There were a lot of things he could say about this Fiat Lux, but one thing was for sure: it had been very, very different from all the other ones. It wasn't just because of the influx of Outlanders, and the way they would invariably leave their own mark on the festival (something he was prepared for this time around, instead of the way it had happened at the Festival of Lights). No, it was more than that, separated into two neat, wildly differing categories, that were pretty much the same in cause but different in expression.
The first was partially the Outlanders, but mostly, it was Rory, Rory's temper, and Rory's tongue. The day had had a handful of confrontations (though in some cases, the word seemed too violent), bridges that he needed to check how badly burned they were. He had meant to get around to it sooner, at least with the ones where it mattered, but .. he was full of good intentions.
These things he tried not to think about it. He was too tired for untangling and analyzing his own messed-up foray into politics, so he shoved it to the back of his mind and returned to the beer booth for some sort of pick-me-up drinking. He felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical energy. Never before had he needed to spend the festival making amends for his quick temper and his attempts to keep his world from falling down around his ears.
The second thing was also partially the Outlanders, or one in particular. Though the musicians had whisked him away from Rory, there was still that feeling of attending the festival together, and that, well, that was something that hadn't happened before. Not like this.
The thought of Jigano returning to him had excitement simmering in his veins.
As the light began to fail Rory made his rounds around the festival grounds, lighting his lanterns, before heading to the beer stall for that much-needed top-up of his mild inebriation. It was a strange feeling, as if getting ready for something, butterflies breaking out in his stomach as he waited.
Besides, thinking about—waiting for—Jigano was nicer than dwelling on what sorts of nasty side-effects he'd caused with the whole Spire business. He couldn't apologize for trying but damn, what a mess it had turned out to be.
He tried to swallow the thoughts with the beer but they kept coming back up his throat.
Then: a touch to his right shoulder, light and feathery. ”Hey stranger,” a familiar voice murmured, sending all sorts of shivers down his spine. Just the knowledge that Jigano was standing behind him made him feel weak at the knees. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, looking at him. Warm firelight and silver starlight warred for dominance, accentuating the honeyed color of his skin and the pale mane of his hair.
He was handsome—desirable—in a way that was nearly painful now that Rory allowed himself to feel it, fall in it.
But he showed restraint. His lips twitched into a wry, pleased half-smile, and his eyes darkened, pupils widening, with the adrenaline surge. "Uh-huh," he breathed, turning slightly to offer Jigano the tankard.
The first was partially the Outlanders, but mostly, it was Rory, Rory's temper, and Rory's tongue. The day had had a handful of confrontations (though in some cases, the word seemed too violent), bridges that he needed to check how badly burned they were. He had meant to get around to it sooner, at least with the ones where it mattered, but .. he was full of good intentions.
These things he tried not to think about it. He was too tired for untangling and analyzing his own messed-up foray into politics, so he shoved it to the back of his mind and returned to the beer booth for some sort of pick-me-up drinking. He felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical energy. Never before had he needed to spend the festival making amends for his quick temper and his attempts to keep his world from falling down around his ears.
The second thing was also partially the Outlanders, or one in particular. Though the musicians had whisked him away from Rory, there was still that feeling of attending the festival together, and that, well, that was something that hadn't happened before. Not like this.
The thought of Jigano returning to him had excitement simmering in his veins.
As the light began to fail Rory made his rounds around the festival grounds, lighting his lanterns, before heading to the beer stall for that much-needed top-up of his mild inebriation. It was a strange feeling, as if getting ready for something, butterflies breaking out in his stomach as he waited.
Besides, thinking about—waiting for—Jigano was nicer than dwelling on what sorts of nasty side-effects he'd caused with the whole Spire business. He couldn't apologize for trying but damn, what a mess it had turned out to be.
He tried to swallow the thoughts with the beer but they kept coming back up his throat.
Then: a touch to his right shoulder, light and feathery. ”Hey stranger,” a familiar voice murmured, sending all sorts of shivers down his spine. Just the knowledge that Jigano was standing behind him made him feel weak at the knees. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, looking at him. Warm firelight and silver starlight warred for dominance, accentuating the honeyed color of his skin and the pale mane of his hair.
He was handsome—desirable—in a way that was nearly painful now that Rory allowed himself to feel it, fall in it.
But he showed restraint. His lips twitched into a wry, pleased half-smile, and his eyes darkened, pupils widening, with the adrenaline surge. "Uh-huh," he breathed, turning slightly to offer Jigano the tankard.
