[Catching sight of Davesprite wasn't any less shocking for her. Familiar faces were difficult to see. Not because she was upset that they had moved on--that was expected, and frankly, she was glad for it. Staying in the past is difficult. No, what made it hard was knowing that she missed it all. She missed having friends to laugh and joke with, missed getting a hug now and then, missed the casual way she used to hold their hands to keep half a conversation secret. How could she ignore any of it?
With a lot of hard work, maybe some day she could. As she follows him, she works her face into a mask, devoid of anything but mild geniality. Her guard is up, as always, but when he's making small gestures like providing her with plenty of paper to write on, it might not stay up for long. She chastises herself, making herself think about how people change. Kanaya had literally become a nun, Jake had made a fool of himself to the comedy world, and Calvin had actually aged. The unexpected had become the everyday over the past few years. She knows she'd do best to remember that.
The blonde slides into a seat beside him, tasting her own drink. More vodka than cranberry. Perfect.
She takes the pen and selects a shred of paper. Her writing is neater than it used to be, a necessity overseas. Clients were less likely to take someone with ugly handwriting seriously.]
And you're still here.
[It's a test, she tells herself. Not an accusation.]
no subject
With a lot of hard work, maybe some day she could. As she follows him, she works her face into a mask, devoid of anything but mild geniality. Her guard is up, as always, but when he's making small gestures like providing her with plenty of paper to write on, it might not stay up for long. She chastises herself, making herself think about how people change. Kanaya had literally become a nun, Jake had made a fool of himself to the comedy world, and Calvin had actually aged. The unexpected had become the everyday over the past few years. She knows she'd do best to remember that.
The blonde slides into a seat beside him, tasting her own drink. More vodka than cranberry. Perfect.
She takes the pen and selects a shred of paper. Her writing is neater than it used to be, a necessity overseas. Clients were less likely to take someone with ugly handwriting seriously.]
And you're still here.
[It's a test, she tells herself. Not an accusation.]