RP: All's Fair In...
Date: December 5th, 2004 (Night)
Character(s): Jack Sloper, Ginny Weasley
Location: Ginny's Tent, Weasley Way
Status: Private
Summary: Jack and Ginny talk about what happened.
Completion: Complete
He Apparated to the corner of Weasley way with a pop, shrugging his jacket about him to fend off the chill as the change in temperature took effect. The warmth of the Five Alarm was a long way away now, and he did wonder why he hadn't just gone straight to the ward line. Politeness, he supposed, she must be tired after the last week. Probably wouldn't appreciate an instant presence in her environment. He had no idea how wards worked, having only had one experience of them himself, but he figured the feeling he'd felt when Ginny had come to his would probably grow the closer he got to the barrier. At least this way, she'd have some advance warning.
His heartbeat began to speed up as his cheeks flushed at the memory of their last encounter, specifically of the mark she'd left behind his ear that had raised some interesting questions from Roger. Questions, he thought, he'd skilfully deflected with his mastery of the English language. Yeah, he knew something was up. But what was running through Jack's mind wasn't the images of flesh or sensation, as pleasant as they were (but the reaction was wholly inconvenient), but the note she'd left him. He didn't resent her for it, he'd known she was going and they'd said all that they needed to on that matter the night before. He dimly recalled her waking him up, her exact words a struggle to make out through the haze of half-sleep that permeated his memory, but she'd kept to her word on that.
He smiled when he felt the now-familiar, subtle charge of static as he crossed the ward lines, his intentions apparently being found acceptable as he made his way forward towards her tent. Well, she knew he was coming now, would she be happy to see him? What had happened in Russia? His thoughts flashed briefly back to her curt missives, but he banished them with a blink of his eyes.
Tired.
Yeah, tired.
Nervous?
No.
Lying?
Yeah.
Of course he was nervous. He remembered his mumbled admittance to her before he fell asleep on that night, but he wondered if she'd heard it. She'd certainly expressed herself clearly in the letter, and it caused a strange mix of emotions in him. Happiness, giddiness almost. Affection, warmth, but also trepidation, anxiety, a flash of fear every now and again. They were big words, the ones they'd used, he'd never bandied them about before in his life and he was sure she wouldn't have done as well. What was it she'd said, that night outside his house? "I don't bullshit people...".
So, where does that leave us?
That's the question, isn't it?
You know how you feel?
Pretty much.
Pretty much?
When did you get so interested, anyway?
When these insipid little emotions of yours started to affect me, that's when.
Bless, remind me to pick up the world's smallest violin for you later.
Oh, shut up. You're the one who's afraid of commitment, not me.
Haven't you always said that you are me? Besides, I am not afraid of commitment.
Yes you are! You're living in constant fear of commitment!
Oh please, I am not.
You're afraid of what your feelings are for her, at least. Admit it.
I'm not.
Are you lying again?
...yes.
He reached the flaps of her tent, waiting politely for a few moments before shrugging and pushing through, figuring not knocking was something she'd forgive him for.
"Gin? You-wow!" He started, and stopped abruptly as his jaw dropped. Ginny was there, sending his heart into palpatations as always, but threatening arrest with that dress. It was royal blue, coming down to her ankles as she leant against the side, a glass of wine held lightly between her fingers. He stood there stock still for a fraction of a second, before he had to mentally slap himself for staring. "You look um...wow, I...Russia looks good on you." He said blankly, before wincing.
Russia looks good on you, huh?
Oh piss off.
Character(s): Jack Sloper, Ginny Weasley
Location: Ginny's Tent, Weasley Way
Status: Private
Summary: Jack and Ginny talk about what happened.
Completion: Complete
He Apparated to the corner of Weasley way with a pop, shrugging his jacket about him to fend off the chill as the change in temperature took effect. The warmth of the Five Alarm was a long way away now, and he did wonder why he hadn't just gone straight to the ward line. Politeness, he supposed, she must be tired after the last week. Probably wouldn't appreciate an instant presence in her environment. He had no idea how wards worked, having only had one experience of them himself, but he figured the feeling he'd felt when Ginny had come to his would probably grow the closer he got to the barrier. At least this way, she'd have some advance warning.
His heartbeat began to speed up as his cheeks flushed at the memory of their last encounter, specifically of the mark she'd left behind his ear that had raised some interesting questions from Roger. Questions, he thought, he'd skilfully deflected with his mastery of the English language. Yeah, he knew something was up. But what was running through Jack's mind wasn't the images of flesh or sensation, as pleasant as they were (but the reaction was wholly inconvenient), but the note she'd left him. He didn't resent her for it, he'd known she was going and they'd said all that they needed to on that matter the night before. He dimly recalled her waking him up, her exact words a struggle to make out through the haze of half-sleep that permeated his memory, but she'd kept to her word on that.
He smiled when he felt the now-familiar, subtle charge of static as he crossed the ward lines, his intentions apparently being found acceptable as he made his way forward towards her tent. Well, she knew he was coming now, would she be happy to see him? What had happened in Russia? His thoughts flashed briefly back to her curt missives, but he banished them with a blink of his eyes.
Tired.
Yeah, tired.
Nervous?
No.
Lying?
Yeah.
Of course he was nervous. He remembered his mumbled admittance to her before he fell asleep on that night, but he wondered if she'd heard it. She'd certainly expressed herself clearly in the letter, and it caused a strange mix of emotions in him. Happiness, giddiness almost. Affection, warmth, but also trepidation, anxiety, a flash of fear every now and again. They were big words, the ones they'd used, he'd never bandied them about before in his life and he was sure she wouldn't have done as well. What was it she'd said, that night outside his house? "I don't bullshit people...".
So, where does that leave us?
That's the question, isn't it?
You know how you feel?
Pretty much.
Pretty much?
When did you get so interested, anyway?
When these insipid little emotions of yours started to affect me, that's when.
Bless, remind me to pick up the world's smallest violin for you later.
Oh, shut up. You're the one who's afraid of commitment, not me.
Haven't you always said that you are me? Besides, I am not afraid of commitment.
Yes you are! You're living in constant fear of commitment!
Oh please, I am not.
You're afraid of what your feelings are for her, at least. Admit it.
I'm not.
Are you lying again?
...yes.
He reached the flaps of her tent, waiting politely for a few moments before shrugging and pushing through, figuring not knocking was something she'd forgive him for.
"Gin? You-wow!" He started, and stopped abruptly as his jaw dropped. Ginny was there, sending his heart into palpatations as always, but threatening arrest with that dress. It was royal blue, coming down to her ankles as she leant against the side, a glass of wine held lightly between her fingers. He stood there stock still for a fraction of a second, before he had to mentally slap himself for staring. "You look um...wow, I...Russia looks good on you." He said blankly, before wincing.
Russia looks good on you, huh?
Oh piss off.