thoughtformed | {closed}

Entry tags:

{closed}

Who: Helen Magnus and Arthur Kirkland
What: A walk, followed by dinner.
When: After this.
Where: The Beach | Somewhere with food?
Warnings: None, as of yet.

Having slipped out of her shoes, Helen stood barefoot on the beach as she waited, musing over her reasons for being there. It was rare she allowed herself such freedom, but perhaps Arthur had been right. A few moments taken for herself wasn’t likely to result in the world collapsing, as much as it sometimes felt it might.

She still wasn’t certain why she had asked him here, why she had invited him for dinner afterward. Had she actually asked him on a date? The thought registered as absurd; she was reading too much into the offer. An offer she had made. Had she wanted it to mean more than it did?

Whatever her reasons, she couldn’t deny she was looking forward to the evening.

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"Possibly in more ways than you realise," he commented quietly, glancing away. Ah, yes, he did understand that desire to change the world - he'd had it once, and he'd spent so many years watching it develop in Alfred.

"But these things.. they never end in the way we'd wish them to, do they."

"Rarely, it seems." The Blood had changed all of them. Not for the better, she felt.

"I won't deny the benefit it's been to my work. Living so long. I'm not certain that excuses us."

"I wouldn't call it an excuse, no." Blunt as always, but he couldn't help his honesty. He knew better than most that a long life wasn't something to use as reason for your actions.

"But would you have done things much differently, if given a second chance?"

There's that smile again, genuine, yet still carrying a weight that's easy to miss if one isn't paying attention to her eyes.

"I've made it a practice not to regret my decisions, regardless of their consequences."

It was just as well that he was paying attention to her eyes - he was watching her face rather intently whenever he looked at her. It might have been unnerving for some, but somehow, he didn't think anything could shake this woman.

"A good practice. One I rather wish that I could take up."

With such careful attention, he'll likely learn quickly that her eyes are a far better indicator of what she's thinking and feeling than even her body language.

"There are times, it's the only way to continue living."

She's made mistakes, some more difficult to forgive than others. But if she allowed those regrets to take hold, they might very well destroy her.

Arthur did much the same thing, when he was comfortable enough to let down his guard, though it usually took longer for people to figure it out. He was, after all, a politician at heart and one didn't make a good politician without having a marvellous poker face.

There had been a time when his greatest skill was lying.

"I know," he murmured, a small smile touching his lips. "But we endure, don't we?"

"I wasn't aware we had a choice."

Not that she'd never considered other options, particularly early on. But she'd learned that wasn't the answer.

"I believe I've shared quite enough secrets for one evening. Perhaps we should consider that dinner, now."

"There's always a choice. It's whether or not we want to make it."

He'd considered it too, at several points, and even taken it at some, but a nation was a hard thing to kill and it always created more of a problem than it solved.

"Ah, yes, of course. How rude of me. After you, my dear."

She gave his arm a light squeeze, reassuring, "I've enjoyed it."

And she had, despite having shared aspects of her history she had made it a practice to keep hidden. He inspired an alarming amount of trust, for as short a time as she'd known him.

"Was there anywhere in particular you had in mind? Or will I be doing the cooking?"

Maybe it was just something left over from the old days. Someone like him had to inspire trust, after all, even if it wasn't genuine, but he would have been flattered to know that he had gained hers so easily. She was a lot like him, he thought - a lot more was hidden than what was shown.

"The only thing that matters is that I am not the one cooking," he said good-naturedly. "I'm not quite sure you're ready for that."

He paused, and hummed in thought.

"I do know of a pleasant little restaurant in this place. It depends entirely upon how eager you are for privacy."

"That terrible?"

She was, admittedly, rusty in the kitchen, but she was confident she could handle a simple meal or two. Still, perhaps it would be best if they didn't test that theory just yet.

"I'm certain privacy can be found elsewhere, if it's required. Let's see how dinner goes first, shall we?"

He's welcome to read into that what he wishes.

A smile was all the answer he gave to that. It was always a bit of a struggle to admit. What she said afterwards, though, provided ample distraction and his eyebrows shot up while a faint flush rushed across his cheeks.

"A..ah, yes, indeed," he muttered, clearing his throat and making a small gesture for them to get off the beach.

Well, that was interesting.

She might have laughed, but she would hate to ruin what had been a perfectly lovely evening. Besides, she found it rather adorable that he was so easily flustered.

"Merely an offer, Mr. Kirkland. Not a guarantee." The words were offered as reassurance, but there was a definite hint of amusement, as well.

She might be enjoying this too much.

Oh that just made it worse. Arthur grinned a little uneasily and looked away from her to force the blush down from his face.

"I think you're trying to embarrass me on purpose," he commented, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it working?" She tilted her head to watch him. "That doesn't change the sincerity of my offer."

He didn't think he needed to tell her whether or not it was working. How red the tips of his ears were should have been proof enough of that. Normally he wouldn't take very well to being made to blush, but he didn't seem to mind it with her.

"If you're truly sincere, I may have to take you up on that."

He's the first she's felt this sort of connection with in some time; she's rather eager to see where this evening might take them.

"I hope you will."

This had taken a surprising turn. Was it a date? Were they calling it that? Arthur didn't really see what else it might be but for the moment he was content with the idea that he was taking a rather attractive woman out for dinner and she actually provided a challenge to him. That was an achievement in itself.

Once they left the beach he took her to the restaurant he'd spoken of. They were lucky, it seemed, to come on a night that wasn't terribly busy. Crowded rooms weren't exactly the most appealing of settings, after all.

She had decided it was best left undefined, for the moment. He appealed to her in a way few would be able to match. Perhaps it was because she saw something of herself in him, an odd statement when she truly paused to consider their age difference and that she was on the younger side of it.

The restaurant was lovely, and she was glad for the relative quiet. She wanted to enjoy his company.

"I believe you've chosen well."

Yes, that was probably for the best. Defining this as a date would give certain expectations to the evening and it was best, right now, to just leave all expectations aside. They were both rather unusual people, after all, and they could hardly be expected to match up to 'normal' standards.

Arthur was more than a little rusty with the whole 'dating' business, not that they were calling it that, but he was rather happy to see that he'd made the right choice with this place. He hadn't been in this place before, though he'd looked over the menu.

When she commented, he smiled over at her and murmured a quiet 'thank you' as he was handed a menu.

"I'm glad you think so," he replied, feeling the tips of his ears burning again and silently cursing himself. "Do you have a particular wine preference?"

As was she. It was rare she allowed herself such opportunities. Attachment was something she could not afford, except in those cases it couldn't be avoided.

"Whatever you would prefer."

She watched him quietly. "You're blushing again." Smiling, she reached across the table to touch his arm. "I appreciate being the cause."

"Ah.." Drawing attention to the blushing only made it worse, and he ducked his head down behind his menu as he browsed the wines and gave a small motion for the waiter to come back in a few minutes.

"I'd say you're getting far too much entertainment out of this, Helen.." he said, though the humour in his voice was obvious.

"Just enough, I think," she returned easily, squeezing his arm before picking up her own menu.

"I've shared my story, Mr. Kirkland. Perhaps you could share a part of yours?"

"A part?"

Arthur glanced down at the squeeze to his arm, and let out a soft, almost nervous-sounding chuckle.

"I have a very long story. Is there a particular part you had in mind?"

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