And there is probably a stretch of time in which an announcement occurs, meetings are had, conversation after conversation until she can finally board the last ferry into Kirkwall and leave the Gallows behind for the night. ]
What is customary is that Loxley waits for her at his apartment.
But when she steps up onto the docks and out of the last ferry, movement will catch her eye. Loxley, waiting nearby, lifting his arm in a wave under the firelight of nearby street lanterns. Having attended the Gallows earlier that day to collect information, his orders, his wages, he'd left again while the sun was still in the sky.
And so, well entrenched on his side of the water, in a thick winter grey cloak that wraps heavy around his shoulders. Jewelry to a minimum, but Derrica can note a copper ring around one horn as she gets closer, and the golden cuffs she'd gifted him on the upturned ends.
Startling is not the exact right word. But it's not expected to find him here, so immediately present as she disembarks the ferry. She had thought of the walk from docks to the tavern, the narrow staircase and his door with all it's latches, this space in which she might slough off the oppressive weight of the day.
Instead, he is simply there. She feels her chest tighten, looking at him. Crosses the creaking boards all the faster, closing the gap between them so she might set herself into his space.
"Hello," she says, reaching for his hands. Leaning in against him, the wool of his cloak softly scratchy where her cheek sets against his chest. "You're a wonderful surprise."
Loxley meets her a few steps nearer, arms out to receive her. They wind around comfortably where she tucks in neat at his chest, an embrace that starts as a warm hug before loosening into a more casual hold.
"I believe I'm exactly what was ordered," is playful counter. Rather than make her clarify, Loxley adds, "I thought it'd be gentlemanly of me to see you from the docks, when it started getting late."
Because Lowtown is terrible, and just because you can summon lightning bolts should anything go sideways, doesn't mean you should.
The impulse to put her face in against his chest is at direct odds with wanting to return back to his apartment, so she abstains. Winds an arm around his waist as they set out.
"Very long," she agrees. "And tomorrow will be longer."
To say nothing of the week ahead, stretching out unendingly before her.
Loxley keeps an arm curled around her as well as they start to move, the familiar path down from the docks, towards part-flooded streets of Lowtown. Knows to guide them in the left side, where the stone raises up out of mud, and they can spare their boots a little.
"I did," he says. "And then the impromptu Scouting meeting. I'm to be charming the habit off of a Revered Mother. Thought I might crack open the Chant, see what that's all about."
You know, he'd always meant to get around to it.
"And," he adds, "if there's anything I can do to make your life easier, I'll be Gallows-side for the while."
A soft chuckle, before Derrica tells him, "I'd asked Gwenaëlle to see that you aren't bored while I'm busy with this mess."
But she'd known, of course, what he was going to be asked. Is relieved that he seems to be taking it in stride, even-tempered about the prospect of this assignment put to him. It's not really a surprise, that Loxley is good natured about the work.
"I might have to complain about it. Will you humor me, if I do?"
Being Gallows-side doesn't mean he'll be there the whole time. Already, Loxley can't help but think out a little bit of personal strategy, not wishing to be seen as constantly around, but it seems prudent to at least be one hand in a more permanent way than his normal dipping in and out. Perhaps it'll be he, sparing Gwenaëlle some boredom.
"I did have the thought, though," he adds, "about such a living arrangement. If she's to be there a week or so, you know. I could impose on Richard, or," his fingers splay at her waist, settle, "if it wouldn't be stressful, my being in your hair, I could stay with you."
And he stops himself from adding in reflexive qualification, about the ways in which she might turn him down, if she wished.
Derrica doesn't need him to remind her. Loxley has been accomodating; she doesn't doubt that it would sting to be turned down, but she knows he would understand. Give her space, should she need it.
She is quiet for a stretch, as they descend along the street. (Recalls the scramble of taking the ferry in the pre-dawn hours, running this route with her hair coming loose, face still streaked with tears from the loss of Holden. He has been on her mind today, inescapable and deeply missed.) His hand feels good at her waist, and the ease of their conversation diminishes the need to take all the day's frustration and scream until she couldn't.
"I would like that," she says first, before questioning, "But would it be better if you imposed on Richard? Would your company be good for him?"
In that stretch of quiet, Loxley starts plotting what he'll say in the event of her turning down his offer. Something breezy, obviously, having no desire to burden her with a sense of his disappointment. The Gallows has a great many empty rooms, anyway. He might feel moved to pivot to asking if she'd like it more generally, you know, not a permanent sort of situation, but maybe days at a time—
But there, not quite.
"Inevitably," he says, instantly. His company is good for anyone. "Perhaps I could dabble in a little of both."
Which may not be her business, really. But Loxley cares for Richard, and Derrica respects him, wants him to find some measure of happiness here. She has some idea of what he lost, when Madame Fitcher fled. She had done so much damage, and Richard hadn't been exempt from it.
"I would like it though," she reassures, "if you were there when I finished my work and saw the woman they're sending to her room."
