tragic_mask | (no subject)

"And what are you missing?" she asks, looking up at him. "Besides a heart, I mean. That's already been taken by the Tin Man."

"Something besides myself," he says. "It may sound simple, but there it is."

"I feel that's a fairly easy thing to fulfill," she says. "As long as you're willing to not be alone, which you clearly are, at this juncture."

"But I need the right kind of company," he says. "Company that will not simply absorb or reflect. Company that will remain itself, distinct. That's where you come in."

She smiles. "Yes, I could only ever be with someone who acknowledges my uniqueness, my independence."

"And you," he says. "What is it that you lack, on our journey?"

"A reminder that I'm not alone," she says, not looking at him now, but rather at the cracks in the sidewalk. "That... I have significance, in some way, in more than just the written word."

"So there we are," he says softly. "The things we are missing fit together nicely. Unstoppable, as I said..."

"Yes."

She finds this a good moment to slip her hand into his, as they walk. It feels right.

He squeezes her hand, gently.

There doesn't seem to be anything else for him to say--nothing that needs to be said. Just enjoying the silence and her company, as they walk along.

It's a good silence.

After not too long, they reach the parking lot of the hotel, crunching bits of gravel under their feet.

He chuckles quietly as he looks up at the hotel.

"How are we handling our trip home, then? Driving back? Bothering to check out?"

"Not like we brought much... still, we should probably check out. Unless you want the manager to think we were ghosts." She grins.

"...you know, that is an appealing idea," he says. "I don't quite feel up to paperwork today. Let's be ghosts."

"All right," she says. "Then we'll have to make a run for it."

"We're living so dangerously today," he says with a smile, as he pats his pockets for the room key. "I wonder which of us is the bad influence."

Her eyes widen, and she moves to clasp her hands together.

"I blame you for everything. Before you came along, I was innocent as a newborn babe."

"Never trust a Norseman," he chuckles. "So insidious, with our pillaging and our lutefisk. We corrupt or we destroy. Lucky for you, you're a better target for corruption."

"Thanks," she murmurs. "I appreciate that, I think."

"Mmmm. I'm not really the active-corruption kind. It happens as a side effect sometimes, but I don't set out to do it."

A pause.

"...well, usually."

"Really," she says, disbelieving, as they cross the parking lot.

"I'm more interested in my own entertainment than in harming others, usually," he says. "It's only natural."

"That's reassuring."

And then, glancing sideways at him: "I can juggle, you know."

"Can you, now?" he asks, faintly surprised. "I should like to see that, sometime."

"Oh, yes. And not just oranges and scarves, either. I will show you sometime, if you want."

She grins. "It's one of my lesser known skills."