid of heights, [Barclay says.] Wouldn't you have? I know you're not tremendously fond of exposing your weaknesses, but I believe we're quite honest with each other, most of the time-- [and there's more movement, a muted hiss and mumble, and then he's walking again. Walking and walking.
He takes off her blindfold eventually.
And they're in The Aerie, the sprawling shipyard. The catwalk he's taken her up to is six stories above the ground. Above the water, rather, which washes quietly up foamy on the drydock there, before leading out into the blue vista of open sea. Noon sunlight filters in through the windows overhead. There are brass fixtures and odd little half-finished craft sitting on the platforms below. Not far in front of her, there's a tiny table perched on the catwalk-- just enough for two, with a matching pair of chairs, crisp blue tablecloth. A vase for her flowers. Beef stroganoff fogging up a glass food bell, and a pitcher of what's obviously kompot. The Eudio version is probably not quite like what they had in Russia, but the red berries in the bottom make the effort unmistakable.
There was
effort. Barclay lets go of her once she seems to have her bearings, his fingers folding up the cloth in his hand.] Sturmhond gave it to me, [he says.] A week ago. This whole place is mine. I thought you ought to be the first to see it.
[ The smells and the sounds only serve to confuse her, to completely throw her off. Because the moment she thinks she gets an idea or even a grasp of where they might be, something changes and things get different and she's more disoriented than ever.
His words don't help. Heights? Kenzi isn't more afraid of heights as the next person, she's not thrilled by the idea of unsecure heights but she isn't going to hyperventilate or pass out. Still, she feels a slight surge of panic for a moment when he asks.] No... [ Suddenly, she's back down on her feet and he's dragging the blindfold off her eyes and---
It takes her a moment to process it. She's honestly never seen anything like it. Sure, she's seen some art and maybe a few movies with the whole steampunk vibe but Kenzi's world doesn't have aeronauts, let alone actual flying boats.]
Barclay... this is... [ Words sort of fail her and he goes on to explain what it is. And his words filter in slowly, give her a moment--] Wait-- [ she feels almost shaky on her feet still as her eyes adjust to the light and her surroundings, but she still darts towards the table, her expression wondrous.]-- is that kompot? Where did you--? [ She looks back at him, those piercing blue eyes bright and happy. Kompot was something from the old country, something of a comfort for her and....
It's then the true weight of what he said previously hits her and she turns completely to face him, her lips curving as she realizes that he wanted to show her this place. That she was the first to see it... as his (obviously not the first person to see it). It was his new treasure and he was sharing it with her.
Hold on a second, her heart is going to go aflutter for a second before she moves back to him, after having set the flowers hastily in the vase. Now that she's an inch or three shorter than she usually is, it's a little harder to grab him by the face and drag his mouth to hers, so instead, she moves to grab the lapels of his jacket instead, pulling him into her so her arms can wrap lazily around his torso.]
Congratulations. [ She grins, her expression tender.] This is... well, it's kind of totally perfect. [ This date. Him. The fact that he has something of his own, something that kind of seems might be right up his alley.]
[He didn't have words either, when Sturmhond gave this place to him.
He hasn't had words for awhile, for the kindness Kenzi has shown him. Her generosity in spirit, in bed, with her kisses and her stories. He still doesn't have them. He's always liked reading-- a gift that Cassidy gave him, but knowing the painful complexities of one's own heart turns in a completely different universe, for him. He looks at her now, and his heart shifts in his chest. He can feel it. It's almost painful. He closes his hands around her heart-shaped face, and wishes that he could touch her pale skin and dark hair somehow reach into the mysterious sea of her thoughts, like the so-called God's fingers of sunlight array through the latticed surface of the ocean. It would be a fine thing, wouldn't it? To know and be known completely.
But this is a close second. As close to perfect as he knows to be, just yet. He stoops down, his braid swinging against her jaw, a featherweight pendulum that's familiar to her by now. He kisses her, thoroughly, his mouth interlocking with the soft and perfect shape of her painted lips. When he grew up poor in Bristol, the ugly city and its hard winters, he thought the countryside meant rich food, live parents, and drinking from flowers. This is almost like that. The last part, anyway.
He straightens again, relaxing his fingers from around her dainty chin. Setting her hair back even around her shoulders.] Happy Valentine's Day, Kenzi. I'm glad to bewilder you. And better yet, to know you.
