parkinson, mister. (ex_pry279) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-04-14 02:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-04] april, persephone parkinson (née greengrass), prior parkinson |
Who: Persephone Greengrass & Prior Parkinson.
Where: A restaurant in Wizarding Bath.
When: April 13, 1979. Evening. 7-ish, maybe.
Summary: A peaceful evening turns into a domestic spat.
Rating: PG or PG-13
(Uhm. I was a little bored so the log's in "technicolor". If it's not allowed, I'll edit the stuff out. :D)
He took most of the day off from work—which didn’t make much of a difference, anyway, since Astronomy needed night-time darkness—and was now seated at one of The Rodham’s outdoor tables. It was a popular restaurant in Bath, well-known for its Belarusian coffee and quasi-Italian pasta. He wore his second most favourable shirt, long-sleeved and cuffed with his father’s classic Bel Adrastos cufflinks which, fingering them now, he remembered receiving on his thirteenth birthday. It was a very dull present, he thought idly, but the false enthusiasm he had shown upon opening its equally dull box seemed to satisfy Padraig enough to leave the subject alone for the next ten years of his life. Or perhaps his father has already forgotten about it. (Most likely.) In any case, it was a special accessory, paired with a special pair of dark trousers and his coat, a cross-breed of velvet and black dragon-scale black, draped over one of the vacant chairs beside him. He was neat and presentable, decency noted with meticulous attention to detail before his arrival at the restaurant because he was meeting his future wife, Persephone Greengrass. Prior has been told over and over again by several people that one must always prepare when going out with the wife. Always. The consequences would be dire if the protocol of all protocols is not heeded. (He took this warning quite seriously, too.) He swallowed back dreadful memories of that one time that he did, and was vaguely reminded of the consequences of that misstep. He let out a breath as he shifted in his seat, one leg crossing over the other with an almost feminine elegance. He had been waiting for almost five minutes and he was already bored. Somewhere at the back of his head, his mother berated him about patience and punctuality and the responsibility of a man to wait for his woman but the little Prior somewhere nearby gladly debated over the importance of it all. Prior, idle yet in one of his ridiculously good moods, merely sat back and let his limbs fall to a quiet restlessness. I’m getting married. He nodded to himself. I’m going to have to get used to this. Persephone hadn't meant to be late. Things had come up- and the first time she had tried to leave the house, her mother had insisted she come and speak to the dressmaker, who had shown up late and insisted that Persephone be fitted one more time. It was frustrating, but this witch was one of the best, and had already been working on Persephone's wedding dress for months. By the time Persephone was able to leave, she was already somewhat irritable, but she was determined to have a good evening. She was well dressed as usual, her blue dress tailored to fit just perfectly, the skirt swishing just past her knees as she walked up the path toward of the restaurant. Her jewelry was simple, yet elegant- her grandmother's diamonds at her ears and neck, and only the diamond engagement ring that Prior had given her on her left hand. She saw him first- his back was turned to her, and she couldn't help but be amused as he shifted almost uncomfortably. She almost felt bad for being late, but then again- well, it wasn't like he'd been waiting hours or anything! Deciding to be friendly tonight, she approached him where he sat and let her hands move to his shoulders before sliding down to his chest as she hugged him from behind, greeting him with a quick kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Mister Parkinson. Are you waiting for somebody?" If he were paying enough attention, he would have recognized the iconic rhythm of her feet against the cobbled ground. Unfortunately, his attention had been too drawn to a pair that had just passed his table. They were both remarkably light-haired, both laughing rather brightly, arms hooked so intimately that Prior had lost track of whose limb was whose. He imagined the days when he and Persephone looked just like them, seemingly carefree and affectionate with each other that one would never expect a day of heated discussions, clashing ideas, and shouting matches. He almost smiled, perhaps that was what his parents saw, the promise of a young couple and the— --he felt arms rest on his shoulder and he almost jumped in surprise. A glance down, however, had him settling back into his chair with instant ease. The smile appeared, then, as he felt the kiss on his