sweethymns | Pictures in the Dark

[The energy behind the gesture makes him smile, and the sentiment behind it makes him... glad.]

All right.

[He reaches up and hooks his little pinky with hers.]

Pinky swear.

[Her pinkie looks smaller than his and the glamour hides everything, but there's that unmistakable rough surface of small crystals that stud her fingers and all the way to her right arm. So when she hooks her pinkie around his, it's rather gentle.]

Got it. Cross my heart and everything too, I'll make sure that I never forget you.

...

Cool, that rhymed!

[The surface of her pinky is unmistakably rough, but it doesn't bother him; he's distinctly aware that she's being gentle, and after the promise is made, he drops his hand to the side.]

Great. [That wide, sincere smile of his.] So you can add one more person to your list that'll be there for you, as long as I live.

[Being that he doesn't know how long that is, if he ages more slowly or less than her. But that was all details; he means what he says, for her sake. And for his own.]

[The rest of the walk is pleasant and uneventful.

When they reach the bar, Iona opens the door, cheerfully calling out to everyone.]

Where the hell can a girl get a beer around here?

[A small and mixed group of young men and women cheer at her presence and raise their glasses and/or bottles to her. They're a motley group (that's artists for you) and the bar is cozy even with its trendy interior. Iona gestures towards her new companion she brought in for the evening.]

I made a new friend guys! This is Michael! He captures souls with cameras, so be nice to him okay?

[He hangs back a few steps behind her as she announces her presence, immediately floored by the reaction she gets. He's pretty sure he's never had a group of people so excited when he entered the room; the fact that all attention gets diverted to him soon after makes him feel flustered as well. He gives a small wave at the group of her friends.]

Not exactly, I mean, I do photography, but I make a living off of web design...

[Are they even listening to his half-hearted explanation, really? Everyone appears nice enough, but he has no doubt Iona will be the center of attention tonight, so he just sorta trails off.]

[Contrary to what Michael thinks the group is gonna do, one or three of them are actually nice enough to turn their attention to him since photography is either their field or the web design gig catches their interest (gotta see if the guy knows how to set up portfolios after all!?) They even offer him a craft beer and a bottle of hard cider, one which Iona helps herself too as she chats with another friend about due paintings and their gallery set ups.

Iona does glance at Michael every now and then and gives him a thumbs up. YEAH SOCIALIZING.

But in all seriousness, she does lighten up and she hopes this is okay for her new found friend too.]

[He's surprised to find that a few start a conversation with him, concerning the subject of photography and web. It's easier for him to talk about these items of interest than, say, struggling to find an idle topic of irrelevance, so Michaels falls into the rhythm of banter with them. He reaches a certain level of comfort, but still retains his telltale personality of being quiet when the attention is away from him. He'll give Iona a little nod or wave when she glances over at him, to let her know he's fine.

Though he's not a drinker, not even a social one, he finds he can't be rude and not take their offers of craft beer and hard cider. He drinks a little throughout the conversations (sometimes merely to have something to do when others talk), and eventually (probably sooner than the rest) reaches the point of fogginess, resting his chin on his hand.]

...

[It takes a, "Babe, Mikey there's getting a bit of an early haze there..." for Iona to give her full attention to Michael. Uh oh. She moves over to him and takes a seat while everyone else is occupied with some food that's been brought out including some french fries. She grabs one and holds it up in front of Michael.]

Michael. Buddy. How many fingers am I holding up?

[Serious business is her middle name.]

[Michael looks over at her, blinking as if to clear the fog in his head. When did she get seated right next to him? He didn't remember that.

And is this a trick question?]

Um, just one finger?

[Michael, that's a fry.]

Yup. We got a lightweight on our hands.

[And luckily for Michael, Iona is a RESPONSIBLE person instead of a joker who would have liked to see how seriously piss drunk a friend could get.

I mean, she kinda does, but she's not mean! She pops the fry into her mouth.]

There, I ate my finger. Let's call it a night and head back, whaddya say?

[He'll appreciate it when he's more sober, Iona, I promise you that. And did she just eat... her finger? No way. Did he just imagine that?

Poor Michael looks highly confused, at both the edible finger and her question.]

Already? We haven't been here that long. [He seems to be thinking about something, then:] Two hours, ten minutes, thirty-five seconds. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven... [He's going to keep counting, please stop him.]