[ When the kiss ends, she probably looks quite comical, daze and dopey, like an exaggeration of what someone would look like after being kissed. Except that's her reality, that kiss was something else and it leaves Kenzi reeling in the best way. Drinking from flowers, basking in sunlight, affection reciprocated. He doesn't seem to want something from her and she's only just getting used to the fact that love, in its many forms, isn't just some long con.
Her fingers stay curled against his back, her fiercely blue eyes shining brightly as she looks up at him, feeling something she didn't think she'd let herself feel again after everything with Nate.
He speaks and she laughs low at what he says, lips curved in a mix of something sheepish and amused.] Congrats, you've officially wooed me. [ She places a quick kiss to his lips again.] This is me swooning. [ All teasing aside, she lets her hand move to smooth out his jacket and touch his braid, as she sorts the words on her tongue.]
I... I didn't expect to find someone like you but I'm glad I'm wrong. [ She wraps the braid around her finger for a moment, like she's done so many times in the past.] Thanks for giving me the perfect first Valentine's Day ever. [ Because let's be real, Kenzi's never had anything close to a real Valentine's Day, nor did she want one. Until now.]
whispers look at my pretty icons ... i need to rename them fff
[He did. Didn't he? There's a bizarre moment when he realizes she's right, that the glove fits. He wooed her, despite that the last woman he ever pursued in that way was one he lost forever. But he had been more cautious then as well. And considerably less wealthy, he has to say. Mind you, he doesn't think that's what's got Kenzi's attention now, of course. She obviously covets extravagant shoes and pretty dresses, but she doesn't look at the Aerie and see the promise of such profit.
No. She isn't even looking at the Aerie at all, at the moment. She's looking at him. His braid fits perfectly around her finger, a spiral as neat as Christmas candy.]
I didn't expect to find someone like you, either, [he says.] We haven't really got the words to describe you, in my time. But being faerie's got nothing to do with it. [He smiles and he means it, the way it goes all the way up to his eyes. The pirate tilts his head, a slight and painless tug of movement against the hair she's got her hold on.] You're welcome. Will you be staying for lunch?
[ For all that Kenzi can be materialistic and distracted by shiny things, Kenzi doesn't require the finer things in life to be happy. In fact, most of her life has been spent struggling to get those things but being fairly content to live in less than stellar conditions. She wasn't living in rags, oh no, but she wasn't Scrooge McDuck-ing into piles of gold coins.
Kenzi also isn't in denial, she isn't the sort to say that money can't buy you happiness, because, yes, yes it can. It just doesn't buy you all the happiness. A pair of expensive shoes or a dress that costs more than a car may always thrill her but those were only things. She may covet nice things because she lacked them for so long but they are not essential to her complete happiness. They're just like the sprinkles on top.]
I'm not a fairy yet, [ she reminds him with a gentle smile, clearly touched by his words. She gives his braid a tiny tug as he beckoned her to, it seems. She unwinds the hair from her finger and laughs a little, head rolling some in jest at his ridiculous question.] You know moi, have I ever been one to turn down a meal? [ The answer is no. For such a tiny person, the girl can eat as much as a man triple her size.] Feed me, Seymour. [ She takes a beat.] Musical reference.
[Taraaa. Now Barclay will usher to her chair, pull it out for her. Wait for her to place her petite person in said chair, and then tuck it back in under the chair. Once she's on her own feet, it's quite apparent that the floor underfoot would have gone very poorly with stilettos and most of her usually footwear. It's that gridded metal stuff, with the little holes, that would have easily caught her feet and sent her tumbling.
He'd been planning this for awhile.
He's sitting across from her in a moment, sittling on his side of the tiny table. he picks up the pitcher of red berry juice and offers to pour her some, on a little jiggle of a gesture.] I've yet to watch any musicals. Those are the shows-- the plays with loads of singing, right? Live actors and such. Which one's got Seymour?
[ She gets settled in her chair as he does the same, feeling quite smug about this whole arrangement. She'll give him his gift in a moment. For now, she's distracted by the offer of a drink, to which she accepts with a nod and then by the mention of musicals.]
Those are the ones. And Seymour is in Little Shop of Horrors. [ she pauses.] I honestly haven't seen the movie of it since I was young but it's hard to forget a giant man-eating plant. [ She smiles at him warmly, anticipating his reaction.] Musicals are weird.