cheek, forearms on his torso, and the slight tingling of his fiancée’s long dark hair brushing the back of his neck. He turned his head to the side and leaned back slightly, against Persephone’s left arm, to look at her. “Maybe. Do you come here often?” He replied, donning a slightly mischievous look of mock-seduction before raising his chin a fraction and planting his own warm greeting with a kiss on those full lips. “What kept you?” She couldn't help but smile at the kiss, her fingers moving up to lightly play with his hair before she straightened and moved to take her seat across from him. "Often enough," she teased with a smile as she smoothed down her skirt and then looked back to him. "The dressmaker. She arrived at the mansion late again and insisted on taking all of my measurements for what has to be the twentieth time in the last two months." The frustration was clear in her voice, but she paused for a moment to regain her composure. "It's nearly finished, though. At least, that is what she tells me. Which reminds me, love- are you free some time this week? She is asking if you could be fitted for your robes- and we'll need to start looking at the guest list." This whole wedding thing was quite overwhelming, though it was likely that Persephone would never admit that aloud. It kept her busy, at least, and she thought that was better than spending her days sitting idle. His eyes followed her move from where she stood behind him and towards her chair. He could feel the slight, yet constant, breeze tingle his scalp, combing through the odd tangles that came free from when she’d touched his hair. If she hadn’t been his fiancée, he would have been very irritated by the fault in his well-prepared hairdo, but right after a soft kiss, a most comforting embrace, and the welcoming sight of his betrothed, Prior couldn’t exactly bring himself to actually care. “Oh, the dressmaker?” He asked, interest apparent in the tone of his voice, as he righted himself in his chair. He sat up, leaning forward until his elbows rested against the wooden tabletop, chuckling in amusement all the while. “You’re paying her rather handsomely so I doubt she would want you to think that she’s doing nothing with her valuable time.” With a roll of his eyes, he turned away from her for a fraction of a second and he raised his hand to call the attention of the waiter standing nearby. As he waited for the waiter to arrive, he weighed the question in his head. Did he have time? No. I have three stars to watch die, four more to map their birth, and dozens of articles to finish archiving. However, Prior couldn’t bring himself to shake his head and, instead, nodded. His hesitation buckled at the knees, as well, and came off as something more contemplative. “Of course,” he said—words strong and heavy as the slur of his jaw worked through the stiffness of split-second decision-making. “I should be able to come in on Monday, maybe, and that guest list…” he let the thought hang, eyes comically widening a fraction. “That should be interesting.” "You would think so. It is only the second time that she has been this late, so I haven't yet decided what we will do about that. Mother gave her a tongue lashing, which should keep her from trying anything next time. Besides, she is the only one capable of the dress I want- it would be a shame to need to switch dressmakers so late." She smiled as he leaned forward, then waved the waiter over. "Thank you," she said, laughing softly as his eyes widened. "Monday would be lovely- and we don't need to finish all of the guest list immediately. But it would be good to start thinking about it." She didn't ask for his help with much, but there were members of his family on the guest list that she was not as familiar with, and it seemed like a better idea to ask him. His mother had offered, of course, but she also wanted Prior's opinion- especially when it came to some of his friends. “I very much doubt that. Many dressmakers would be equally competent if this one’s being this fussy.” He shrugged, what did he know about these things? Nothing, really, but his father’s rationale stepped in with its character practicality and proposed to eliminate an inefficient unit if its level of production was etc. etc. so on and so forth. “Whom have you hired? Mum suggested an Achille Fouqué for Everild’s wedding a few years ago.” Everild, who had gotten married somewhere in France, had chosen another dressmaker though, but Prior didn’t find that tidbit relevant enough to mention. His hand made an innocent gesture just as the waiter arrived, pad in hand. “But whatever you think is best, of course.” He turned to the waiter, taking the menu when it was offered to him. He surveyed the list with quick efficiency, hardly needing to examine their list since Prior has been a frequent customer for as long as he could remember and could