It was misting. Tallulah was sore, tired, damp, and cold. Of course that was no fault of Artemis's (at least not the last two)- Mr. Diotrephes was always prompt with his door answering, a skill which Tallulah begrudgingly appreciated. She'd not knocked on Artemis's door, and she'd not knocked because Tallulah was waiting on herself. She was taking a deep breath in and dismissing her thoughts, the stomach-quivering excitedness, the way her lips seemed to twitch involuntarily into a smile when she thought about her "teacher," everything that she felt simply standing on his doorstep.

The last twenty days had been interesting. She'd taken to wearing pants and shirts and boots (standard training attire), no dresses. She could already feel herself becoming stronger and amazingly enough, she'd started sleeping. She was eating regularly, too. And although they'd only had five lessons, Tallulah practiced diligently. Artemis could say all he wanted about her being presumptuous and stubborn, but Lu was an exemplary student.

While the city was steeped in violent tension, Artemis had been teaching Tallulah the basics of fighting, and they were developing a rather special tension of their own. Vienda was boiling in her own blood, and yet Tallulah had found not just something, but someone who made her . . . happy. Yes, it was okay to think it. She was safe in her mind- but she could never let on that she was having fun. That would be crossing too many boundaries. Boundaries which they had already crossed while inebriated, but that didn't count. Not really.

But still, there was something to their stolen moments, something that passed any line Tallulah might have thought about drawing. Maybe she was reading too much into it. But there was the way he would correct the position of her shoulders, move her hands, the quiet smiles, and the way she'd smile back. They way she'd laugh. The way they made jokes, the way they tested each other. There was no way around it, it was happening, and though she'd hate to say it, it was probably going to get worse. They were becoming friends.

As ready as she'd ever be, Tallulah raised her hand and knocked on Artemis's door, and suddenly all of her mental preparation was completely undone.

Artemis was quick to answer the door, Tallulah's field giving her away before the knock. He had been waiting by the door the whole time, anticipating the knock with great apprehension. He could have answered the door the instant he'd sensed her presence, but that would make him look too... what- excited? eager? pleased? Perhaps all of these things, rolled into one. There was a word for it that simply did not want to surface in his mind, so he ignored it and jerked the door open the instant Tallulah's fist struck the wood surface. So he failed in his not looking.... whatever it was that looked like. He was genuinely happy to see her and he had long since stopped fighting that sense of pleasure, because it was an utterly pointless endeavor. His lips twitched into a smile when he laid eyes on her. Completely involuntary, yet a readily accepted response to her visage at this point.

He did a quick, mental review of her attire. It was practical, perfect for the activities which would soon ensue, though she had been wearing the proper attire since the second lesson. On the odd occasion, the memory of what she had worn to the first lesson tempted from him a laugh. She had come in a dress, apparently forgetting what she had come to do, and while she looked utterly stunning upon her arrival, she looked rather sad and pathetic upon her leave. She of course got lots of teasing over the matter the first half of the lesson, and the occasional glance which reminded her of their- or perhaps more accurately his- inside joke over the matter. The outright teasing had ended rather abruptly on their first lesson after a sharply worded warning which Artemis, in spite of himself, had decided to take with some semblance of seriousness.

Apart from her rather questionable attire and her unfortunate lack of physical strength (a common trait among her race), Tallulah had proven a remarkable student, graceful and fluid in her motions, quick to grasp the proper stances. It seemed the instant he'd alluded the forms to a sort of dance she was able to pick up on things with no outward problems. Still, he had requested that she do some practicing in her own spare time and had given her a list of strength exercises and stretches to do over the course of an hour at least once every day.

He stared blankly at Tallulah for a brief moment, searching for a reason to have reached the door so quickly. It was fortunate that Horas had taken that moment to fly out the door to stretch his wings. "Oh, hello." His lips twitched slightly as he turned his attention to the falcon, now speeding into the sky. "Most excellent timing, Horas wanted to stretch his wings..." It was a lame excuse, but an excuse nonetheless, and after a brief, awkward pause, "Come on in."

Tallulah's receiving smile was broad to say the least, and when Artemis smiled at her, Lu's heart seemed to leap into her throat. She attempted to swallow, which made it lodge in her stomach and spread a nervous flickering sort of warmth throughout her small torso.



"Hello, Artemis."

She could've called his bluff with Horas. She could've told him that she was the most exciting part of his day, and that was nothing to be ashamed of. But then she'd have to tell him how she laughed to herself when she thought of his smile. She'd have to tell him that the times in between her lessons were spent ether practicing, thinking of him, or drawing him. And then, she'd have to kiss him- sober, this time. But that just wouldn't do. So she walked into his home, pushing what she could have done aside.

His house was becoming familiar to her, but she still looked around curiously. Things seemed to always shift around Artemis- he left traces of what his life was compiled of in his home. Though the signs were slight, Tallulah was beginning to pick up on some of the more obvious changes. The few crumbs meant he'd been eating, which meant he had money, which meant either he was taking on more jobs, or she was his soul patron.

