Edward's eyes flickered back and forth between Rikku and the car. Rikku was eye-catching in her unique apparel--certainly nothing seen commonly on the streets of Reggio Calabria. And while Edward had made a mental note of, perhaps, how uncomfortable he should be at the amount of skin she was displaying, the fact that there was a beautiful, sleek, fast sports car just waiting for them behind her distracted him more than sufficiently.
Still, it wasn't as though he couldn't hear her thoughts as they slid through her mind. Some of them were fairly common for anyone just meeting him--comments on his appearance especially. But then there were the more unfamiliar thoughts. Her notice of just how battered he looked--although he had to wonder, did he really look that bad? Even after replenishing the blood he lost? This was getting ridiculous--and, the especially intriguing ones, the customs that were so unfamiliar to him, but that she thought of with such ease.
He was grateful, on the whole, that she didn't give him that hug she usually greeted people with--Edward had never been comfortable with physical contact, although Esme certainly had ignored that particular obstacle--although the fact that she felt comfortable with hugging even strangers was interesting to him. He wondered where this Al Bhed was exactly.
"The pleasure is mine," Edward returned her nod with a smile and a nod of his own. "I appreciate your rescue mission. I was getting desperate."
Edward had to internally sigh at the quirky response that clearly bordered on concern. He had no doubt Jasper had something to do with it.
"As much as I'm sure that Sam Winchester was correct in dubbing you my Knight in Shining Armor, I think I'll somehow manage. I haven't the desire to don a dress quite yet."
Noticing details was what she had been raised to do, and seeing his gaze shift from her to the car and back again, over and over, gave her the slight satisfaction of smugness before she focused her attention back on him as a person. She had taken the liberty, on her way over, of calling up some contacts as she simultaneously chatted with Edward over the network. There was little to be learned about him, but it was enough; he was a member of the Antimafia Commission, and roomed with his brother, Jasper, also an AMC member. Both were orphans, and had some connection to a Carlisle Cullen, though she'd had neither the time nor inclination to ask about him, too. Most of what she'd learned was common knowledge, anyways.
None of the quick conversations in her native tongue could tell her much else about him, save that he was pretty well-off. It was frustrating, to say the least; she didn't necessarily depend on her informants, but it wasn't often that they could give her so little. Though Al Bhed were usually ousted from normal society, a few of them could still blend in enough to stay in touch with the moving world, such as herself. She wore contacts at times, dyed her hair, stayed under the radar when things got rough; it was enough to let her pass through the streets. She ran back through the short bursts of words in her head, reviewing the scant information before a silent sigh escaped her lips and she let her eyes flit back up to his face.
Worn ragged, but still cute. Of course.
"Hu funneac," she replied automatically, reverting back to the present and instantaneously abandoning thoughts of her useless phone calls. She almost immediately corrected herself, realizing that her thoughts had been the same language in which she’d spoken: "No worries, rather." Nothing about the calls would help her get to know this boy any easier, and she was probably better off on her own. Instead, she let her attention center on what he was saying, the timbre of his voice, how he held himself. It was hard to tell whether or not he was still hurting now-he’d hidden it well, probably unconsciously.
A smile cut her tanned face at the mention of the Winchester boy's name, and she let out a light, trilling laugh. "Sam would call me that," she giggled, opening the door for him anyways just because she was there. Not so much courtesy as instinct, but that was what happened when you'd been raised since birth for a role like hers. First impressions weren't everything, but they were important enough. "But if you did wear a dress, I'm sure it'd look much better if your hair was a bit longer." She was already trotting around the front of the Lamborghini towards the driver's side door, letting her fingerless-gloved hands trail lightly over the hood.
Edward's distraction by the car was suddenly disrupted by Rikku's stream of thoughts. He could hear her thoughts in his mind and he could hear his name repeated once or twice, as well as Jasper's once, but other than those two familiar names, there wasn't a single word he could understand. Whether intentionally or not, the girl had begun to think in another language--one Edward had neither heard nor learned, as diverse in knowledge as he was.
