[There's a moment, full and round like a circle, where she studies him and feels the rhythm of that repetition - the cycle of one possible conversation overlaid with another. She can't find herself minding, not the parts where this is different from what it could've been - not the part where his needs and wants are divided. Those are inevitable. He will never be sure when he is so fragmented, so she must be secure for the pair of them.
At length, she draws her hands back - she leans back as well, settling herself comfortably across the arm of the sofa behind her. Cathaway knits her fingers gently across her middle, tucks her feet onto the cushion with her, and patiently settles in.]
[That is the problem, perhaps, she never demands. She never attempts to prise it from him. She knew his heart because it was a open to her as it was to him, and perhaps that was enough to her. It wasn't enough to him. So then, again, it was to him.
And for now, his only answer is to nod, slightly, to stand as she settles back into the cushions of the couch and move away from her, deeper into his rooms, into the place he slept for a moment or two before he reappears to her, book in hand. It looks old, but it is impossible to say what that amounted to on Avera.
He moves, sits on the other end of the couch, clearing his throat lightly as he opened the book, ankles crossing.]
There is no scent on any world similar to the scent of the rain of Farrow province-
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At length, she draws her hands back - she leans back as well, settling herself comfortably across the arm of the sofa behind her. Cathaway knits her fingers gently across her middle, tucks her feet onto the cushion with her, and patiently settles in.]
Of course. We enjoy your stories.
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And for now, his only answer is to nod, slightly, to stand as she settles back into the cushions of the couch and move away from her, deeper into his rooms, into the place he slept for a moment or two before he reappears to her, book in hand. It looks old, but it is impossible to say what that amounted to on Avera.
He moves, sits on the other end of the couch, clearing his throat lightly as he opened the book, ankles crossing.]
There is no scent on any world similar to the scent of the rain of Farrow province-
[And so it goes.]