Tallulah did a quick survey of his body, not willing to admit that she was actually admiring him- nope. She was just checking for blood stains. For some reason, the idea of him hurting pulled at the corners of her insides, and not in a good way.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Lu turned to face her teacher, hands on hips, her smile lingering in her slanted eyes.

He may have had a few more scars, but if he did they were well-hidden. Still, there was little work to be found in Vienda- little that would suit him, at any rate, and it would appear Tallulah was the best patron he'd had in ages; He hadn't had much work aside from training her and where he typically only did one job per patron, she was a repeat offender. Artemis noticed her eyes sweeping up and down and up once more, tracing his form in one quick flick, and felt, in a way, as if she were appraising him for something or another. It was an odd feeling, almost uncomfortable, and almost... warm? Something burning behind her eyes in that slightest of gestures seemed more... affectionate than what he was used to. Almost worried, but for what? He shook the thought, just in time for her to inquire as to what the lesson would be this day. Straight to the point, none of the formalities he was used to sharing with her. It was a good thing he'd planned his lessons in advance.

"Today we spar. I want to evaluate your skills, see where you stand. We may have to train more often, in fact if you intend to actually use this knowledge in a tight spot I would highly recommend we meet at least four times a week." He noticed a part of this recommendation was primarily for himself- so he could see her more. So he could have an excuse to be so close to that 'forbidden fruit.' But he did have his practical reasons- he needed more money for taxes and food and typical day-to-day expenses, and she needed to have enough knowledge in physical combat that it would actually be useful to her should she brail or be silenced. "If we follow this schedule with any consistency, I will lower the cost of these lessons to five shills per lesson, if that sounds manageable?" In the long run he would still be earning enough to survive, perhaps more, assuming she stuck to the schedules.

Tallulah nodded, just two quick bobs of her snow-white head and would have said something, but she was fighting a smile and that just made it all the more difficult. Four times a week. That was twelve times a month- which meant, at the rate things were going, twenty-four laughs, thirty-six smiles, and sixty hidden glances. That meant the nervous, happy energy and easy way they were starting to talk in would progress and grow. That meant she'd have one more secret from the world. That meant she'd be snubbing society a regular three-and-a-half hours out of every four days of every single week. Tallulah could tolerate that.

Sparring, however, was another matter entirely.

"I've never really engaged someone in . . . in that way, before." Her next glance was quizzical, sharp, evaluating. The slow smile on her lips was cat-like, excited- almost predatory. She felt quite the tigress when they practiced together. It was extremely exhilarating. "What should I do?"

"Yes, sparring." He crossed into the space he'd made for the two of them to train in, a 10'x10' area in which they could move freely- not much, but enough. "What you do is quite simple, I should expect. Assuming you've kept up with practicing the stances in your spare time, which judging by your performance our last session, you have, we simply take our positions, you relax into your stance, and then, when you're ready, hit me. Try to remember the form I taught you- a good, solid base with your muscles tensed just right can lend itself to a perfect balance between a quick and powerful attack." He slid into his natural fighting stance and waited, cocky smile in place. "Attack me when you feel ready."

She did as she was told, trying to keep her eyes from the scars running across his chest, and the muscles underneath. Taking her stance, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in- just like they'd practiced. Looking at him for only a second, she decided not to hit him in the face. Because . . . well . . . she liked his face, even if she did want to knock that arrogant smile right off it. Besides, his ribs were much softer.

Then again, only idiots really attacked their teachers, and she was not an idiot, so maybe the stomach. No, the ribs. She'd just not put all of her strength into it, so she wouldn't look like too much of a fool when she failed.

And so she threw her punch quickly and softly, secretly hoping she didn't miss, so she might be able to touch him.

Were she anyone else, or if she had had more experience, Artemis might have thrown Tallulah's fist right back into her face. But, though he knew very well that he should not discriminate in such a way- that a teacher should never go so easy on his student for the simple fact that an enemy would not- this time he simply brought his defending arm around in a circle, quickly- but gently- gripping her wrist and pulling her to him, his left hand stopping just short of her throat. Had he put full force into the move- had he intended to bring harm to his pupil- he would have easily knocked her out. "You hesitated." A simple statement of truth- of what he had observed. "Something is holding you back."

He released his hold on her, "What ever it is, you need to put it aside. One hesitation, one second-guess and an enemy could easily take advantage of the situation and you could wind up dead. You must also remember to use combinations, rather than focusing all your energy into one single strike- always anticipate that your first two strikes could miss, each successive attack reinforces the last, and is a form of backup in the event that you miss." He took a few steps back, demonstrating a useful combination of punches for her- something he'd already taught her- once more, right-mid, left-low, right-high; abdomen, groin, throat. Simple and effective. He slid back into position, "Try again."

Regaining her position, she deliberated whether or not to tell him, while trying not to imagine being pressed against his chest. Because this was business. And Tallulah was professional. And he was not interested. And she shouldn't be either. They were friends. Just friends. Taking another deep breath, she closed her eyes, trying to 'find her center,' as he'd told her the first time. 'What the hell does that mean, anyways?'

