She had been terrified to say the least as the murmurings reached her ears. Perhaps the more wise would have noticed she found her way more often to Aubrey's side despite keeping it so relatively chaste. Though the less wise could easily chalk it up as the intended husband and wife trying to get to know each other.
The wedding ceremony was elegant enough, a blend of German and Scottish traditions as one could among the fae. Broken dishes, coins, processions, vows and guarded kisses. Her father had seemed pleased, very pleased. Perhaps a touch more than either the bride or groom.
In some ways it was like studying a statue, perfect and poised even if he wasn't in his favorite three piece suit. The beauty of fae before her was a touch sterile, she realized. All calculated. Not too different from the man who called himself her father if she thought about it. The Alder King looked like a Mafia don. Aubrey? An elegant man of wealth and approaching mid age. "So, you're always like this, aren't you? Even with the sunshine and the breeze and all this... stuff. Beautiful stuff. Trees and sun -- I mentioned sun earlier, didn't I?"
"Like what, exactly?" He already knew the answer, of course -- or, at the very least, had an inkling.
Opening up isn't really a strong point, doubly so when you considered the life that he had - and still did - live; trust was something that was earned slowly, over lifetimes.
Still, all things considered they were off to a better start than he had expected.
"Stiff as a statue," She explains, stirring the mango-something-berry-with-is-that-banana daiquiri with her straw. Her long pale legs stretch in the son and though oversize sun glasses block her eyes, her expression is clearly skeptical. "You would look absolutely the same if we were in the Antarctic chasing penguins and having seals being all cute while Orcas look offended we're in their water space."
She sips her drink and attempts to look like Aubrey, perfect like a Roman statue. She looks... utterly ridiculous. Mostly because she's trying not to giggle like mad and her cheeks and lips quiver.
Amanda also finds herself thankful she's still alive. If he wanted to kill her and say tragic accident... well, he still had what? Two weeks. "You just need to relax a little." And here she was, teasing him, asking him to relax when he probably could pass diamonds at the moment.
He tips his head, a quizzical expression to suit his mood. There is no bite to her words, however. If anything, they are teasingly light, almost affectionate.
The smile is slow, and lacks a degree of its usual sharpness: "And what, my most darling wife, would you suggest to correct this overdose of stoicism? I'm open to suggestion."
And that's the thing, she's not sure if it that's a truly quizzical expression of it it just suits what she expects. It's entertaining and frustrating at the same time but maybe it's just the booze in the long run.
Until he smiles. And she's fairly sure as her heart just about leaps that the smile is true. She fancies it. "Well, there are a lot of things and I'm fairly skeptical. We are in Paradise, the sky is blue as your eyes, and you have a drink. If that's not making you unstoic I do have a few things I want to try."
"I'm a terrible student. Awful. Miserable. Daddy Dearest did me the only favor by sweeping me off to become a Magical Fairy Princess before graduating college. My grades in math and science were just passing. So don't mind if my poetry is pretty trashy."
She sips her drink again, tilting her head at it, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. The crystals of ice and fruit and the water dripping down the glass. And the umbrella. That was utterly cute. "If I told you, you'd be prepared and you'd be utterly stoic."
Amanda had no earthly idea why she wasn't afraid. She just. Wasn't. Maybe it was him disposing the body.
"I... I'd like to think it's a little different and stuff. I mean I'm not sure if it will have a positive reaction."
She tilts her head, sips again, eyes on the perfectly blue sea for a moment longer. Then she turns her head, mouth intent on kissing him with the flavor of mango, berry-something, and banana, and too much rum on her lips.
He's startled at first - how can he be anything else? - but recovers quickly, one hand catching in her hair. She tastes like summer and sugar with the sharp edge of citrus and mortality that will slowly fade with time.
He pulls back, watching her face for a moment, as if seeing her for the very first time.
Oh, come on Mr. Fixer? How did you not know she was going to lead up to this? Other than the fact he's a fae and fae are orange and purple and don't some habits of human girls that are slowly becoming fae.
Amanda was going to draw away, the kiss was fairly chaste because she's not terribly sure she's kissing a gay man or an asexual man or a man who just got bored with sex sometime during the 11th century. But the hand catching in her hair kinda stops that.
She's suddenly thankful for the glasses. "Huh, your expression did change a little."
He might have expected. He might have expected but expecting isn't quite the same as knowing.
And, while it's true that his focus has all but been consumed by his current 'project', the fingers tightening in her hair - hesitant, uncertain - might suggest that there is at least a passing interest. "I believe," he says after a moment, " I believe I might like to try that again."
Knowing is a completely different creature than expecting. After all, she hadn't shown much interest beyond a few moments of conversation and a few questions about behavior of the court. Because, Amanda reasoned, he was not interested in the woman he was going to be forced to be married. He had a thousand years to get to know her and learn how to tolerate and vise versa.
