EVIE
She muffles her huff of laughter into her next spoonful, tracing the wrinkle of his nose with her eyes. “I mean logically if we’re all bringing food, the spread should be massive. I think ten is completely fair.” And if not, people could split them. These cookies were destined for her mouth. And Deimos’ of course, but mostly hers in her mind.
And yet it’s amazing how quickly they leave her mind when he asks what he does - when he shares, freely, his own answer - because Evie is suddenly overcome with the realization that nobody has asked her her favorite color in years. In fact she can’t remember the last time anyone cared enough to inquire. Maybe when she was young and newly dating Rory? Her bites slow as she hangs on his words, few though they are. “What shade of blue?” Without meaning to her tone softens, quiets, like they’re sharing secrets instead of simple preferences. The empty spoon taps idle against her lips as she considers her response, brow crinkling. “Lamb skewers, but they’re hard to find in the Grounds.” Butchering a sheep so young when the meat was higher quality but undeniably smaller in quantity was rarely ever a smart choice back home. Turning guileless eyes to her companion, she smiles; small, sincere. “What’s your favorite drink?” Enticed and drawn in by this simple exchange of questions, finding she wants to know the little things, the tiny pieces that make up a man she is confident she knows to his core, but whose little preferences have unfairly been overlooked.
And yet it’s amazing how quickly they leave her mind when he asks what he does - when he shares, freely, his own answer - because Evie is suddenly overcome with the realization that nobody has asked her her favorite color in years. In fact she can’t remember the last time anyone cared enough to inquire. Maybe when she was young and newly dating Rory? Her bites slow as she hangs on his words, few though they are. “What shade of blue?” Without meaning to her tone softens, quiets, like they’re sharing secrets instead of simple preferences. The empty spoon taps idle against her lips as she considers her response, brow crinkling. “Lamb skewers, but they’re hard to find in the Grounds.” Butchering a sheep so young when the meat was higher quality but undeniably smaller in quantity was rarely ever a smart choice back home. Turning guileless eyes to her companion, she smiles; small, sincere. “What’s your favorite drink?” Enticed and drawn in by this simple exchange of questions, finding she wants to know the little things, the tiny pieces that make up a man she is confident she knows to his core, but whose little preferences have unfairly been overlooked.
Don't look up, just let them think
There's no place else you'd rather be
There's no place else you'd rather be