It was, to put it lightly, incredibly frustrating. On the one hand, it was nice to not have to pick his way through another person's thoughts with every sentence they spoke, but, on the other, it was incredibly hindering. Edward was so used to reading other people through their thoughts--it was how he judged them, got to know them, and how he picked their lies from their truths. There were nearly no occasions when he couldn't rely on his ability to help him with his interactions. He hadn't anticipated this obstacle, and with someone he had just met.
This was not going to be an easy meeting.
"Where are you originally from?" he asked politely, self-conscious of how his social interactions were limited to Jasper and a few hostile encounters with Bella before she had disappeared. He hoped that Rikku was either comfortable enough to keep conversations going or, like Jasper, didn't like speaking very much. He wouldn't mind if it were the latter. The car was the important thing here.
"You know Sam Winchester? I've only heard about him in passing." Mostly in relation to the Vescovo. The mafia families really weren't as subtle as they could be. "I suppose we'll have to wait that out a few months, then."
Edward himself slowly made his way to the passenger's side, eyes gazing at the body of the car appreciatively.
The blonde girl was already inside the car, feet resting lightly against the pedals. She pondered his question for a moment, waiting until she figured he was within hearing distance before answering. "A place a few hours out of here," she answered vaguely, trying not to concentrate too hard on the images of the true Home burning to the ground after the attack, its protective walls reduced to crumbling rock and shattered metal. She had seen enough of that two years ago, and banished the mental picture. Reggio Calabria was her home now, or as close as she'd ever have again. "A big city seemed appropriate after being raised as a small-town girl." Her lips flashed to a rueful grin as she thought of how Home had indeed been less than an eight of the size of this city; all of the Al Bhed had been banished there, every single one of them. It was a miracle that they hadn't been killed by disease or something of the sort before the order to wipe them out had been given.
And another miracle that she'd gone back just in time to see her birthplace go down in all its blazing glory. She still hadn't forgiven Cid for blowing it up, but she would get over it eventually. It had been necessary, as she'd told herself time and time again.
"He won me in that auction a few weeks ago," she said idly, tapping her fingers lightly on the steering wheel, getting a good feel of the rubber and metal and plastic. How she loved the texture of it. "He was my escort to the masquerade, but we didn't see much of each other." Another grin, but less wry; she'd enjoyed herself, despite the lack of proper escort. She had seen everyone worth seeing, and that had been enough to file them away in her mental cabinet of who had what and how much.
Spiraled eyes glanced towards his hair and she gave a half-shrug; it would grow out in time, and she didn't bother imagining what he'd look like. She wasn't sure she would be able to anyways-he looked fine the way he was, as far as she was concerned. With a few more days of sleep and the potion she'd brought him, he'd be good as new.
The potion. Right.
Yellow-polished fingers slipped into one of two pouches at her waist, and she pulled out a vial filled with clear liquid. "Here," she said lightly, twirling the tube between her fingers before holding it out to him. "This'll make you feel better."
Still, it wasn't as though he couldn't hear her thoughts as they slid through her mind. Some of them were fairly common for anyone just meeting him--comments on his appearance especially. But then there were the more unfamiliar thoughts. Her notice of just how battered he looked--although he had to wonder, did he really look that bad? Even after replenishing the blood he lost? This was getting ridiculous--and, the especially intriguing ones, the customs that were so unfamiliar to him, but that she thought of with such ease.
He was grateful, on the whole, that she didn't give him that hug she usually greeted people with--Edward had never been comfortable with physical contact, although Esme certainly had ignored that particular obstacle--although the fact that she felt comfortable with hugging even strangers was interesting to him. He wondered where this Al Bhed was exactly.
"The pleasure is mine," Edward returned her nod with a smile and a nod of his own. "I appreciate your rescue mission. I was getting desperate."
Edward had to internally sigh at the quirky response that clearly bordered on concern. He had no doubt Jasper had something to do with it.