Because now she had this funny feeling he isn't going to off her as soon as they get back from the Honeymoon. She quietly removes her sunglasses despite the fingers in her hair. Or perhaps because of the fingers in her hair. Her eyes are large and round despite the tiny smile. "Just to make up your mind?" Her voice is light, "Sure, it's not a bother. Not at all." And again she leans over to kiss him, this time letting the kiss linger just a little longer.
This time the response is more immediate, and very much interested; one arm looping around her waist and the other cupping the back of her head with an uncharacteristic care as he deepens the kiss.
Now this is a little... odd. All of it prior, even going in with the intention of another kiss, was a tease. A joke. He wouldn't be interested.
Now he's kissing her, she's returning the kiss, and in the commotion the drink spilled onto the sand. Amanda doesn't mind, too much. The hand holding the drink threads its fingers in Aubrey's hair so she can properly enjoy the kiss.
Odd certainly fits, given the circumstances. The sound of the glass shattering goes unremarked. Though he steers her out of the way of the worst of the splatter. Glass crunching beneath his feet.
The wedding ceremony was elegant enough, a blend of German and Scottish traditions as one could among the fae. Broken dishes, coins, processions, vows and guarded kisses. Her father had seemed pleased, very pleased. Perhaps a touch more than either the bride or groom.
In some ways it was like studying a statue, perfect and poised even if he wasn't in his favorite three piece suit. The beauty of fae before her was a touch sterile, she realized. All calculated. Not too different from the man who called himself her father if she thought about it. The Alder King looked like a Mafia don. Aubrey? An elegant man of wealth and approaching mid age. "So, you're always like this, aren't you? Even with the sunshine and the breeze and all this... stuff. Beautiful stuff. Trees and sun -- I mentioned sun earlier, didn't I?"
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Opening up isn't really a strong point, doubly so when you considered the life that he had - and still did - live; trust was something that was earned slowly, over lifetimes.
Still, all things considered they were off to a better start than he had expected.
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She sips her drink and attempts to look like Aubrey, perfect like a Roman statue. She looks... utterly ridiculous. Mostly because she's trying not to giggle like mad and her cheeks and lips quiver.
Amanda also finds herself thankful she's still alive. If he wanted to kill her and say tragic accident... well, he still had what? Two weeks. "You just need to relax a little." And here she was, teasing him, asking him to relax when he probably could pass diamonds at the moment.
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The smile is slow, and lacks a degree of its usual sharpness: "And what, my most darling wife, would you suggest to correct this overdose of stoicism? I'm open to suggestion."
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Until he smiles. And she's fairly sure as her heart just about leaps that the smile is true. She fancies it. "Well, there are a lot of things and I'm fairly skeptical. We are in Paradise, the sky is blue as your eyes, and you have a drink. If that's not making you unstoic I do have a few things I want to try."
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...that his new wife is oddly endearing when not afraid of him is just a bonus, really. "Oh? Do tell?"
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She sips her drink again, tilting her head at it, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. The crystals of ice and fruit and the water dripping down the glass. And the umbrella. That was utterly cute. "If I told you, you'd be prepared and you'd be utterly stoic."
Amanda had no earthly idea why she wasn't afraid. She just. Wasn't. Maybe it was him disposing the body.
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"I do hope this lives up to the hype."
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She tilts her head, sips again, eyes on the perfectly blue sea for a moment longer. Then she turns her head, mouth intent on kissing him with the flavor of mango, berry-something, and banana, and too much rum on her lips.
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He pulls back, watching her face for a moment, as if seeing her for the very first time.
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Amanda was going to draw away, the kiss was fairly chaste because she's not terribly sure she's kissing a gay man or an asexual man or a man who just got bored with sex sometime during the 11th century. But the hand catching in her hair kinda stops that.
She's suddenly thankful for the glasses. "Huh, your expression did change a little."
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And, while it's true that his focus has all but been consumed by his current 'project', the fingers tightening in her hair - hesitant, uncertain - might suggest that there is at least a passing interest. "I believe," he says after a moment, " I believe I might like to try that again."
Reply
Because now she had this funny feeling he isn't going to off her as soon as they get back from the Honeymoon. She quietly removes her sunglasses despite the fingers in her hair. Or perhaps because of the fingers in her hair. Her eyes are large and round despite the tiny smile. "Just to make up your mind?" Her voice is light, "Sure, it's not a bother. Not at all." And again she leans over to kiss him, this time letting the kiss linger just a little longer.
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Now he's kissing her, she's returning the kiss, and in the commotion the drink spilled onto the sand. Amanda doesn't mind, too much. The hand holding the drink threads its fingers in Aubrey's hair so she can properly enjoy the kiss.
Reply
Odd certainly fits, given the circumstances. The sound of the glass shattering goes unremarked. Though he steers her out of the way of the worst of the splatter. Glass crunching beneath his feet.
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