preston rawlings, psychic accountant (ex_clerk820) wrote in rooms,
Re: Gatsby: Preston/Saint
Preston didn't realize the contact was daring until it was already out there, and he was surprised (though he shouldn't have been) at Saint's awareness of the new intimacy of the simple gesture. A faint raincloud passed over the clear sky of Preston's gaze, but he didn't say anything about it, because their palms were already together. The surface thoughts immediately grew dimensions and enhanced meaning, the complexity of Saint's calm becoming more apparent in contrast to Preston's abruptly obvious enforced distance.
Preston was trying somewhat unsuccessfully to be simultaneously close and private at the same time, something he didn't know how to do with his emotions getting in the way. He wasn't used to Saint's eponymous lack of greed, a certain distance from baser instincts that did not typically characterize the men who unknowingly shouted their thoughts at him. The contact brought a faint brush of vinegar anxiety to Preston, and by proximity, to Saint. Preston, focused on thoughts and himself, didn't realize that he had a new tendency to bleed emotion as well as thoughts.
"Hurt?" Preston cast his mind through recent experiences, trying to characterize the experience into words. "Yes, sometimes. Certain people can be nasty, or lots of people at once, or people who are... damaged somehow. It's hard to explain." Preston chewed on his lower lip and directed his gaze down the calm road. He could always hear the passengers in the cars before he heard the cars themselves, and sometimes his steps would drift to the side in advance warning. "I keep hoping someone is going to get on the journals and say, 'surprise we found a cure,' but I'm not counting on it."
"I miss being big city busy. But I go into the City here, sometimes, to work." Preston made a vague gesture in the appropriate direction, where cold iron tracks had headed away from the comparatively idyllic isolation of West Egg and East Egg.