Rory was not a shy creature: he wasn't loud and crude, but he was unapologetic, unashamed, unafraid of skirting around the edges of truth wrapped up with dry humor. Between the blush rising in Jigano's face and Amalia's wrinkled nose he laughed (or snorted with amusement, more like). This wasn't the first time the bard's composure had slipped, just more proof of that it was him they saw, with no (or just very thin) masks to temper his reactions. The feeble response earned a smirk, but then he stilled, because Amalia had stilled.
A slight frown furrowed his brow as concern pricked at his heart; it wasn't much more than a moment, a heartbeat, but it was enough.
Then she returned to the present, the faltering grin recovering, but Rory's eyes asked a silent question: are you alright?
But he let himself be swept off and away again, carried by the tide of her energy and wicked teasing. This time, he left it for Jigano to answer, partially because it was only fair that they took turns, and partially because he had no witty comeback. His fingers closed more firmly around those he held at the glance—the sentiment—sent his way, silent reassurance. He knew some of what Jigano had been running from, and he knew most of the things that he had tried to keep himself from, too.
His failure on staying apart was not something he dwelt on, listening instead to Amalia's explanation and studying her shape in the firelight.
One sister for another.
He licked his lips and swallowed, the merriment in his gaze going out for a brief moment as he let his eyes fall to the ground. Every year he lit candles, not because he had lost someone, but because he loved the sun and the long, warm summer days, because he loved watching the bright flicker of the candles at night—but suddenly, against the backdrop of Amalia's words, placing one into the wheel seemed like making up his mind on what had happened, when he still didn't know.
Then she spun back to them, wild and fey again, and Rory promptly walled off the part of his brain that wallowed in indecision and loss. The flourish with which she brandished the red candle pulled his lopsided smile out of hiding again, though it was still a shade bleaker.
"Oh, you little devil..." he breathed in appreciation, his quiet voice rich with laughter at her hard and teasing bargain. He still felt lost in the moment, a little drab and distant though his soul swum up towards the warmth and gaiety again, but figuring out playful, suitable offers wasn't his strong suit anyway. "I'll let you ride my ponies."
A slight frown furrowed his brow as concern pricked at his heart; it wasn't much more than a moment, a heartbeat, but it was enough.
Then she returned to the present, the faltering grin recovering, but Rory's eyes asked a silent question: are you alright?
But he let himself be swept off and away again, carried by the tide of her energy and wicked teasing. This time, he left it for Jigano to answer, partially because it was only fair that they took turns, and partially because he had no witty comeback. His fingers closed more firmly around those he held at the glance—the sentiment—sent his way, silent reassurance. He knew some of what Jigano had been running from, and he knew most of the things that he had tried to keep himself from, too.
His failure on staying apart was not something he dwelt on, listening instead to Amalia's explanation and studying her shape in the firelight.
One sister for another.
He licked his lips and swallowed, the merriment in his gaze going out for a brief moment as he let his eyes fall to the ground. Every year he lit candles, not because he had lost someone, but because he loved the sun and the long, warm summer days, because he loved watching the bright flicker of the candles at night—but suddenly, against the backdrop of Amalia's words, placing one into the wheel seemed like making up his mind on what had happened, when he still didn't know.
Then she spun back to them, wild and fey again, and Rory promptly walled off the part of his brain that wallowed in indecision and loss. The flourish with which she brandished the red candle pulled his lopsided smile out of hiding again, though it was still a shade bleaker.
"Oh, you little devil..." he breathed in appreciation, his quiet voice rich with laughter at her hard and teasing bargain. He still felt lost in the moment, a little drab and distant though his soul swum up towards the warmth and gaiety again, but figuring out playful, suitable offers wasn't his strong suit anyway. "I'll let you ride my ponies."