possibly recite their dishes with his eyes distracted by shiny objects. He uttered a dish, something remarkably obscure-sounding, before asking Persephone. “Are you in the mood for a bit of salmon?” He snorted softly—instinct minimizing the sound to a degree of decency—as he handed back the menu to the waiter. “I doubt we would be able to finalize the guest list a month before the wedding.” He paused, and then reconsidered. “Or we will, but at great cost to sanity and time.” Both, Prior was certain, being much prized personal possessions they rather not have the rest of their lives without. "The same woman who designed and created my sister's dress for her wedding." Persephone didn't have time to say much more on this as the waiter arrived with the menus. She sat back, watching Prior as he eyed the listing. "Salmon sounds lovely. Whatever you think is best, really." To be honest, it was rather nice to allow somebody else to make some decisions- she felt as though she had been making far too many of them recently. Once the waiter had left, she looked back to her fiancée. "It's not likely in a month, no," she agreed, shaking her head. "But it would be good to have at least an idea of who is coming and who may not appear. I'd like to have a seating chart planned ahead if at all possible. It will make a lot of things run a lot more smoothly, I think." Salmon it is, then. But then, he remembered, and quickly turned to the waiter, but not before addressing a rather sly admission to Persephone first. “Never mind the salmon.” He transferred his gaze to the waiter, whom had his quill and pad poised and ready. “Spanish mackerel and glazed duck breast,” he narrowed his eyes as he let the memorized menu shift lazily in his head as he looked for the perfect wine to pair their food with, “and a bottle of… Barolo Riserva.” The waiter uttered something under his breath, Prior caught on and made an annoyed sound through his nose. “1961.” The waiter left and Prior smoothened his proverbial ruffled feathers as he turned to Persephone to jump back into their conversation, not missing a beat. “A seating plan is a very good idea,” he agreed, nodding to emphasize, “I doubt any of your cousins would like to seat with my Uncle Ferdinand. His presence in Parkinson weddings is as constant as my parents’ attendance in ours. Unfortunately.” He frowned at that, clearly disliking the generation-long tradition he couldn’t quite shake off. Persephone smiled at the waiter as he turned to leave, and her gaze moved back to Prior. "No, I don't imagine so. I'd ask your mother, but- well, I can only take so much time with your mother or mine. At least with you- well, it promises to be at least somewhat more entertaining." She sat straighter in her seat, leaning just slightly toward Prior. "We don't have to worry about any of that just now, do we? We have plenty of time to worry about that later- I think I'd just like to relax tonight. Especially after everything else that has happened this week." Half of him recognized the effort to dismiss the topic but Prior wasn’t finished. Earlier that day, his mother had talked to him and annoyed him to the brink of actually shouting through the fireplace but he held back the rage until their mostly one-way conversation ended. That is, until Persephone’s mother’s head popped in the hearth and grated on Prior’s nerves even further. His frustration over their mothers has been bubbling underneath his loosely-covered surface and now that it has found its opportunity to topple over and spill its contents, it didn’t let the chance pass. “Oh, I don’t know. Your mother can be quite the talker,” that is, Prior thought she was that morning. Persephone this, Prior that, oh no those drapes sweetheart what have you been doing? That couch is horrible and lose that broomstick, Hogwarts has been forever and a day ago, chuckle chuckle. “I don’t think my mother can even outlast yours,” he said, his words full of taunt, a venomous over-serving of which that Prior’s consciousness hardly even registered. Instead, he just scoffed and foolishly thought she would be amused-annoyed with him. Persephone stiffened just slightly, taking a moment to try to remain calm. He had not really just gone there, had he? "My mother? You think my mother is worse than yours?" Okay, so that attempt hadn't worked out quite so well. "Are we speaking of the same woman, Prior?" Did she just insult his mother? He was bothered too much by that that he hadn’t even thought about how his own words sounded discriminating towards her mother. A frown knitted his brow as he tensed in his seat and his fingers lowered themselves to lay flat against the table as if bracing for one of Quidditch’s more fatal audience-ploughing broom stunts. “My mother hardly even cuts the tip of it when it comes to yours, Persephone.” There, he used the entirety of her given name