Re: May's Cottage: May & Rory
[The outburst of brogue and bristle grated along the back of her spine, the sudden shift from calm morning to irritated action. And just the loss of the quiet between them annoyed her. She was on her feet the second after he was, and it didn't matter to her that he was in boxers and tank and she was hidden beneath pajamas and robe. Her slippered feet were steady on the floor, immovable when she reached for him. Mug in one hand, the other wrapped around his forearm, and she was strong. She held him there while cloud-pale eyes raked over him. And her own voice thickened with the lilt of her own accent, islands clashing between them.]
Did I say I wanted y' gone? Pull your head out o' your ass and listen instead. [Her fingers squeezed his wrist, far from painful but a sign that she wasn't planning to let him go to stalk from the room.] It's a thing bigger than wants. It's needs. When y' need me, y' can find me. An' after that, y' can find me if I want y' to, but the feel of it's different. [She reached out to (more carefully than he had) set her mug on the table, ignoring the spilled tea of his. The table had seen far worse in its years. That hand now free, she reached out and laid gentle fingers at the ridge of his collarbone if he allowed it. And her voice went quieter, an attempt at soothing (not that she did it much these days, but she knew how to calm people when needed).] Don't scoff at me for something that's true, Rory...