Open Post: A pair of gloves

[sporesprouter]

Tress was an old hand at waiting. She'd waited for Charlie for more than a year once. Having to do it twice was somewhat disheartening at times, but the mansion kind of had more to offer than the Rock had. (Not quite as much as the spore seas, but... nothing ever would.)

The first time she waited, she was the one to go out and fix it herself. (With help.)

This time, though... sometimes waiting apparently works.

There's a flash of red out of the corner of her eye as she passes a lounge. But that's not the important part. She's clearly on her way to the kitchen to cook her heart out. Charlie's here now. Tress is ecstatic.

Comments

[sporesprouter]

"Oh, moons, it was just... it's all a blur, it happened so suddenly. Like any of us arriving, I guess."

[wickedwit]

"Tress," he says fondly. "Are you trying to spare my unsullied ears? I assure you there's no need. I know what two people want to do when they've been reunited after months apart. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were quick about it, and they were only separated for days." He was rather pleased and proud of his new friend, too.

[sporesprouter]

Tress turns bright red and splutters a bit. "What... No, I just... no!"

[wickedwit]

"Waiting for marriage? I did want to have a word or two with him on the subject."

[sporesprouter]

"That's not it. It's just been so long everything should be perfect first."

[wickedwit]

"Romantic," he says, smile softening. "It will be a pleasure to meet him nonetheless. Do you think you'll combine your intellects seeking a way out? Or will you be able to relax for a while?" It's what he hopes. What so many here hope for Tress, he knows -- one day, he still wants to experience Tress's world, to sail the spore seas with her. But perhaps with her young man here, the search will lose some of its urgency and become a pleasant past-time.

[sporesprouter]

"Well, I still want to get home so I can see everyone... everyone else. The rest of my crew and my family... but it should be nicer. Less... worrying. To have him with me."

[wickedwit]

"Of course it will. He's your favorite pair of gloves."

[sporesprouter]

She nods. "There's... so much I want to do. It's overwhelming."

[wickedwit]

"One step at a time, my dear." He truly can't take this from her -- perhaps even if he tried. Perhaps this is the best time to tell her, when she has someone comforting and familiar as a favorite pair of gloves nearby. But he can't tell her yet. "First," he says, "tell me everything. None of this it's all a blur. Where did you find him? In the foyer? Out in the gardens? Did you show him your welcome table?" He can imagine the relief that would have struck Charlie, if he found the welcome table first, and recognized his lady's handwriting. She's his pair of gloves, too, after all, and coming here is disorienting enough.

[sporesprouter]

Tress furrows her brow, thinking it over. It all is a blur, so she tries to rewind her day to figure it out. "The welcome table..." She must have shown him the welcome table. So he can see that she has to explain all about spores because everyone else has water seas. "Yes, I showed him the welcome table. I found him.." It has to have been close enough by there, because she wouldn't have dragged him so far afield immediately, right? ".. outside? When I was on my way back from checking on Fenyes?"

That must be right.

[wickedwit]

"You don't sound certain," Claudius observes. Perhaps Claudius doesn't understand how young people are in love. He could tell you precisely where he was, what he was doing, when he saw Gertrude -- how he was stooped in the garden bed, shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hoping for a riot of red blooms in summer. Then she appeared on her own, her skirt a red blossom, her hair the dawning summer sun, and he didn't dare hope. Not while he was laying in for a long winter. He remembers her bright, laughing eyes, those lines his fingers longed to trace, the fullness of her smile as she teased him.

It must be the giddiness of youth that makes it easy to forget. Still, something nags at him.

[sporesprouter]

"Honestly, I'm not? But that makes the most sense. I wasn't going to be doing anything out of the ordinary, so that must be it. I guess seeing him just... scattered everything."

[wickedwit]

"Of course," Claudius says slowly. He can't shake the feeling that questioning further would be crueler than any confession of past guilt. "Did he meet anyone else? I know someone's arrival can be a dizzying day of introductions."

[sporesprouter]

"I think I was the first one, but he has to have run into someone else by now. That's how arrivals go."

[wickedwit]

"He didn't tell you." He says it flatly, forgetting for a moment to control his tone. "I suppose you had other things to talk about. So many things to catch up on."

[sporesprouter]

She nods, thinking. "Yes. Like everyone here, and the events, and seas made from water, and Crow visiting..."

[wickedwit]

"All the stories you'd saved up for him." That's how it was with Gertrude. There wasn't enough time to tell her everything -- there's never enough time. "I'm surprised," he says, and keeps his tone controlled, keeps it deliberately light, "you let him leave your sight."

[sporesprouter]

"I..." She manages a faint smile. "There's plenty of time now."

[wickedwit]

Sometimes Claudius puts things together too quickly. Sometimes he realizes something other people don't realize about themselves, something they aren't willing or ready to hear. He's made a study of how people talk, perhaps to his undoing -- he struggles to sound natural, normal, like everyone else. But by the same token, he's taught himself to look for patterns. He knows when the pattern's wrong, when there's a snarling tangle of threads, nothing close to a complete tapestry. The word doesn't suit the action, the action the word. The halves fail to make a whole, the connecting logic legible but broken, like bells jangled out of tune and harsh. There's a wavering tone under a too-confident turn of phrase, the sort of thing someone would only say if they were trying to convince themselves. That makes the most sense. That must be it.

Sometimes people lie to themselves. Tress, from what Claudius has seen, is refreshingly honest. Even her modest protests to flattery are just that: modest. She's never denied a plain-spoken truth.

Tress isn't lying to herself about being happy to see Charlie. That might've explained it -- if their reunion ended in disappointment, if they quarreled about what to do next, if he left her to smooth things over with a meal, pretending everything is fine. But Claudius can't mistake that radiance. The sincere happiness of a girl in love, who's gotten everything she wished for after waiting. And if she isn't lying to herself, then someone else must be. "Tress," he says quietly, "do you know what's happening?"

[sporesprouter]

"I'm making a pie?"

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs, because it's impossible not to. He puts his face in his hand, and shakes his head. "A pie for Charlie, yes. His favorite. Did he ask you to make it? When he left, what were his last words to you? Do you remember?"

[sporesprouter]

"He didn't have to ask me, I know what he likes. When he left, he said... what did he say? Hold on, I'm sure I'll think of it."

[wickedwit]

“Tress,” he says, so, so soft. “I daresay you know Charlie better than anyone in any world. His face, his voice, the way he looks at you. His earnest yet fanciful turns of phrase. Your hair is wheat and sunlight to him. He’s your favorite pair of gloves. No one could recreate the memory of him better than you could. Not even it they tried to do it.”

[sporesprouter]

"If sunlight were light brown," she murmurs. She swallows with some effort. "He likes telling stories."