All this touching—Jigano's hand slipping so naturally around his waist and Rory's brain setting itself on fire over it—was .. both frustrating and wonderful. The latter, for obvious reasons, the former, because he couldn't do anything about it. He wanted it, he wanted more of it, but not in front of others. He wasn't sixteen anymore, he had decency, even though his mind was rapidly regressing.
Besides .. surprised as he was over this turn of events, it was something he rather thought he wanted to be here and alert for. He leaned happily into Jigano but his eyes—blue and bright, a flimsy shield over the wariness—were on Rexanna.
Then Jigano told of the inspiration behind the banner, and Rory found himself with a wry half-smile on his face. "Yeah," he said dryly, the humor evident in his voice, "last time I checked she did not have rainbows for hair." Rexanna had rocked his world, but he was beginning to find his footing again—the tremors were all in his head, anyway. He just .. hadn't expected someone to have an interest in his friendship after such an outburst, especially when they had no shared history (aside from her saving his life, but he hadn't been conscious for it).
Rory had always been bad at taking gifts and compliments. Too practical, too critical; his emotions were always in easy reach, but accepting things like these.. feeling the knowledge that someone did something for him, got him something, went out of their way for him—he always skirted around it, unsure of how to react, or rather, how much of his reaction to give away.
"Thank you," he reiterated, reaching out with his freed hands to take the vibrant banner from her. The consideration she had put into it.. the promise that she'd be there, that this was somehow more than just a whim—why? Why him? Why a complete stranger, who had also happened to be an asshole? It made him want to run away, because he didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't just repeat what he'd just said, or something like, you're too kind, I didn't deserve this, why, why...
Jigano steered the conversation away from Rory, to Lucas and that night by the Spire. Ah, he thought, running his fingers over the fine cloth, so that was what he was doing. It had been happening more or less behind him when he'd come stumbling out, Wessex pouring water in his face, but then Lucas had been up at the top with them, hadn't he? Rory's nostrils flared as he let out a long breath.
And he suddenly realized one of the things that had him chafing against so many of the Outlanders: it wasn't that they were Outlanders, it was that they were.. cultured. Refined. Rexanna had so easily become a sharpened blade, wielding words and her face as honed weapons. Remi, with his vast knowledge and capacity for making things that were straight out of dreams. Roana and Ronin with their finely made weapons, better than any bog iron you might be lucky enough to find or have passed down from your grand-grand-grandfather or some such shit. Jigano, when he wore his confidence with ease, his words limned with silver and gold, so different (and yet it was so subtle) from the man he was when they were alone.
It made him feel inferior. Savage. Lesser, as cheap and worthless as the dirt he had been born from.
Well, that was a broad generalization, and not entirely true; it was born more from his flawed confidence, and Jigano, cultured and refined, certainly made him feel something more akin to the opposite of worthless. It was more a phenomenon with the collective whole of the Outlanders rather than something individual.
"I hope you've been eating well," he ended up saying, still studying the banner draped over his hands. "Food's important for the recovery."
Besides .. surprised as he was over this turn of events, it was something he rather thought he wanted to be here and alert for. He leaned happily into Jigano but his eyes—blue and bright, a flimsy shield over the wariness—were on Rexanna.
Then Jigano told of the inspiration behind the banner, and Rory found himself with a wry half-smile on his face. "Yeah," he said dryly, the humor evident in his voice, "last time I checked she did not have rainbows for hair." Rexanna had rocked his world, but he was beginning to find his footing again—the tremors were all in his head, anyway. He just .. hadn't expected someone to have an interest in his friendship after such an outburst, especially when they had no shared history (aside from her saving his life, but he hadn't been conscious for it).
Rory had always been bad at taking gifts and compliments. Too practical, too critical; his emotions were always in easy reach, but accepting things like these.. feeling the knowledge that someone did something for him, got him something, went out of their way for him—he always skirted around it, unsure of how to react, or rather, how much of his reaction to give away.
"Thank you," he reiterated, reaching out with his freed hands to take the vibrant banner from her. The consideration she had put into it.. the promise that she'd be there, that this was somehow more than just a whim—why? Why him? Why a complete stranger, who had also happened to be an asshole? It made him want to run away, because he didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't just repeat what he'd just said, or something like, you're too kind, I didn't deserve this, why, why...
Jigano steered the conversation away from Rory, to Lucas and that night by the Spire. Ah, he thought, running his fingers over the fine cloth, so that was what he was doing. It had been happening more or less behind him when he'd come stumbling out, Wessex pouring water in his face, but then Lucas had been up at the top with them, hadn't he? Rory's nostrils flared as he let out a long breath.
And he suddenly realized one of the things that had him chafing against so many of the Outlanders: it wasn't that they were Outlanders, it was that they were.. cultured. Refined. Rexanna had so easily become a sharpened blade, wielding words and her face as honed weapons. Remi, with his vast knowledge and capacity for making things that were straight out of dreams. Roana and Ronin with their finely made weapons, better than any bog iron you might be lucky enough to find or have passed down from your grand-grand-grandfather or some such shit. Jigano, when he wore his confidence with ease, his words limned with silver and gold, so different (and yet it was so subtle) from the man he was when they were alone.
It made him feel inferior. Savage. Lesser, as cheap and worthless as the dirt he had been born from.
Well, that was a broad generalization, and not entirely true; it was born more from his flawed confidence, and Jigano, cultured and refined, certainly made him feel something more akin to the opposite of worthless. It was more a phenomenon with the collective whole of the Outlanders rather than something individual.
"I hope you've been eating well," he ended up saying, still studying the banner draped over his hands. "Food's important for the recovery."
