( closed )

[winces]

CHARACTERS: olivia & keats

DATE: backdated to january 6

WARNINGS: extreme levels of awkward

SUMMARY: it's cool. they're totally cool. friends totally kiss then never speak to each other again save for letters attached to thoughtful presents. they're fine.

[ she's been leaving him food again. she's been a little worried, as she's wont to get, that he may not be eating as properly as he should, or that he's using too much of their tenuous allowance from alastair to purchase made meals. (he doesn't much look like the type to know what to do behind a stove, though she's careful to only think this and never say it out loud... since he also looks like the type to carry a bit of pride, heh.)

but her concern is genuine, and it isn't as if he's the only one she's been regularly feeding, if in this case "regular" means a least every other day.

granted, it isn't a lot, now that the weather has gotten a touch more severe, she isn't able to duck out into the trades district as often as she'd like to, so ingredients are in short supply these days. but she'll still leave him a roll of bread every now and then, or a few slices of a fruit bar, or, once, even a little pecan tart. today is going to be bread again — two, palm-sized sweet rolls with a bit of cheese melted within. these she's wrapped up in a cloth and attempts to leave at his doorstep again. she's always been very quiet while doing this, always choosing the right times just before he's expected to walk out of his room...

so, statistically, a mistake was bound to happen. ]

—ah-choo!

Comments

[headlining]

I hope not. I have a job to get back to, and I hardly think ALASTAIR will pay for my editorials.

[His job is important! It's all he's ever done! VERY IMPORTANT WRITING for a third-rate magazine no one reads!]

...I'm sure whatever they want us to do will be done quickly. I'm sure they didn't kidnap us to make us work for life.

[winces]

[ she perks up slightly, now turning to him with wide, unabashed eyes. seems her earlier shyness has given way to her curiosity; the two emotions are constantly battling for dominance, for sure. ]

What do you do? [ she asks in a way that seems to imply she'd been curious for a long time, but had never seemed to have the right moment to ask. now he's just presenting it to her on a silver platter, and she's snatching it up greedily.

also does fe:a world have editorials? newspapers???? ]

[headlining]

Oh, me? [Keats may be a closed book when it comes to who he is, but if there's one topic he's more open about, it's his job. He'll complain about it from time to time, sure, but it's what he does. It's practically part of his identity at this point.]

I'm a reporter. I work for a magazine called Unknown Realms. [He says, pushing up his glasses.] We report on a variety of supernatural and occult phenomena that people have encountered, whether it's strange lights in the sky, or creatures and beasts that shouldn't exist...you get the general gist of it.

[winces]

[ she gasps a little, her hands fluttering up to cover her mouth. ]

Oh my gosh — that sounds so fun! [ she scoots a little closer, peering up at him with wide eyes. ] Does it ever get dangerous? It must get dangerous, doesn't it? Oh, gosh, I bet you have lots of stories...!

[headlining]

[Well, this is certainly not a reaction he expected. He's a little taken aback at first, but then lets out a good-natured laugh. He'll admit it, the positive attention is nice.]

Oh, it definitely was very dangerous for the last story I was working on. Rather gave the rest of the ones I covered before a run for their money. And yes, I do have many stories, that's rather the point of my job, isn't it?

[winces]

Oh, will you tell me about it? Please? [ how many 'e's can she stuff into that word, LET'S SEE ] Please please please pretty please? I love stories!

[headlining]

[WHY ARE YOU SO CUTE, OLIVIA, HOW CAN KEATS BE GRUMPY AROUND YOU]

Alright, alright! Fine. [He says, almost chiding, though his expression says anything but.]

It's quite a long one, though. [He turns his head to the open door behind him.] Why don't you come in? I'm sure you wouldn't want to stand in front of my door for hours, listening to me talk.

[winces]

[ it'samystery.jpg ]

Oh. [ the sharp gasp is probably alarming... as is the sudden flush on her cheeks while her hands fly up to cover her mouth. she looks like he's just offered her the world.

well. in keats-speak, he may as well have. ]

Y-You're letting me in...? Really? Oh, Mr. Keats — I'm so honored...!

[ olivia don't ruin it ]

[headlining]

[The reaction is unexpected - at most, he expected a nice "oh, sure" in response, but the fact that she's blushing and gasping like he's about to show her some amazing secret just makes him stare at her for a moment.]

[He finally speaks, tilting his head like a somewhat confused owl.]

It's just an invitation inside. It's not a big deal.

[winces]

[ but it IS a big deal, keats! at least, it is to olivia, who had (up until now) been quite nervous he'd try to push her away or disassociate with her after that whole... mistletoe incident...

yet here they are now, inviting each other into their homes as if they were — gasp — friends...! ]

Someone's home is a very intimate space! To be invited in is... very touching. Thank you, Mr. Keats — I promise I won't touch anything!

[headlining]

Intimate space? Well, for some people, maybe...but back home, you see, it was my work office, too. That is, it wasn't as intimate as you think.

But enough of that. Come in. [He says with a nod, walking inside.] Be sure to close the door after you.

[Now, don't let the cleanliness of the place fool you, Olivia. If Keats had at least half of the things he had back home, it would be a bit of a mess - he's the type to leave books opened on the floor and let papers be strewn about haphazardly. However, here, the home is neat...for now. Keats' coat hangs at the back of a chair that is pushed against a desk in the middle of the room. A candle sits neatly on top of a book labeled John Keats on the corner of the desk, and there's a bed and nightstand in the far corner. There's a small dining area in the corner nearest the door, complete with small table and chair. Near it is a cupboard, and there Olivia can see some of the numerous goodies she's been bringing to him for the last several weeks lined neatly on the shelves. Overall, there isn't much at all, but Keats doesn't seem to mind.]