[ While he pours, she reaches into her coat pocket before she sheds it and lets it hang on the back of the chair. In her hand is soon is a pouch, wrapped with a blue ribbon which hands him. And inside is something like looks like a pocket watch but is, in fact, a sundial and a compass combined with an engraved message:
To Barclay, With the deepest affection, Kenzi
Perhaps the message may make him laugh for how formal it is but that's the point, it's Kenzi being playful and somehow sweet at the same time. She wanted him to know she cares for him, a lot but at the same time have something that he could take back home. It's not like she could put something bawdy like Hells yeah, happy v-day. I love your dick. ]
[Technically, she could have. She could have put a tiny pink cat-shaped eraser in and made a pussy joke. She could have given him a gift card to a grocery store. But she didn't, and as he opens the pouch, curious, takes out the burnished metal object in a hand, weighs it, looks at her, looks at it, then opens it slowly, it's clear that he hadn't expected something like this. If he'd expected anything at all.
He can't be surprised that she's experienced and generous with gift giving, but best surprised anyway. he stares into the sun dial, glances over into the compass. turns himself, a little to watch the needle spin itself, ever pointing north.
Part of him wonders for a moment, irrationally, that if he goes home, whether it might lead him back to here. This moment, this place. Irrational. Or only in memory. It'll be good enough.] I love it very much, [he says, once he can say anything again. His voice is scratchy. Eudio has made him soft, like it made Cassidy soft. Like he'd been soft when he was a child, Cassidy thieving rolls for him from the dinner table. Gifts make you soft. And he'll kill anyone who tries to take this one from him.]
[ She watches him open the gift with anticipation, at first leaned back in her chair before she leans forward and rests her face into her hands, elbows on the table. Kenzi's manners usually and probably leave something to be desired. And she smiles at him just before he opens it, lips curling into something impish as she waits for him to figure out what it is, to read the message.]
I promise I didn't steal it, [ she says with a self-satisfied smile as she watches him test the compass out, sighing happily as he says that he loves it. ]
You're welcome. [ She gives him a little bit of herself as she speaks again--] I never got to give people gifts. Real gifts. That weren't stolen before. [ She earned the money for that, at least kind of. It wasn't the most legit job, shopping for Vex but it was a job and he paid her for it. And thus, she paid for this compass with her earnings. I
It felt good. And it felt better to make him sound that way.]
Honestly, didn't occur to me for, [a beat.] More than a second.
[He's being funny. But he didn't honestly think she would've stolen it. Partly because of law and consideration and wanting this to be true and special and lovely, both the pragmatics and the principle. But mostly, he thought, because of the place where principle and pragmatics meet one another; not wanting to risk the possibility that her gift from the heart could excusably be taken away. Honestly, he'dve thought it was funny if she'd pinched it, as surely it is nothing a shopkeeper can't spare. But he wouldn't have liked to lose it.
And now it's his. All his own. The second real gift he's received in Eudio, and it touches his heart in a way that Cassidy could have done done before. In a way that Cassidy perhaps prepared him for, starting to heal the ugly old wound of guilt and betrayal.]
Well now you seem to be an old hand at it in your new life, [he observes.] This will guide me true. And I'm always in dire need of that, you know.
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[And the day of Valentine's, the cab pulls up as expected. Barclay's already in the back of course, his long, old-fashioned coat on, but an oxford shirt and jeans underneath. Boots of supple leather. It's a combination that he's decided suits him as well as modern fashion ever will.
He brought her black rose and calla lilies. Not too ostentatious a handful-- a neat dozen of each, the sharp contrast of their colors visible even through the window.]
You belong on a calendar looking like that.
Edited 2017-02-12 06:51 am (UTC)
These are for you. [Obviously. The flowers. He presents them as if he's done it before, but he hasn't. Not since Magda, any rate. The concept of giving flowers to an object of one's affection had existed in his mind as a performative luxury reserved for people with better lives than he. But he plays it off pretty casual. They're beautiful though; the roses nearly ink-colored, though they'll betray a deep purple tinge under a bright enough light. Calla lilies swirled in in piano-key white.
It'd be a little much for a different girl. A little too Goth. But he's caught onto a few contemporary things since he came here; since he met her.] Are you cross with me, about the wardrobe request?
[ She looks at the flowers, looking quite impressed with them before she looks back at him.] They're beautiful, thank you. [ She touches a few of them buds before he asks his question and she feigns a pout, briefly, only to lean in and plant a playful kiss on his lips.]
