It's an interesting entrance for those present. Someone walks in without a hitch - and Rachel could swear she saw a row of lockers through that door, just for a glimpse - and calmly drops bags and self, like walking into homeroom.
It helps that she's sitting barely a chair away herself, close enough to read the title on the topmost book he set on the table. And it's easy to lean a little more to read the rest of it - school books? - considering she's sitting with her butt in the chair, her legs crossed on top of the table, and a new magazine for perusing.
(this one is a travel brochure for New Orleans. Yrael made her curious.)
The book had been her focus at first, almost a novelty. His words call her attention but only slowly, blue eyes dragged gradually to his face.
Attractive is nothing new to a girl who loves shopping and fashion, has been to runway shows and casually introduced to TV personalities. But that familiarity makes her very aware of the limitations. The make-up required, tanning booths, particular lighting and spacing from the camera.
In short, while the boy near her is rather spellbindingly attractive, Rachel is aware that he shouldn't be outside of a lot of specialized help.
Her guard is up, even for the oddest reasons.
And that's all before she registers the words and manages a slight sneer. She has perfect balance in her chair and is rather comfortable, thank you.
Edward shrugged. A haphazardness careless slovenliness that gave birth to the kind of graceful movement, even in shrugging, that dancers would have killed for. "They're just text books. Rather boring."
Like having to pretend he's suddenly eighteen again.
After seven months of not even pretending he cared to be alive.
Edward look up. Imprecisely. Contemplative glance over other people at the tables spread our through the center of the bar, his mouth resting against his curled hand, even as he gave a faint nod.
He picked up the books. It could look like he'd decided to simply clean the mess he'd made dropping everything, helter-skelter, on the table, but it also freed up the empty space in front of every chair except the one to his left where he was now piling everything instead.
Rosalie doesn't seem to mind either, when she finds herself in Milliways as well. She looks around for a moment without sitting down. She hasn't been here since they left Forks.
She notices Edward, of course, almost immediately. She secretly wonders if this was somehow orchestrated by the Powers That Be, whatever they are, because part of her has been wishing for another chance to talk to her brother.
It doesn't make it any easier to actually start the conversation, though.
She approaches his table, slowly, resting her hands on the back of the chair sitting opposite him. She lets her natural train of thought blend into second-person... It starts with an image, with several images, of moments she's seen him throughout the day, of the slight wince she's caught on his face more than once as he was forced to all of the mental gossip the sight of him triggered.
I noticed. She lets out a silent breath that feels almost like a sigh. Are you okay? and Can I talk to you? come out at the same time.
Rosalie of all people. The person who told him Bella was dead. Alsothe only one to back him up in that changing her was a worse travesties than all those to pass so far. That she would notice what he'd had to bear at that place.
He tries not to let the annoyance and the weight of that cross his features. But it's taking a lot more effort to be aloof and blank these days, when there's so little to draw on for it.
"I know you're still angry with me," she says, aloud. "I suppose I can understand that."
Her thoughts might undermine a bit of that sincerity, however. I said I was sorry. I thought you would understand.
She sighs again, audibly this time, her fingers fluttering nervously over the wood of the chair back. But her tone is flippant when she speaks again. "I'm assuming there's nothing I can do to make it up to you. Not that you being angry with me is anything unusual-- might as well just make it permanent."
Bella's not angry with me, her thoughts point out.
As though Rosalie every says exactly what she means. Except when she's mad, then the filter is either nonexistent, of her thoughts are far more evocative of her point than even her mouth can get.
"Bella never almost gave up everything in existence on your word."
She'd never have had to go to Volterra if not for it. But then he'd never have come her and she wouldn't be...
Comments 161
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"Longer on our side, too."
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"The Door wasn't in the all the places we were."
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It helps that she's sitting barely a chair away herself, close enough to read the title on the topmost book he set on the table. And it's easy to lean a little more to read the rest of it - school books? - considering she's sitting with her butt in the chair, her legs crossed on top of the table, and a new magazine for perusing.
(this one is a travel brochure for New Orleans. Yrael made her curious.)
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"Try not to fall out of your chair."
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Attractive is nothing new to a girl who loves shopping and fashion, has been to runway shows and casually introduced to TV personalities. But that familiarity makes her very aware of the limitations. The make-up required, tanning booths, particular lighting and spacing from the camera.
In short, while the boy near her is rather spellbindingly attractive, Rachel is aware that he shouldn't be outside of a lot of specialized help.
Her guard is up, even for the oddest reasons.
And that's all before she registers the words and manages a slight sneer. She has perfect balance in her chair and is rather comfortable, thank you.
"I'll do that."
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Like having to pretend he's suddenly eighteen again.
After seven months of not even pretending he cared to be alive.
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Edward does at least happen to glance in that direction.
It's not the common sound made when his presence is noticed now.
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"Oh, Hello Edward" She said softly
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"Good afternoon, Ginny."
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May I join you?
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She notices Edward, of course, almost immediately. She secretly wonders if this was somehow orchestrated by the Powers That Be, whatever they are, because part of her has been wishing for another chance to talk to her brother.
It doesn't make it any easier to actually start the conversation, though.
She approaches his table, slowly, resting her hands on the back of the chair sitting opposite him. She lets her natural train of thought blend into second-person... It starts with an image, with several images, of moments she's seen him throughout the day, of the slight wince she's caught on his face more than once as he was forced to all of the mental gossip the sight of him triggered.
I noticed. She lets out a silent breath that feels almost like a sigh. Are you okay? and Can I talk to you? come out at the same time.
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He tries not to let the annoyance and the weight of that cross his features.
But it's taking a lot more effort to be aloof and blank these days, when there's so little to draw on for it.
"Apparently, I can't stop you."
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Her thoughts might undermine a bit of that sincerity, however. I said I was sorry. I thought you would understand.
She sighs again, audibly this time, her fingers fluttering nervously over the wood of the chair back. But her tone is flippant when she speaks again. "I'm assuming there's nothing I can do to make it up to you. Not that you being angry with me is anything unusual-- might as well just make it permanent."
Bella's not angry with me, her thoughts point out.
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"Bella never almost gave up everything in existence on your word."
She'd never have had to go to Volterra if not for it.
But then he'd never have come her and she wouldn't be...
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