and allowed a healthy serving of incredulity to accompany it. “Mum’s level-headed and reasonable whereas your mum can actually nag my ears off with her constant yapping!” "Your mother is level-headed? She has done nothing but complain about every choice I have made about this wedding, from the colors to the cut of my dress to the location to the size! I can't make her happy no matter what I do or how hard I try!" So much for her good evening. "At least my mother has been trying to help." Suddenly deciding that she didn't want to hear any more of this, she shook her head and scooted her chair back. She was quickly on her feet, collecting her purse and her jacket. "Nevermind, Prior. I don't feel like getting into this with you tonight." Just as she rose, with what seemed to be the intention of actually leaving in the middle of an argument, the waiter arrived with their food. Prior ignored him as he stood by the table, apparently at a loss as to what to do with the tray of food in his hand and rose to his feet as well. Aggravation could easily be spelled on his face, held back of course but present nonetheless. “At least mum’s been sensible about the bad choices you’ve obviously been making.” He pushed his chair back with a bit more force than necessary, its metal legs scraping noisily against the ground. “If she doesn’t see mistakes, she won’t point them out!” He grated, words a little slurred by the tightness of his jaw—as was the tendency when his mouth operates a little more quickly than an actual decent thought process. “She says you don’t appreciate her input and she can’t not do anything when it’s disaster waiting to happen. I won’t either.” "How on earth is the dress I am wearing or the color of the napkins a disaster? It's a spring wedding! Lavenders and pastels are much more appropriate than the blue she was pushing for!" Her fingers clenched as she gripped her purse tightly, and she barely spared the waiter a glance as he returned. "My dress is quite appropriate for the occasion, and- what? Her input? Of course I appreciate it! When she's not whinging at me about this, that, or something else!" Really, really not wanting to get into this, Persephone turned to stalk off, completely intent on apparating back to her parents' home. His head almost immediately blotted out all the details about the wedding. Quite frankly, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if their gowns were covered in marmalade, or if they bore the shade of an elephant’s ears. He didn’t bloody care—but he should, a part of him reminded his outrage, but at that moment he was only too happy to fully ignore every bit of it. “I don’t bloody care!” He exclaimed, more in annoyance than actual logic. As she turned and began to leave, Prior let out a grunt and clenched his fist, letting it fall with a dull thud on the table. He hated these things, these arguments that were supposedly healthy for any relationship. That may be so but it was damn well toxic to his self-control. Heaving a sigh of frustration, Prior turned to follow her, leaving behind a waiter beginning to panic and a dozen of the restaurant’s customers suddenly rudely baring their interest towards their domestic spat. He followed her with emphasized stomps of his leather shoes against the stone floor. “What? Just like that? You’re going leave just like that?” "Why shouldn't I?" she shot over her shoulder, stepping onto the sidewalk and turning to her left. She would hex him, but she didn't wish to make the scene any worse than it already was. This was childish, and she knew it, but quite frankly, she didn't care. Once they were a little ways away from the restaurant, she wheeled around to face him. "Why are you still following me? I told you I don't want to fight tonight, Prior. I just- all I wanted- needed- was a relaxing evening- not another fight with you!" He was walking again, walking after his bride-to-be, and if this their mode of discussion for the rest of their married life then certain, things don't look too good for Prior. He drew in a heavy, itch-scratching, breath and let it fester in his lungs for as long as he could. He wasn't going to lose patience over this. It's stupid. Stupid and degrading and nothing about it seemed proper for two otherwise respectable young individuals. He exhaled and let white puffs of air hover above his head, negativity mingling with what may have been a very peaceful evening. "After storming off like that you think I'm going to leave you alone?" He shook his head, more to himself that Persephone's retreating back. "We can't settle every argument by actually escaping it, you know." "No, but we can settle this one." She was being stubborn about this, and childish tonight, but it was all him. She never behaved this way with anybody else- but he irritated her and got under her skin much more quickly and effectively than