No way. I can rock any look I want. [ And she really can, minus that weird short bangs phase she went through.]
Barclay is somewhat less confident, but you wouldn't be able to tell, from the way he draws a tiny circle around her elbow with his forefinger, then tugs her to get her attention. With his other hand, he holds up something he'd had hidden on the seat beside him in the moment before then: a blindfold, sleek and black.]
Do you reckon you'd be able to rock this one? Fifteen minutes. That's all. Which rules out entendre, before you try to make some mischief at the expense of my manhood. [WE'LL DO WHISKY DICK LATER THO]
He beckons her attention towards the blindfold and she looks at it then at him with an eyebrow arched in suspicion. She trusts him completely, however, it's more of her being her usual sassy self when she speaks--] I'll keep my kinky--- [ she pauses and corrects herself with--] sexual comments to myself. But if this turns into some kind of 'take me out to the desert to kill me' scenario, you and I are going to have words, Barclay Odell. [ It's a tease and she moves to turn her body so he can tie the thing around her head.]
The blindfold settles across the smooth bridge of her nose, gathers up behind her head. He secures the knot with deft fingers. In the artificial dark, she can feel the car sway gently below and around her. And after the work is done, his arm brackets her waist again, anchoring her body in space despite the disappearance of all visual cues. Eudio's a safe place, but he knows it's a small gesture of trust nonetheless and it's not one he plans to shirk.]
I'm thinking about it, and I don't think I've ever been to a desert. Yourself?
She scrunches up her nose a little as he secures the blindfold, trying to get used to the feeling of it and you know, the loss of one of her most important senses. She instinctively closes her eyes and her brow furrows as he turns her back towards him with that embrace, her head tilting a little towards his face.]
Canada's more of a tundra than it is a desert. [ She feels the movement of the car and she feels a momentary sensation of panic, she's not big on being out of control like this. Her hand blindly moves to rest on his leg, just above his knee, as if to anchor herself or at least give her a better sense of positioning.] I guess it would defeat the purpose of the blindfold to ask where you're taking me?
Edited 2017-02-12 08:06 am (UTC)
I think I'm going to carry you once we're out. Make life a touch easier. All right?
[The sound of the door opening. The breeze slides in. For a moment-- transient-- there's the faint scent of brine, but the next, it's perfume of flowers gathered up against her bosom, a tinge of acrid exhaust in the background. His hand guides her by the arm, reassuring, easing her out.]
He's not wrong, she feels the car slowing and suddenly it's stops as he explains he might carry her. ] As a modern woman, I feel like I should object but... I'm not gonna. [ Because she isn't wild about the idea of falling over or running into something and looking stupid. Not that being carried blindfolded by a tall-sexy-as-fuck pirate isn't on the weird spectrum. But she doesn't have a problem with it.
She thinks, for a moment, she might smell the ocean? But she's not exactly Suzie Detective at the moment, instead, she moves grab his arm after he climbs out, her nose wrinkling as she clutches the flowers to her chest, ready to be suddenly swept off her feet by a pair of arms she happens to like very much.] I can't tell where we are.
woops
And then here are his arms, right on cue. Under her legs and behind the small of her back, bracing her up. He says something to the cab driver, grateful, and then they're off. His steps are sure and swift below, boot heels clicking firmly across pavement. And then onto-- that must be wood. The air changes on her, no longer the crisp crosswind of the breeze outside but the warmer, closer air of being cloistered inside walls. The mellow, sweet scent of sawdust wanders into the air, and she's suddenly got the impression of a vast space from the vague echo carried by his strides.
His feet go onto metal. There's a mechanical clank and buzz.] You'dve told me if you were afraid of heights, [Barclay says.] Wouldn't you have? I know you're not tremendously fond of exposing your weaknesses, but I believe we're quite honest with each other, most of the time-- [and there's more movement, a muted hiss and mumble, and then he's walking again. Walking and walking.
He takes off her blindfold eventually.
And they're in The Aerie, the sprawling shipyard. The catwalk he's taken her up to is six stories above the ground. Above the water, rather, which washes quietly up foamy on the drydock there, before leading out into the blue vista of open sea. Noon sunlight filters in through the windows overhead. There are brass fixtures and odd little half-finished craft sitting on the platforms below. Not far in front of her, there's a tiny table perched on the catwalk-- just enough for two, with a matching pair of chairs, crisp blue tablecloth. A vase for her flowers. Beef stroganoff fogging up a glass food bell, and a pitcher of what's obviously kompot. The Eudio version is probably not quite like what they had in Russia, but the red berries in the bottom make the effort unmistakable.