"As much as I'm sure that Sam Winchester was correct in dubbing you my Knight in Shining Armor, I think I'll somehow manage. I haven't the desire to don a dress quite yet."
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None of the quick conversations in her native tongue could tell her much else about him, save that he was pretty well-off. It was frustrating, to say the least; she didn't necessarily depend on her informants, but it wasn't often that they could give her so little. Though Al Bhed were usually ousted from normal society, a few of them could still blend in enough to stay in touch with the moving world, such as herself. She wore contacts at times, dyed her hair, stayed under the radar when things got rough; it was enough to let her pass through the streets. She ran back through the short bursts of words in her head, reviewing the scant information before a silent sigh escaped her lips and she let her eyes flit back up to his face.
Worn ragged, but still cute. Of course.
"Hu funneac," she replied automatically, reverting back to the present and instantaneously abandoning thoughts of her useless phone calls. She almost immediately corrected herself, realizing that her thoughts had been the same language in which she’d spoken: "No worries, rather." Nothing about the calls would help her get to know this boy any easier, and she was probably better off on her own. Instead, she let her attention center on what he was saying, the timbre of his voice, how he held himself. It was hard to tell whether or not he was still hurting now-he’d hidden it well, probably unconsciously.
A smile cut her tanned face at the mention of the Winchester boy's name, and she let out a light, trilling laugh. "Sam would call me that," she giggled, opening the door for him anyways just because she was there. Not so much courtesy as instinct, but that was what happened when you'd been raised since birth for a role like hers. First impressions weren't everything, but they were important enough. "But if you did wear a dress, I'm sure it'd look much better if your hair was a bit longer." She was already trotting around the front of the Lamborghini towards the driver's side door, letting her fingerless-gloved hands trail lightly over the hood.
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It was, to put it lightly, incredibly frustrating. On the one hand, it was nice to not have to pick his way through another person's thoughts with every sentence they spoke, but, on the other, it was incredibly hindering. Edward was so used to reading other people through their thoughts--it was how he judged them, got to know them, and how he picked their lies from their truths. There were nearly no occasions when he couldn't rely on his ability to help him with his interactions. He hadn't anticipated this obstacle, and with someone he had just met.
This was not going to be an easy meeting.
"Where are you originally from?" he asked politely, self-conscious of how his social interactions were limited to Jasper and a few hostile encounters with Bella before she had disappeared. He hoped that Rikku was either comfortable enough to keep conversations going or, like Jasper, didn't like speaking very much. He wouldn't mind if it were the latter. The car was the important thing here.
"You know Sam Winchester? I've only heard about him in passing." Mostly in relation to the Vescovo. The mafia families really weren't as subtle as they could be. "I suppose we'll have to wait that out a few months, then."
Edward himself slowly made his way to the passenger's side, eyes gazing at the body of the car appreciatively.
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And another miracle that she'd gone back just in time to see her birthplace go down in all its blazing glory. She still hadn't forgiven Cid for blowing it up, but she would get over it eventually. It had been necessary, as she'd told herself time and time again.
"He won me in that auction a few weeks ago," she said idly, tapping her fingers lightly on the steering wheel, getting a good feel of the rubber and metal and plastic. How she loved the texture of it. "He was my escort to the masquerade, but we didn't see much of each other." Another grin, but less wry; she'd enjoyed herself, despite the lack of proper escort. She had seen everyone worth seeing, and that had been enough to file them away in her mental cabinet of who had what and how much.
Spiraled eyes glanced towards his hair and she gave a half-shrug; it would grow out in time, and she didn't bother imagining what he'd look like. She wasn't sure she would be able to anyways-he looked fine the way he was, as far as she was concerned. With a few more days of sleep and the potion she'd brought him, he'd be good as new.
The potion. Right.
Yellow-polished fingers slipped into one of two pouches at her waist, and she pulled out a vial filled with clear liquid. "Here," she said lightly, twirling the tube between her fingers before holding it out to him. "This'll make you feel better."
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