sunnydalealum | (no subject)

She chews on that for a moment, reaching for her glass of water.

"Some of them will be able to tell, you know," she says very quietly. "What's changed."

"Yeah. And they'll very probably gossip it up, but it'll die down before long. Most of them won't care if they do notice something is different. Apart from your glowing complexion, I mean."

He means that, too. "You look absolutely wonderful."

She smiles crookedly. "I guess being under house arrest agrees with me. Or maybe it's getting out."

"I think it's just being you. That's what puts the spring back in your step, that's what brings some color to your cheeks. That's all."

He gestures at the menu. "What are you having? I know I'm having trouble deciding on anything other than coffee."

Just being you. And that's it, isn't it? Just being her. Not having to be what they call her.

"...I kind of want waffles."

"Ooh, me too." He grins suddenly, and he'd slap his knee if he wouldn't look completely ridiculous - he wonders fleetingly if he's too flamboyant for this look, or if his quirks fit the glamour. He suspects that somehow, he seems even more of a queen than normal...but that maybe that's okay. Of course it's okay, it's who he is. If people want to make assumptions, let them. He's never cared before, why should he start now?

"Let's have waffles."

"And stop waffling," she says, and giggles.

"Exactly!" Oh, she's a darling when she's happy, and if Lorne isn't a bit smitten, he doesn't have a heart. Though to be perfectly honest, he's been smitten for quite a while now; this is just icing on the cake.

"Come on, let's see if we can't catch the attention of one of the darling staff. No more waffling."

There's a lot to talk about over the waffles, once they arrive. Some of it's just gossip, but slowly it starts edging around to other things.

"...and it wasn't so bad by that time," she says, pushing a piece of waffle around in the syrup on her plate. "I got outside once a day, and somebody kept leaving me books ... I don't know who."

"Books?" He thinks he has an idea who, but he hasn't the faintest clue why. Then again, he's very probably wrong. "I'd ask what sort of books if I had even an inkling who it was leaving them for you."

She shrugs. "Some romances, some men's adventure novels ... some kids' books, even. Once a book of crossword puzzles. It was better than just doing nothing."

"Uhuh... So, it's someone who doesn't know what you like to read. Or if you like to read, period." Long fingers just barely touch the hot cuppa refill, but his eyes don't stray far from his enchanting brunch date (brown eyes, he still can't believe it, doesn't feel any different unless he happens to touch his own skin, human skin, and the teeny tiny hairs that go with).

"I think you got yourself a secret admirer, sugar."

"At the Academy? I doubt it." The corners of her mouth tuck in, not quite wry, not quite bitter.

"Maybe someone just felt sorry for me."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'll take that before I take outright contempt any day. Someone cared enough to leave you books, that counts for something, right?"

She's got every right to feel bitter, or so he'd say if anyone were to ask him, even if he doubts anyone will think to ask... But, like everyone else he's ever talked to, she needs to talk. That much he can do, and he isn't half bad when it comes to listening, either.

"No, absolutely, it counts for a lot." Her eyes are wide and earnest, for a moment, before they lower to her plate. "I just don't think anyone there's got any reason to admire me."

She trails the tines of her fork through a smear of syrup, leaving tracks, crosshatching them.

"Maybe not." He shrugs, raising his cup for a sip - the very unassuming silver ring on his thumb making a clnk-y sound that he can't ignore.

"Stranger things have happened. Trust you me, they have."

"I don't just mean cause of what I did," she says, soft. "I mean... all of them there think becoming a Slayer was the greatest thing to ever happen to them. Getting stronger, faster, all the rest of it."

"I know that feeling. Not feeling like the rest of the big bad beast hunters." He arches his eyebrows in something approximating wry self deprecation.

"You're different."

Beth looks up at him.

"Hunters?"

"My kith and kin." The good thing about a verdant complexion is that when you blush, most people can't tell. This is not the case when you're whiter than the driven snow.

"...Your family?" Small-voiced. "I, I didn't know..."

"Don't fret, my sweet darling. I'm just saying I know the feeling. I did not fit in. Ever. And...let's not even get started on how much, okay?"

He reaches out to pat her hand, to show her it really is fine. "I know what it's like not to belong."

She smiles a little, reassured, and sobers again. "And it's not like I even want to fit in with them. The only... there was only one of them I ever thought I could maybe be friends with, if, if things were different."

The crosshatches have turned into little curlicues, spiraling across the plate.

"And that was Jordie, and, well. You saw how that ended up."

"Yeah. Sometimes, things just don't work out for the better. But hey, plenty more fish in the sea, right?"

As far as he's concerned, curlicues beat crosshatches by a very long shot. For one, they're a lot more peaceful, friendly thing to draw in what's left of your syrup and butter.

"And how weird is it," she says suddenly, looking up, "how weird is it that I fit in better with the staff at the club?"