[Well, he doesn't know if she'll incur an effect without fail. Because of that, he declines to answer as he approaches her from behind.
He knows better than to stay so close to her, but they happen to come into range as he steps toward her and then off to the side. For ten long seconds their emotions reach out to one another; his are calm on the surface, which stops the anger and unease and frustration roiling beneath it from breaking through. Somewhere amid the chaos of negativity is also the faintest kernel of solicitude, shoved back to a nondescript spot in the void of his heart with suspicion and doubt writ all over it, as he settles in place with a cool mien.]
If it's too troublesome, you can sleep elsewhere in town.
[ Dorothy leans a little more heavily against the railing as those emotions wash over her, unable to reply for just ("just") those ten seconds. His emotions feel like a brewing storm tucked away beneath thick clouds, one good gust away from exploding into a disaster. It's a bit of an onslaught, to say the least, but there's something small at the very bottom of it. Faint and fiercely guarded by even more negativity, but it's there and she wonders at it.
Her emotions are less exciting, but probably more layered than most would have imagined. The shallow level of curiosity and amicability, warm and safe, before an abrupt plunge into thoughtful consideration, hesitation, wariness and a muffled hint of hope. But there's also fondness there, much more present, as tinged as it is with that same wariness that seems to wrap its way around her emotions.
And insecurity. That's there, too, even fainter and sharing a space with a feeling like loneliness.
Ultimately, Dorothy doesn't comment on it. She knows he wouldn't want to talk about it anyway, and she's since learned it's better to let him broach a topic or just let it move along. ]
I'll test it this week, I think. [ She finally replies, and she knows it's belated. Still, she continues. ] If something happens, then maybe next time I'll remain in town.
[He hasn't felt warm and safe in years—centuries. But what's entirely foreign is the faint feeling that resides with loneliness. It feels like self-doubt, and he finds himself looking at her while they both lapse into silence.
Such a plunge at this juncture is nothing more than an intrusion. He says nothing of it.]
. . . Yes. Testing the effects for a second time won't hurt.
[She's much too eager to leave that it's painfully obvious what she's trying to do. And it's fine. They've exchanged their words. Rufus only nods before watching her go.]
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Yes, it leads me back to my original plan. I do believe that's where I'll choose to stay.
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[ A pause; she grins at him. ]
Would that make you feel capricious again?
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The ninth rule prohibits physical contact.
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But she desists and instead sighs. ]
Oh, right.
Then I suppose I'll just have to hope I'm uninteresting enough to be left alone.
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This seems to be a reasonable hope, I'd say.
[ As she moves closer to the railing to look out over the ocean. ]
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. . . The effects are a side effect of sleeping outside of town.
[She'll probably wake up with something, no matter what.]
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... Well, that's troubling.
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He knows better than to stay so close to her, but they happen to come into range as he steps toward her and then off to the side. For ten long seconds their emotions reach out to one another; his are calm on the surface, which stops the anger and unease and frustration roiling beneath it from breaking through. Somewhere amid the chaos of negativity is also the faintest kernel of solicitude, shoved back to a nondescript spot in the void of his heart with suspicion and doubt writ all over it, as he settles in place with a cool mien.]
If it's too troublesome, you can sleep elsewhere in town.
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Her emotions are less exciting, but probably more layered than most would have imagined. The shallow level of curiosity and amicability, warm and safe, before an abrupt plunge into thoughtful consideration, hesitation, wariness and a muffled hint of hope. But there's also fondness there, much more present, as tinged as it is with that same wariness that seems to wrap its way around her emotions.
And insecurity. That's there, too, even fainter and sharing a space with a feeling like loneliness.
Ultimately, Dorothy doesn't comment on it. She knows he wouldn't want to talk about it anyway, and she's since learned it's better to let him broach a topic or just let it move along. ]
I'll test it this week, I think. [ She finally replies, and she knows it's belated. Still, she continues. ] If something happens, then maybe next time I'll remain in town.
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Such a plunge at this juncture is nothing more than an intrusion. He says nothing of it.]
. . . Yes. Testing the effects for a second time won't hurt.
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And a part of Dorothy, the part of her that isn't so cheerful and confident, shrinks back a little. ]
Well, all right! We can compare notes on Friday-- hopefully. For now, I'm in need of a nice walk. Try not to get seasick.
[ For once, Rufus is not the one attempting to flee first. ]
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