[And with that, Iona pulls Michael up with her right arm with little to no effort.]

C'mon hon, you're going home with me.

And not in that way! [She yells to her friends who are about to do the usual, "OOOOOOOHHH!!!" but she stopped them early, so that's cool.]

[Oop-- He finds himself hoisted up, and when he's on his feet is when he realizes that wow, the room is a little unstable. Not quite spinning, but certainly wobbling.]

Oh, wow, my head... [He mutters, as if it's some fresh sort of realization. Though he's still kind of confused why they need to leave; she was obviously not done talking to all her friends yet.]

We're going back to your apartment? [He's not all there, else he'd find this an embarrassing development. As it is, he just sounds curious.]

Yeah, we'll meet up with Oren too.

[Which means, they'll go to the cafe through her apartment, but she doesn't have to say that aloud.]

Say bye to friends, Mikey!

["Mikey" turns his head to glance at Iona's friends and holds up a hand in a half-hearted wave, and mutters something along the lines of "Bye, have a good night" before allowing Iona to shuffle him out of the bar.

The night air is cool against his skin, but it isn't enough to draw him out of his daze. He eventually tells her:]

I'm fine, you know. You didn't have to... leave.

Edited 2016-05-28 05:09 (UTC)

[Iona rolls her eyes.]

Boy, you are a lightweight. I really did not want to bring home a corpse to Oren.

A corpse? Do I look like a corpse to you?

[A zombie, maybe!]

Besides, I don't really drink that much. Never a reason to.

No need to start then.

And no, you're still cute and refreshing.

[Iona!!!! That's no alcohol talking, that's all her, 100%.

That said, she does want to see his reaction to that in his state.]

[Iona!!!

Though she might be surprised to find out that his embarrassment is toned down significantly in this state, as opposed to how he would have reacted with a more lucid mind. The tips of his ears still turn red, however -- or maybe, is that the alcohol in his system?

Regardless of alcoholic intake, it's impossible to not be completely self-conscious after saying such a thing, especially when he's so close to her, since he's practically latching on. His expression is graced by a light grin, however.]

You keep saying stuff like that and a guy can get the wrong idea, you know.

[(She wonders if he was the kind of guy she would have liked in high school. Then again, younger her was foolish and prideful and dealing with too many issues at once...)

He's latching on, but she supports him, no problem. A little awkward because of the height difference, but she manages.]

I hope you're not saying that you're getting wrong ideas.

[And let's just mess with him.]

[Likely she's just going to confuse him; the more flustered Michael will probably return once he remembers this conversation the next day. For now, he furrows his brow, unable to translate that comment as her merely messing with him.

He laughs, and it nearly sounds like a scoff.]

Do you really think I'm that courageous?

[It'd be a foolish thing to wish for, wouldn't it? Someone like him, withdrawn and antisocial, to even entertain the idea of someone like her, vibrant and full of energy, to be giving him wrong ideas.]

I think you're able to get there!

[Iona's voice is full of affirmation.]

Because things are changing at least right? I think you're doing a great job taking the first step forward for yourself. I think you're great.

...Ah, thanks. It means a lot to hear that.

[It's a little odd, though. Is she encouraging him? Or is she just being generalized in her statements? He probably shouldn't try to figure this out with such a hazy head -- he glances over at her, to judge her expression. It's as bright as usual.]

Still... not sure what to make of that, though.

[She shifts slightly so that Michael is a little more comfortable being supported by her as they walk back to the apartment.]

What I'm saying is that I think you can afford having some confidence in yourself and that you'll be able to find your courage someday. And I mean that for the important things ahead, not about wrong ideas.

[A beat and then she shakes her head, her smile of amusement hidden in the dark of the night.]

I guess what I'm also saying is... If you don't say anything, who's gonna know what you like, hm?

Yeah... I know. It's what we're... or at least, I'm working on. [The training was a part of that, and picking up weekends at the Grind, to socialize more with people. Confidence was what he needed, and not a confidence borne of alcohol that would loosen his tongue more than he'd like. If he could get his powers under control, he thinks it'll help a great deal towards that goal.]

It's not always easy to say what's on your mind. My mind. [He clarifies, absent-mindedly. Sometimes a filter between brain and mouth was a good thing; but what she says gives him pause. How would people know, if he didn't say anything?

He walks for a few moments more without saying anything, then:] You wear your heart on your sleeve, Iona. Have you always been like that?

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