There was
effort. Barclay lets go of her once she seems to have her bearings, his fingers folding up the cloth in his hand.] Sturmhond gave it to me, [he says.] A week ago. This whole place is mine. I thought you ought to be the first to see it.
Edited 2017-02-12 09:05 am (UTC)
<33
His words don't help. Heights? Kenzi isn't more afraid of heights as the next person, she's not thrilled by the idea of unsecure heights but she isn't going to hyperventilate or pass out. Still, she feels a slight surge of panic for a moment when he asks.] No... [ Suddenly, she's back down on her feet and he's dragging the blindfold off her eyes and---
It takes her a moment to process it. She's honestly never seen anything like it. Sure, she's seen some art and maybe a few movies with the whole steampunk vibe but Kenzi's world doesn't have aeronauts, let alone actual flying boats.]
Barclay... this is... [ Words sort of fail her and he goes on to explain what it is. And his words filter in slowly, give her a moment--] Wait-- [ she feels almost shaky on her feet still as her eyes adjust to the light and her surroundings, but she still darts towards the table, her expression wondrous.]-- is that kompot? Where did you--? [ She looks back at him, those piercing blue eyes bright and happy. Kompot was something from the old country, something of a comfort for her and....
It's then the true weight of what he said previously hits her and she turns completely to face him, her lips curving as she realizes that he wanted to show her this place. That she was the first to see it... as his (obviously not the first person to see it). It was his new treasure and he was sharing it with her.
Hold on a second, her heart is going to go aflutter for a second before she moves back to him, after having set the flowers hastily in the vase. Now that she's an inch or three shorter than she usually is, it's a little harder to grab him by the face and drag his mouth to hers, so instead, she moves to grab the lapels of his jacket instead, pulling him into her so her arms can wrap lazily around his torso.]
Congratulations. [ She grins, her expression tender.] This is... well, it's kind of totally perfect. [ This date. Him. The fact that he has something of his own, something that kind of seems might be right up his alley.]
He hasn't had words for awhile, for the kindness Kenzi has shown him. Her generosity in spirit, in bed, with her kisses and her stories. He still doesn't have them. He's always liked reading-- a gift that Cassidy gave him, but knowing the painful complexities of one's own heart turns in a completely different universe, for him. He looks at her now, and his heart shifts in his chest. He can feel it. It's almost painful. He closes his hands around her heart-shaped face, and wishes that he could touch her pale skin and dark hair somehow reach into the mysterious sea of her thoughts, like the so-called God's fingers of sunlight array through the latticed surface of the ocean. It would be a fine thing, wouldn't it? To know and be known completely.
But this is a close second. As close to perfect as he knows to be, just yet. He stoops down, his braid swinging against her jaw, a featherweight pendulum that's familiar to her by now. He kisses her, thoroughly, his mouth interlocking with the soft and perfect shape of her painted lips. When he grew up poor in Bristol, the ugly city and its hard winters, he thought the countryside meant rich food, live parents, and drinking from flowers. This is almost like that. The last part, anyway.
He straightens again, relaxing his fingers from around her dainty chin. Setting her hair back even around her shoulders.] Happy Valentine's Day, Kenzi. I'm glad to bewilder you. And better yet, to know you.
Her fingers stay curled against his back, her fiercely blue eyes shining brightly as she looks up at him, feeling something she didn't think she'd let herself feel again after everything with Nate.
He speaks and she laughs low at what he says, lips curved in a mix of something sheepish and amused.] Congrats, you've officially wooed me. [ She places a quick kiss to his lips again.] This is me swooning. [ All teasing aside, she lets her hand move to smooth out his jacket and touch his braid, as she sorts the words on her tongue.]
I... I didn't expect to find someone like you but I'm glad I'm wrong. [ She wraps the braid around her finger for a moment, like she's done so many times in the past.] Thanks for giving me the perfect first Valentine's Day ever. [ Because let's be real, Kenzi's never had anything close to a real Valentine's Day, nor did she want one. Until now.]
whispers look at my pretty icons ... i need to rename them fff
No. She isn't even looking at the Aerie at all, at the moment. She's looking at him. His braid fits perfectly around her finger, a spiral as neat as Christmas candy.]