[winces]

[ she falls into a revered sort of silence as she walks into the room, doing as she's told and shutting the door after her as quietly as she can. she wanders in, eyes trailing over every little detail, even though there isn't much to take in, but she seems intent on absorbing as much as she can.

she lingers a bit in the middle of the room, hands absently wringing over her chest. she isn't quite sure where to sit, if she should sit at all... ]

It's very comfy, [ she adds, mostly as an afterthought. ]

[headlining]

Comfy? Ah, perhaps. It'd be more comfy if I had all of my things from home, you know.

[He says, moving to take the chair from the table and move it so it's next to the desk, across from the chair adorned with his coat. It was his usual layout back home, for when visitors came to visit, and he feels he needs to have it here, for familiarity.]

[As he moves to sit down in his own chair, he notices she hasn't made a move just yet.]

What are you doing, standing there? The chair isn't going to bite you.

[winces]

[ she gives a bashful sort of smile in response, quietly shuffling towards the chair he's brought out for her. though she sits, she does so rather rigidly, curling in as if attempting to take up as little of his space as possible. she turns to him with her hands folded over her knees, head tilted curiously. ]

What sort of things are those?

[headlining]

[He leans back in his chair, glancing over to where he normally would see a huge bookshelf filled to the brim with all sorts of texts - but of course, there's only an empty wall. He tsks under his breath, turning back to her.]

Oh, I practically had a whole library back home. Books, novels, journals...even maps and diagrams. All about the origin of fairy tales or strange phenomena from around the world. Lots of encyclopedias, too.

And let's see... [He pushes up his glasses, pursing his lips.] I had a nice dart board. You know, the game where you throw darts at the target? That one. [He pretends to look upset.] I miss that dart board.

[winces]

[ she listens with rapt fascination, looking downright eager to find out more about him. books, maps, diagrams... she finds it strange he would have so many about fairy tales, as he doesn't seem the sort to indulge in such stories, but given his line of work, it makes sense he would have them in a purely scholarly sense. (though a part of her has to wonder if it's only just that, and there isn't anything more whimsical involved.)

her lips quirk a bit at the mention of that dart board. he didn't seem the sort to bother with games, either. she has to wonder just how little she truly knows of him! ]

You're pretty surprising, aren't you?

[headlining]

Who, me?

[He lets out a short laugh at that, like she's up and told him a nice joke. But his expression settles into a small smile - he almost looks touched.]

Well, I try to be. Honestly, though I love my job, it's not exactly the most thrilling of professions to others. People think writers like me are stuffy and full of themselves. [A pause.] Which...I can't actually argue against, but there's a lot more to it than that. So, surprising, huh?

[He leans forward, mouth opening up into a smirk.]

What's so surprising, exactly?

[winces]

[ her ears tickle faintly at the sound of his laugh; she finds it's a rather pleasant sound (much more than his usual grumblings, anyway), and she wonders if she can maybe incite even more in the future. that smirk, too, is unlike the usual expressions she's seen on him, and a part of her realizes how special this moment suddenly is. please, gods, she prays silently, please don't let me ruin this.

with a faint smirk of her own (slightly off-set by the amused wrinkle of her nose), olivia leans in just like he does, so that their foreheads are only a handful of inches away. her voice is low, as if sharing a secret. ]

I didn't know you could make such a soft sound, [ she teases lightly, referring to that laugh. it's obvious she'd meant other things, of course — his infectious passion for his work, the fact he indulges in such scholarly ventures. heck, even his humor.

it's nice, olivia decides. he's nice. ]

[headlining]

[The side of Keats' mouth twists upward, like a part of him wants to be embarrassed by the fact she called his laugh "soft", but he's far too amused to do so. Instead, he shakes his head, reaching a hand up to press his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.]

Soft, really? [Soft. What a word to describe him. The fact that she can say something like that about him almost makes him want to laugh, but he feels a certain sort of warmth from it, too.] Honestly, if that's the only thing that's surprising about me, I've got a lot more work to do.

[winces]

[ his voice isn't the only soft thing about him, olivia knows, but she thinks it might shatter what peace they've found here if she were to voice that now. she may not know much about his life outside of alastair and chantes, but she knows enough of his heart to know it is not nearly as roughened as he would like others to believe. ]

Why? Do you make a habit of being mysterious? That doesn't sound very fair.

[headlining]

I do, though I guess not intentionally. Being a writer, you tend to focus on other people's stories rather than your own. Readers are supposed to focus on the people I write about, not on me.

[He leans back and crosses his legs, resting his hands on the arms of the chair.]

Why isn't it fair? Do you want me to be an open book?

[winces]

I'd like to know about your story, [ olivia responds without any hesitation. a smile still ligers on her lips, but it is earnest and hopeful. mimicking him, she leans back as well, but only to straighten her back and look more attentive. ]

Is that wrong?

[headlining]

Well, it's not wrong, no. I'd say it's unusual.

[Very unusual. He's always been the outsider, the observer. Just a tool used to carry out stories to the rest of the world.]

It's not like anyone wants to interview the writer doing the interview.

[winces]

Well — there's a first time for everything, right?

[ bolstered by this, she grabs hold of the bottom of her chair and scoots a little closer to him. if his long legs are spread out, she's probably situated herself a little in between them. she leans in one more, resting her chin on a hand, lips spreading into a wide grin. ]

So, Mr. Keats — do you have anything you'd like to say to our audiences?

[headlining]

Anything to say? Ah, that's a difficult question. But I guess I'll have to say...

[He leans forward, almost conspiratorially, like he's about to share a secret. He can't keep his smirk from edging across his face.]

No comment.

[And this is a grin of a man who knows exactly what he just did. Sorry, Olivia, it'll take more than that to get him to talk about himself.]