anybody else she knew. "What do you want from me, Prior? I have been trying and trying to get along with your mother and nothing I do when it comes to the wedding seems to be good enough for her. As for tonight-" Her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose- Merlin, he was giving her a headache, again. "You know what? Forget it. Forget it. I don't know why I'm even trying." What did he want from her? The question rang in his ears as his legs stilled and his feet planted firmly on the ground. He stood there, obviously taken aback, as he grasped at fleeting thoughts, struggling to string together a straight and decent answer to that inquiry. What did he want from her? From all this? He frowned, both in thought and in annoyance at the futility of trying to answer the bloody question. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when suddenly, she closed off the discussion and he was left, once again, in surprise. Blindsided by a one-strike conquest then a swift retraction, Prior felt his frustration simmer. "You're trying because you're my wife. I'm trying because I'm your husband and we need to settle these things before it's too late to surrender." His words were uttered through gritted teeth, heavy not just because of his jaw but because of the emphasis poured by a repressed need for a stalemate. "But I'm not your wife yet!" She was close to stomping her foot, but that would appear even more childish. "Not yet. And if she treats me like this now, then am I to expect that it will be like this forever? I can't take it much more, Prior. I really, really can't. Not when I have so much other stuff to worry about- and not just with the wedding. If we have children someday, am I going to have to listen to her patronizing tone if I allow or choose to do something that she doesn't like simply because she isn't familiar with it? Or will she go behind my back to change things? The wedding planning- it's all trivial. I will not put up with her treating me the way she has been." Perhaps some of that was an over exaggeration- Persephone was prone to such moments in the past. But she was tired and upset- and admittedly, a little hungry now- and she was sick of arguing with Prior over and over again. He listened, at first, but when it went on and on and on about how hard things are, about this and that, only half-an ear remained in attention whilst the other took in the bustle of the streets and how, with a slight awkward stillness in the air, many passers by have stopped in their tracks to watch their drama. Prior, unprepared for a night to take a huge tumble like this, sighed and averted his eyes. He looked down to the ground, idly traced the line of stone and dust and imagined if the night had actually proceeded to be pleasant. When she was done, he raised his head again, but none had changed on his face. There was still the emotion, held back merely by propriety, and the stirring dullness of disinterest swimming idly in his eyes. He didn't like arguing and it was a flaw, he supposed, that he took every word out of context only to get everything over and done with without further analyzing. "And that's your problem, Persephone. Too much of your pride. My mother's only been helping and if you can't accept that you're doing badly with your multi-tasking or whatever it is you're busy with then--" he cut it off, surprised that his words were actually leading to a most pessimistic end. "You're not listening to me, Prior. Merlin, how on earth are we going to manage a marriage if you won't listen to anything I say?" Persephone glared at the people who had stopped to stare, and they quickly averted their eyes before turning to walk off. Her gaze moved back to Prior and she folded her arms across her chest. "For once, I haven't been prideful. I've accepted her suggestions, come up with compromises. This wedding is the only thing I have been focusing on for the last six months- it's only two more until the day arrives. And it feels like every time I even think that maybe this whole thing- us- can work out, this happens, and we only end up miserable. I don't know what to do." She sighed, her hands falling to her sides. "I still don't think you're listening to a word I say. And you never did tell me what you want from me. Not what you think your mother or your father or anybody else expects of the two of us. I'm asking you." On the contrary, Prior actually was listening to everything she said, word for word. It just so happened that his brain had the tendency to pick at the surface rather than delve at the bottom, where sense and logic manifested in Persephone's reasoning. Instead, Prior picked randomly and superficially at everything she said and made the gravest mistake of misunderstanding the point of their conversation. Prior, however, was not aware of this and so he barreled on in unconscious blindness. But