Part of him thought it was rather rude to just ignore her personal bubble like that, but a bigger part of him didn't care. We don't always get to choose what happens to us, and at least this thing came from a good place, right? He was just so relieved to see her again: whole and hale, seeming no worse for wear, though he was about to become aware that she was quite on edge. But in that moment, with his arms wrapped around her and she awkwardly patting his back, he could only think of that she was okay, and how relieved he was that she was okay.
Releasing her he stepped back, expecting the answer to his question but getting—well, more or less told to come into the barn. Rory's brows furrowed and he slid after her into the building, listening to the offending door as it slid shut. This time, it barely groaned at all. Perplexed, Rory watched her with a newfound sort of wariness, not afraid of what she might do, but afraid of what she might fear being done to her.
If something was enough to make Wessex uneasy, Rory definitely didn't want anything to do with it.
"I'm alright," he responded, feeling a little out of sorts after this rude awakening to the harsh reality of his world. His joy over seeing her hadn't faded, but it had been tempered, reined in, doused in something cold that could partially be labeled as Zariah. What had she wanted with Wessex? And how powerful was she, if Wessex—one of the most powerful and capable and cunning people Rory knew—had been hard-pressed to escape? What sort of monster sat upon her throne and called the Hollowed Grounds hers?
He wanted to ask about it but there was no time, and before he knew what he was doing he was nodding. "Alright," he agreed, eyeing the barn. "But afterwards, you'll tell me everything about the Fae and your escape from Zariah, okay?" Practice against magic? All he could do was try to set fire to her, something he wouldn't be comfortable doing in his own barn if it wasn't for the fact that he seemed just as capable of putting it out as he was of creating it. Slowly he left his place by the door to walk further into the barn, giving himself some space.
It seemed a very Wessex thing to want to spar, instead of rest.
"But keep in mind I'm still very shit at like, actual physical combat. Oh, and, how flammable are you?" The last thing he wanted to do was seriously hurt her by accident.
Releasing her he stepped back, expecting the answer to his question but getting—well, more or less told to come into the barn. Rory's brows furrowed and he slid after her into the building, listening to the offending door as it slid shut. This time, it barely groaned at all. Perplexed, Rory watched her with a newfound sort of wariness, not afraid of what she might do, but afraid of what she might fear being done to her.
If something was enough to make Wessex uneasy, Rory definitely didn't want anything to do with it.
"I'm alright," he responded, feeling a little out of sorts after this rude awakening to the harsh reality of his world. His joy over seeing her hadn't faded, but it had been tempered, reined in, doused in something cold that could partially be labeled as Zariah. What had she wanted with Wessex? And how powerful was she, if Wessex—one of the most powerful and capable and cunning people Rory knew—had been hard-pressed to escape? What sort of monster sat upon her throne and called the Hollowed Grounds hers?
He wanted to ask about it but there was no time, and before he knew what he was doing he was nodding. "Alright," he agreed, eyeing the barn. "But afterwards, you'll tell me everything about the Fae and your escape from Zariah, okay?" Practice against magic? All he could do was try to set fire to her, something he wouldn't be comfortable doing in his own barn if it wasn't for the fact that he seemed just as capable of putting it out as he was of creating it. Slowly he left his place by the door to walk further into the barn, giving himself some space.
It seemed a very Wessex thing to want to spar, instead of rest.
"But keep in mind I'm still very shit at like, actual physical combat. Oh, and, how flammable are you?" The last thing he wanted to do was seriously hurt her by accident.