I didn't expect to find someone like you, either, [he says.] We haven't really got the words to describe you, in my time. But being faerie's got nothing to do with it. [He smiles and he means it, the way it goes all the way up to his eyes. The pirate tilts his head, a slight and painless tug of movement against the hair she's got her hold on.] You're welcome. Will you be staying for lunch?
omg yayyy
Kenzi also isn't in denial, she isn't the sort to say that money can't buy you happiness, because, yes, yes it can. It just doesn't buy you all the happiness. A pair of expensive shoes or a dress that costs more than a car may always thrill her but those were only things. She may covet nice things because she lacked them for so long but they are not essential to her complete happiness. They're just like the sprinkles on top.]
I'm not a fairy yet, [ she reminds him with a gentle smile, clearly touched by his words. She gives his braid a tiny tug as he beckoned her to, it seems. She unwinds the hair from her finger and laughs a little, head rolling some in jest at his ridiculous question.] You know moi, have I ever been one to turn down a meal? [ The answer is no. For such a tiny person, the girl can eat as much as a man triple her size.] Feed me, Seymour. [ She takes a beat.] Musical reference.
Edited 2017-02-18 06:26 am (UTC)
He'd been planning this for awhile.
He's sitting across from her in a moment, sittling on his side of the tiny table. he picks up the pitcher of red berry juice and offers to pour her some, on a little jiggle of a gesture.] I've yet to watch any musicals. Those are the shows-- the plays with loads of singing, right? Live actors and such. Which one's got Seymour?
Those are the ones. And Seymour is in Little Shop of Horrors. [ she pauses.] I honestly haven't seen the movie of it since I was young but it's hard to forget a giant man-eating plant. [ She smiles at him warmly, anticipating his reaction.] Musicals are weird.
[ While he pours, she reaches into her coat pocket before she sheds it and lets it hang on the back of the chair. In her hand is soon is a pouch, wrapped with a blue ribbon which hands him. And inside is something like looks like a pocket watch but is, in fact, a sundial and a compass combined with an engraved message:
To Barclay,
With the deepest affection,
Kenzi
Perhaps the message may make him laugh for how formal it is but that's the point, it's Kenzi being playful and somehow sweet at the same time. She wanted him to know she cares for him, a lot but at the same time have something that he could take back home. It's not like she could put something bawdy like Hells yeah, happy v-day. I love your dick. ]
SCREAMS I LOVE THIS
He can't be surprised that she's experienced and generous with gift giving, but best surprised anyway. he stares into the sun dial, glances over into the compass. turns himself, a little to watch the needle spin itself, ever pointing north.
Part of him wonders for a moment, irrationally, that if he goes home, whether it might lead him back to here. This moment, this place. Irrational. Or only in memory. It'll be good enough.] I love it very much, [he says, once he can say anything again. His voice is scratchy. Eudio has made him soft, like it made Cassidy soft. Like he'd been soft when he was a child, Cassidy thieving rolls for him from the dinner table. Gifts make you soft. And he'll kill anyone who tries to take this one from him.]
Thank you, Kenzi.
<3
I promise I didn't steal it, [ she says with a self-satisfied smile as she watches him test the compass out, sighing happily as he says that he loves it. ]
You're welcome. [ She gives him a little bit of herself as she speaks again--] I never got to give people gifts. Real gifts. That weren't stolen before. [ She earned the money for that, at least kind of. It wasn't the most legit job, shopping for Vex but it was a job and he paid her for it. And thus, she paid for this compass with her earnings. I
It felt good. And it felt better to make him sound that way.]
[He's being funny. But he didn't honestly think she would've stolen it. Partly because of law and consideration and wanting this to be true and special and lovely, both the pragmatics and the principle. But mostly, he thought, because of the place where principle and pragmatics meet one another; not wanting to risk the possibility that her gift from the heart could excusably be taken away. Honestly, he'dve thought it was funny if she'd pinched it, as surely it is nothing a shopkeeper can't spare. But he wouldn't have liked to lose it.
And now it's his. All his own. The second real gift he's received in Eudio, and it touches his heart in a way that Cassidy could have done done before. In a way that Cassidy perhaps prepared him for, starting to heal the ugly old wound of guilt and betrayal.]
Well now you seem to be an old hand at it in your new life, [he observes.] This will guide me true. And I'm always in dire need of that, you know.