[ There's no need to confirm that she's on her way. She knows William is on his way. He's dependable.
Instead she arrives at the courtyard and fully expects to already see him there. Perhaps he's been waiting all along, or maybe their timing is simply on point. It's not something she needs to overthink, but rather a happiness she can take in despite their atmosphere. ]
[ William's seated on a stone bench built with a much larger body in mind, his court-correct posture in disarray: one leg idly swinging, body propped up against an arm. When he looks up, she's there. Just like that. ] Miriam. [ The false name almost melts with the warmth of his voice.
He scoots over, not that it's necessary. ] How are you?
[ Dolores has never been more pleased to be right. He doesn't need to move for her. She sidles up next to him despite the plentiful space on the bench.
She resists the urge to shake her head at her chosen name. Instead she reaches out to remove a stray hair from masking his face and moves it back into place with an easy gesture. ]
I don't think there's anyone around. We ought to be alright.
[ These names are all so silly to her. William will never be John-- he's exactly as he should be right in this moment. ]
[ He leans ever so slightly into her touch. It's as if he's forgotten gentleness, in this short time—although there's a breeze here, the beds are soft, the wine sweet. He's lucky to have her to remind him. ] I won't put you at risk. [ William's voice is quiet, unshakable. He holds her eyes long enough for the words to set into a promise. ]
I have something for you. [ A pause, and his smile gets away from him as he turns to whisper her name in her ear. Dolores: a secret kept, treasured, between them. ] I found it this morning.
[ The book is beside him, on the bench—he picks it up, offering it to her without ceremony. It's almost small enough fit in the palm of her hand, and old—the pages yellowed, the cover flaking off in places—but ornate.
The only writing, should she care to look, is on the first page, in a perhaps surprisingly unruly hand: Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. -W ]
[ She turns the small book over in her hand to inspect it from cover to cover. Her fingers remain pinched in place as if supporting something fragile and living as she rotates it carefully, unwilling to jostle its fragile innards too much as to cause harm.
Her eyes find his and she can still see the immediate sparkle of the threads there in his face. Placing the book carefully in her lap, she reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. ]
I've never seen anything quite so fine. Thank you.
[ He watches her eyes, only her eyes, how they light on the book and trace the gilding on its cover. They change as she says beautiful, as though beholding something precious. When her gaze finds its way to him, that look is somehow still there.
He forgets what he was going to say, recovers a moment later. ] I thought you could keep a journal. Your discoveries, your observations. Questions.
[ For a second he shakes the oppressive feel of this place, this weapon-studded boneyard, and thinks of it as an unknown expanse. With a lopsided smile: ] First time on a new planet.
[ That brings him back to the coelacanth. The tree.
He looks down at their hands. ] I hope you're not miserable.
[ She repeats the word as if the present is new all over again. There's intention behind the gift-- sweet and thoughtful. While it's been wonderful to have him here, there's a small pang of guilt in knowing he's so far from what he knows. She herself has nothing to return to, only something to find.
She'll ensure he returns. ]
Sometimes I admit I am frightened.
[ Her smile spreads from a small pinch at the corner of her lips to an easy parting of her lips. ]
But never miserable. You've been so helpful. To me. To everyone. I'm so proud to know you.
I'm trying. [ His smile feels as though it's going to shatter. Some days it's like fighting gravity, like no matter what he does he's undergoing a slow but sure warp. He sees Aranean children scuffling in the street, playfully drawing blood, and he no longer averts his eyes.
He doesn't know what would be worse, her seeing the effort for what it is—as she surely has—or it going overlooked. ] I wouldn't be able to do it without you. [ True of this, true of so much. ]
You're not trying. [ The same hair seems to have fallen back into its stubborn place. It's not so unlike the person at the root, shifting to adjust constantly and yet never truly happy to fall in line with the rest. It worries her, sometimes. She wonders if that restlessness will win out one day and if the same will become of her.
While she can keep him here with her now she's content. Her hand lingers as she moves the air back into place once more, this time cupping the side of his face to accomodate it completely. ]
You're doing. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pre-emotional devestation
Not at all.
Are you alright?
that's just his canon point
Meet me in the courtyard.
no subject
Instead she arrives at the courtyard and fully expects to already see him there. Perhaps he's been waiting all along, or maybe their timing is simply on point. It's not something she needs to overthink, but rather a happiness she can take in despite their atmosphere. ]
no subject
He scoots over, not that it's necessary. ] How are you?
no subject
She resists the urge to shake her head at her chosen name. Instead she reaches out to remove a stray hair from masking his face and moves it back into place with an easy gesture. ]
I don't think there's anyone around. We ought to be alright.
[ These names are all so silly to her. William will never be John-- he's exactly as he should be right in this moment. ]
You seem to be in a good mood today.
no subject
I have something for you. [ A pause, and his smile gets away from him as he turns to whisper her name in her ear. Dolores: a secret kept, treasured, between them. ] I found it this morning.
[ The book is beside him, on the bench—he picks it up, offering it to her without ceremony. It's almost small enough fit in the palm of her hand, and old—the pages yellowed, the cover flaking off in places—but ornate.
The only writing, should she care to look, is on the first page, in a perhaps surprisingly unruly hand: Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. -W ]
no subject
[ She turns the small book over in her hand to inspect it from cover to cover. Her fingers remain pinched in place as if supporting something fragile and living as she rotates it carefully, unwilling to jostle its fragile innards too much as to cause harm.
Her eyes find his and she can still see the immediate sparkle of the threads there in his face. Placing the book carefully in her lap, she reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. ]
I've never seen anything quite so fine. Thank you.
no subject
He forgets what he was going to say, recovers a moment later. ] I thought you could keep a journal. Your discoveries, your observations. Questions.
[ For a second he shakes the oppressive feel of this place, this weapon-studded boneyard, and thinks of it as an unknown expanse. With a lopsided smile: ] First time on a new planet.
[ That brings him back to the coelacanth. The tree.
He looks down at their hands. ] I hope you're not miserable.
no subject
[ She repeats the word as if the present is new all over again. There's intention behind the gift-- sweet and thoughtful. While it's been wonderful to have him here, there's a small pang of guilt in knowing he's so far from what he knows. She herself has nothing to return to, only something to find.
She'll ensure he returns. ]
Sometimes I admit I am frightened.
[ Her smile spreads from a small pinch at the corner of her lips to an easy parting of her lips. ]
But never miserable. You've been so helpful. To me. To everyone. I'm so proud to know you.
no subject
He doesn't know what would be worse, her seeing the effort for what it is—as she surely has—or it going overlooked. ] I wouldn't be able to do it without you. [ True of this, true of so much. ]
no subject
While she can keep him here with her now she's content. Her hand lingers as she moves the air back into place once more, this time cupping the side of his face to accomodate it completely. ]
You're doing. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.