then, her words drenched his rage (regarding his mother of all things) when he was asked the most important question of all. What did he want from her? What did he want from her that his parents didn't have to make him want? His frown deepened, as did the downward twist of his lips and the stiffening of his entire body. His gut rebelled and even though he hadn't taken a bite of dinner, it made him want to empty his insides until there was nothing left to trouble himself with. He didn't like that question and his face said so quite clearly. "What kind of a ridiculous question is that, Persephone? I want you to be my wife because--" he stuttered slightly but proceeded nonetheless, "I want to have children with you. I want to settle down, have a family." He took a breath to reassure himself that what he said was fact. True enough, they were, but Prior wasn't aware that they were not his facts to stand for. "I want you. But I also want you to be there with me and not against my family when all they want is the perfect marriage for the both of us." She did not like his frown- or any of his body language in those moments. She also tensed, her gaze dropping to the ground between them as she listened to him speak. "I don't feel like you really do, Prior. Or maybe you think you do, because of what our parents have been telling us for so long- I don't know. But in order for us to work- please. I need you to be sure of what you really want, regardless of what anybody else says or thinks." Sighing, she eyed a nearby bench and stepped forward to take his hand, turning to pull him with her so they could go sit down. Once there, she turned to face him, their knees touching as she released his hand. "I'll be there. I'll be there with you, no matter what. I won't take this marriage lightly, Prior- this is the rest of our lives that we're talking about. I have been trying to get along with your family, but I will try harder with your mother." But he did. Prior's head convinced him that that was what he wanted. He was virtually certain of it. So as he listened to Persephone ramble on about him and his parents and how everything is going to be for the future, Prior felt a little insulted. "I'm not stupid, alright? Don't patronize me," he snapped at her, eyes sharpening to betray the slight hurt and anger that was obviously poisoning his system and impairing his judgment (and the lack thereof). His temper flared, breaths coming in silent heaves as he exerted a tumultuous effort of biting back the rough edges of raw anger. He took a breath, a calming one this time, and let Persephone take his land and lead him to the bench. He sat, hesitantly but willingly, and slumped back against his seat, unaware of just how petty everything seemed to be. Prior shook his head, but when Persephone had released his hand, he didn't make an effort of moving it from where it touched her thigh. "I don't know," was all he could say and, quite frankly, it was all that he was capable of expressing at that point. He didn't bloody know what to do. "I'm not trying to be patronizing," Persephone said. "I don't think you're stupid- trust me. I wouldn't have agreed to marry you if I thought you were." It wasn't like she had much choice, but she could have fought it more- would have, if at least some part of her didn't think it could work. She saw how angry he was, and tried her best to remain calm- after all, one of them needed to remain at least somewhat rational. Right? "I don't, either," she admitted, looking down to his hand on her leg. "I don't like fighting with you like this. We're not children anymore, and sometimes...I just feel so foolish and childish around you- all I want to do is tear my hair out or stomp off or throw a tantrum, and that's no way to handle anything. I just-" She broke off with a sigh, her hand moving down to rest on top of his as she looked back to him. "I'm tired of all of these arguments." He shrugged, almost helplessly, as if accepting their multitude of arguments as fact, a part of their almost-married life. But Prior knew it shouldn't be like this. Hell, his parents weren't even like that, even though his father was rather overbearing and his mother a little more so. They agreed more times than they didn't; they shared the blame; they shared the praise. Prior sighed. Couldn't they be like that too? Prior removed his hand and let it fall on his own lap, almost immediately grasping the hem of his coat. He needed to tether the underlying tension with something, lest he risk uttering anything that he would almost immediately regret saying. With a slight grimace, Prior turned to her and looked at the woman that would be his wife. Would he be happy with her and vice versa? Would they live a long and prosperous life together? Or would they end up in a pointless marriage, filled with nothing but dissatisfaction and