She can halve her time with Richard. Or accept whatever division of nights Loxley saw fit to allot her, really. (It is easier to think of the irregularity of the days, rather than some more permanent routine.)
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charmoffensive) wrote2019-10-19 02:48 pm
no subject
no subject
If you're very busy, though, I can wait. I'll be brave about it.
no subject
[ affectionate, a little tremor at the edge of her tone. ]
I'm not ready to talk about it yet. But I promise to bring something good to drink, to make up for leaving you in suspense.
no subject
[ Acquiescence. ]
put pin in this for action spam after events occurs
[ The connection drops here.
And there is probably a stretch of time in which an announcement occurs, meetings are had, conversation after conversation until she can finally board the last ferry into Kirkwall and leave the Gallows behind for the night. ]
no subject
But when she steps up onto the docks and out of the last ferry, movement will catch her eye. Loxley, waiting nearby, lifting his arm in a wave under the firelight of nearby street lanterns. Having attended the Gallows earlier that day to collect information, his orders, his wages, he'd left again while the sun was still in the sky.
And so, well entrenched on his side of the water, in a thick winter grey cloak that wraps heavy around his shoulders. Jewelry to a minimum, but Derrica can note a copper ring around one horn as she gets closer, and the golden cuffs she'd gifted him on the upturned ends.
And a smile, in spite of everything.
no subject
Startling is not the exact right word. But it's not expected to find him here, so immediately present as she disembarks the ferry. She had thought of the walk from docks to the tavern, the narrow staircase and his door with all it's latches, this space in which she might slough off the oppressive weight of the day.
Instead, he is simply there. She feels her chest tighten, looking at him. Crosses the creaking boards all the faster, closing the gap between them so she might set herself into his space.
"Hello," she says, reaching for his hands. Leaning in against him, the wool of his cloak softly scratchy where her cheek sets against his chest. "You're a wonderful surprise."
no subject
"I believe I'm exactly what was ordered," is playful counter. Rather than make her clarify, Loxley adds, "I thought it'd be gentlemanly of me to see you from the docks, when it started getting late."
Because Lowtown is terrible, and just because you can summon lightning bolts should anything go sideways, doesn't mean you should.
"Long day, then."
no subject
"Very long," she agrees. "And tomorrow will be longer."
To say nothing of the week ahead, stretching out unendingly before her.
"Did you hear everything?"
no subject
"I did," he says. "And then the impromptu Scouting meeting. I'm to be charming the habit off of a Revered Mother. Thought I might crack open the Chant, see what that's all about."
You know, he'd always meant to get around to it.
"And," he adds, "if there's anything I can do to make your life easier, I'll be Gallows-side for the while."
no subject
But she'd known, of course, what he was going to be asked. Is relieved that he seems to be taking it in stride, even-tempered about the prospect of this assignment put to him. It's not really a surprise, that Loxley is good natured about the work.
"I might have to complain about it. Will you humor me, if I do?"
Might.
no subject
Being Gallows-side doesn't mean he'll be there the whole time. Already, Loxley can't help but think out a little bit of personal strategy, not wishing to be seen as constantly around, but it seems prudent to at least be one hand in a more permanent way than his normal dipping in and out. Perhaps it'll be he, sparing Gwenaëlle some boredom.
"I did have the thought, though," he adds, "about such a living arrangement. If she's to be there a week or so, you know. I could impose on Richard, or," his fingers splay at her waist, settle, "if it wouldn't be stressful, my being in your hair, I could stay with you."
And he stops himself from adding in reflexive qualification, about the ways in which she might turn him down, if she wished.
no subject
Derrica doesn't need him to remind her. Loxley has been accomodating; she doesn't doubt that it would sting to be turned down, but she knows he would understand. Give her space, should she need it.
She is quiet for a stretch, as they descend along the street. (Recalls the scramble of taking the ferry in the pre-dawn hours, running this route with her hair coming loose, face still streaked with tears from the loss of Holden. He has been on her mind today, inescapable and deeply missed.) His hand feels good at her waist, and the ease of their conversation diminishes the need to take all the day's frustration and scream until she couldn't.
"I would like that," she says first, before questioning, "But would it be better if you imposed on Richard? Would your company be good for him?"
no subject
But there, not quite.
"Inevitably," he says, instantly. His company is good for anyone. "Perhaps I could dabble in a little of both."
no subject
Which may not be her business, really. But Loxley cares for Richard, and Derrica respects him, wants him to find some measure of happiness here. She has some idea of what he lost, when Madame Fitcher fled. She had done so much damage, and Richard hadn't been exempt from it.
"I would like it though," she reassures, "if you were there when I finished my work and saw the woman they're sending to her room."
She can halve her time with Richard. Or accept whatever division of nights Loxley saw fit to allot her, really. (It is easier to think of the irregularity of the days, rather than some more permanent routine.)