stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
It was a relief to be out in the bitter cold, to be away from his haunted memories, to sing whichever words came into his mind and watch the Luxere. Reading their body language. Moving a little closer whenever they allowed him to. He was patient, absorbed by his task, and knowing that as long as he took his time, they usually allowed him to come close enough to touch after a while. And once that happened, well, most of them learned to enjoy a good shoulder scratch, and the particularly bold ones allowed his hands to travel up their throats and scratch the difficult spots along their jaw.
But they were far away from that yet, for he had not been singing to them for terribly long when their attention wandered. Ears pricked and their heads raised, watching someone else approach. Rory, still singing (though, self-consciously, his voice shaped the words of an old Long Night lament instead of therapeutic complaints about loneliness), turned his head to see who came.
To his surprise, it was Wessex who moved through the night, with a surprising regard for the skittish light-bearing creatures. He could hear the wordless hum of her voice, see the feed bag slung over her shoulder, the care she took to not barge in and simply startle them.
He supposed even someone as hard as Wessex knew the wisdom of being favored by the deer. Just because you're tough as nails doesn't mean you have to pick a fight with every pack of Long Night monsters you come across.
She came to a standstill beside him, opening up one of the bags. The smell of hay was strong, tickling his nose with familiarity. The scent was familiar to the Luxere as well, and one of them took a curious step closer. Rory smiled a little as he fell silent.
For a time it was just that: their breathing and the Luxere's breathing, and the occasional, hesitant step closer.
He had thought that seeing Wessex again would bring back the complicated mood he'd found himself in during the meeting, but it didn't. While it was her fault that she had gone and got herself killed, it wasn't her fault that he'd found her things just hours before her resurrection. That everyone had cried for the Demon's death even before her dramatic entrance was none of her doing, but he still thought she could've had a bit more respect towards the creature that had just killed her, instead of going all oh yeah let's kill it, this time it'll surely go so much better, because I already died to it once!.
But all he felt was a strange sort of relief and gratitude, as if some things were still the same, were still .. okay.
“You alright?” she finally asked, and Rory licked his lips before answering. "Not really," he answered truthfully; he doubted she'd know what to do with the confession anyway. He kept his eyes on the Luxere. "But it's fine. And ..you? How are you?" Oh, never had he thought that he'd stand on a field in the dark with Wessex of all people, and having license to ask her how she was doing on top of that.
But they were far away from that yet, for he had not been singing to them for terribly long when their attention wandered. Ears pricked and their heads raised, watching someone else approach. Rory, still singing (though, self-consciously, his voice shaped the words of an old Long Night lament instead of therapeutic complaints about loneliness), turned his head to see who came.
To his surprise, it was Wessex who moved through the night, with a surprising regard for the skittish light-bearing creatures. He could hear the wordless hum of her voice, see the feed bag slung over her shoulder, the care she took to not barge in and simply startle them.
He supposed even someone as hard as Wessex knew the wisdom of being favored by the deer. Just because you're tough as nails doesn't mean you have to pick a fight with every pack of Long Night monsters you come across.
She came to a standstill beside him, opening up one of the bags. The smell of hay was strong, tickling his nose with familiarity. The scent was familiar to the Luxere as well, and one of them took a curious step closer. Rory smiled a little as he fell silent.
For a time it was just that: their breathing and the Luxere's breathing, and the occasional, hesitant step closer.
He had thought that seeing Wessex again would bring back the complicated mood he'd found himself in during the meeting, but it didn't. While it was her fault that she had gone and got herself killed, it wasn't her fault that he'd found her things just hours before her resurrection. That everyone had cried for the Demon's death even before her dramatic entrance was none of her doing, but he still thought she could've had a bit more respect towards the creature that had just killed her, instead of going all oh yeah let's kill it, this time it'll surely go so much better, because I already died to it once!.
But all he felt was a strange sort of relief and gratitude, as if some things were still the same, were still .. okay.
“You alright?” she finally asked, and Rory licked his lips before answering. "Not really," he answered truthfully; he doubted she'd know what to do with the confession anyway. He kept his eyes on the Luxere. "But it's fine. And ..you? How are you?" Oh, never had he thought that he'd stand on a field in the dark with Wessex of all people, and having license to ask her how she was doing on top of that.