unhappiness? He didn't have anything to say to her. The silence remained, above their heads, recluse from the bustle of the street before them. Prior, inwardly struggling, surrendered instead to the quiet that hung, loose and neglected, on a fleeting need for hope. Persephone winced when he pulled his hand away, and she watched him, waiting for a word- some verbal indication of what he was thinking. The silence dragged on, the seconds ticking by until she couldn't take it anymore and she tore her gaze from his, looking down at her hands in her lap. "I...right." She turned, then, remaining beside him but not touching him. She felt a ridiculous urge to apologize, and it went against her very nature, but then- "I'm sorry." Her words were quiet- she wasn't even sure if he had heard them. "I- maybe I should go." "You shouldn't be sorry," he said, and though his words were kind, his tone was not. It was deadpan and monotonous, as if the miniscule absolution that his words meant were nothing but a default answer to everything he hadn't the strength to think about the answer to. Prior exhaled through his nose, shifted his feet, and willed his hands to still. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say something else, a reassurance perhaps, or an apology of his own. But the opportunity had opened its door a mere fraction, with Prior teetering on the fence of indecision, and closed it before he could muster the courage to do anything. Instead, Prior let his end of the conversation fall to silence yet again. An eerie awkwardness settled in the air and Prior, if he felt the least bit remorseful or understanding, would have felt its shudder up his arms and down his back. But he felt neither, and all he heard was the rustle of clothes, an alternating in-out of breath, and the resounding echo of failure. Persephone was silent as she picked up her purse and got back to her feet, now more hurt than anything. She started to walk away, but then stopped herself before she got too far. Drawing back her shoulders and straightening her spine, she watched Prior for a moment. Taking one deep breath, exhaling, and then not thinking about just what she was doing, she strode back to where he was and pulled him to her for a kiss- not caring who was around or who might see them. He was actually surprised when Persephone said nothing more. She always seemed like she had so many things to say, especially to him when he was being particularly dense, but apparently, this evening was rather different. Prior's face fell, feeling the slightest hint of disappointment. What was he expecting her to do? Fix it all by herself? Everyone has a limit, Prior reminded himself as he too rose to his feet, bracing for a night he would spend sleepless and thoughtful. Just as he had stood, right before he turned towards the other direction, Prior suddenly found himself with an armful of woman. A startled noise erupted low in his throat--and trapped there by her lips, sudden yet still so very sweet against his. Before he had the chance to respond, however, his arms found themselves bereft of her warmth. Just as quickly as it had come. He made a low, strangled, grunt as he looked at her both in exasperation and longing. "You make me feel so angry with myself sometimes," he blurted out, his voice gritted but genuine. More of an admission than actual insult. Her eyes widened in surprise at the admission, and she blinked, looking down. She stepped back to him, reaching for his hands and lacing their fingers together- she almost always felt it easier to speak to him about the more important stuff when they had some sort of contact. "You do the same to me, you know. I don't always like the person I become around you- I get so completely foolish and immature and- oh, I don't know. I am sorry for tonight. I- do you think we could start the evening over?" At the surprise written on her face, Prior dropped his own gaze, embarrassed by his own traitorous mouth. At the feel of her hand in his, however, the insecure part of him was appeased and he looked back up at her, hesitantly, nonetheless willingly. He let his fingers twine with hers, letting the natural feel of her palm against his soothe an emotion picked at and prodded. He wasn't certain which one it was: self-consciousness; guilt; anxiousness; and, perhaps, even all of the above. He nodded, not feeling quite put-together yet but, seeing as there was no other way around it, felt obliged to be. "We should." Persephone visibly relaxed, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you." She gave his hands a light squeeze and leaned up for another kiss- this one lingering a bit more than the last. It was a little while before she pulled back, her cheeks a faint pink. "If you're nice tonight, love," she started with a teasing smile on her face. "Well...Who knows what other fun stuff we might get to?" |