And so she started explaining as tried to decide between the combinations he'd shown her. "Common sense dictates a woman should never attack a man, much less an inexperienced woman attack a man who could probably kill her with little more than his thumbs." She smirked as she said it, knowing Artemis would like the fact she admitted his superiority. It wounded her pride, yes, but it was the truth, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She decided on the one he'd just shown her, putting a bit more strength behind it this second time. Gods, but she was nervous- lost, even. She could only imagine how frightfully dull she seemed. By the end of this, she had better be fighting champion of Vienda, or else she'd demand a refund.

He did enjoy the complement, as begrudging as had come, even though it wasn't so much a compliment as a statement of fact. But what she had failed to mention, to his surprise and much to his pleasure, was that she could just as easily kill him with just a few words, so long as she could speak them. While he might have pointed that out at any other time, he was currently focusing on not getting struck in the groin, or any other area.

Tallulah's strikes improved, if only a little this go around, and he could definitely feel some extra force behind each one this time as he blocked them. But would it be enough? "Better. Perhaps you would be more suited to quick strikes, rather than exerting so much energy attempting to make them stronger?" He slid behind her, once again very close to her, and guided her through some motions, ever so slightly shifting her stance to accommodate speed. "So long as you have good form, you should be able to achieve the powerful attacks you're attempting through sheer speed. Speed equals velocity, high velocity and precision can more than make up for a lack of strength." Maybe he could make her angry. Perhaps he could frustrate her to the point of trying harder. It seemed all she was lacking at the moment was proper motivation. Or she was focusing on something else entirely. But he would wait it out before attempting this method- he didn't want his house blown up with him in it, after all.

Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. He was touching her, and it wasn't fleeting and he was talking and she couldn't focus and WHY did this have to happen each and every time? She had to focus. Push everything to the very back of her mind and focus. As he helped her through the motions, she started to gain control of her mind again- and suddenly it kind of clicked, but only just a little. Speed versus strength. Her own strengths and weaknesses, and how to play with them. It was rather fuzzy, mind you, but it was there.

So she took a breath and tried again, this time trying for speed. She took her first swipe to his face, the next to his throat, and her third to his well-toned stomach. Tallulah still held back though- she didn't want to smash that handsome face of Artemis's. It was his only asset, really.

So she chose something new- something he'd taught her but not something he was entirely used to seeing her use. It came as a bit of a surprise, which was both good and bad, so he had to think more quickly and work harder to evade. The punch to the face he evaded, simply by moving out of the way- basic footwork. The blow to his throat he blocked. The blow to his ribs he barely missed blocking- she landed a blow, which was more surprising than painful. He grunted, stepping back and tilting his head slightly, "Your first hit," he flashed her a grin, but it was short lived, "Unfortunately it was not your best. It's difficult to improve when there is something holding you back. I want you to let it go. Or find something more important, perhaps. Find something you would fight to protect above all else- something you would give your life for. Keep that in mind, and strike when you are ready."

Oh no he didn't.

He'd made her angry- he wouldn't like her when she's angry. Stupid wick. "What!?! That- was a- perfectly- good hit!"

Each of her words were punctuated with blows to various areas on his person. They were fast, like he'd taught her, but for some reason . . . the barrier was still there.

Maybe . . . maybe she didn't want to hurt him . . . ? But that was stupid. It was a survival instinct. You never try to eat the bigger fish.

This was an interesting twist. With each blow he took a step back, smirking all the while. It was strange- this was likely the only time in his life when someone was hitting him that he actually enjoyed it to some degree. Possibly because it was showing some level of success not only on Tallulah's part as a student, but his as her teacher. "Come now, you hired me to train you, did you not? with training comes constructive criticism, without it you would never learn." He caught her last two punches, her fists engulfed by his hands and he did not let go.

His voice dropped to barely above a whisper so she would have to listen. So she would have to hear every word like a blow to the face. "You can use this anger as fuel, which I promise you won't be quite so effective as the methods I am attempting to teach you, or you can calm down and listen to me, as painful as that must be. Or... you can continue to fight like your deal old Gran you loved so much." He realized just as he said it that he was overstepping his bounds, that he might just regret saying it, and in a way he already felt bad just for the fact that those last words might have actually hurt Tallulah, but he wanted to show her just what he meant. He wanted her to learn. So he braced himself, still gripping her fists, and even then was likely not the least bit prepared for what would come next.

Tallulah was silent for maybe five seconds. Motionless and calm, completely in control. And then, two words slipped from her lips.

"You bastard."

And what she did next she really wasn't thinking about- she just did it. She'd watched him several times before- move in and then back out again. So, Tallulah moved into his hold on her, into his space, and kneed him in the stomach as she pulled his hands down and twisted, trying to get away. She didn't want to be near him. Didn't want to think about him. What she wanted to do was cast him into his next life. That bastard. She'd been so stupid, so stupid. How could he?!? How could he . . . ?

But casting wouldn't be . . . right. For some reason, casting seemed too good a punishment for him. So, Lu aimed for the next thing she could- his ego. She brought her foot up to his groin, hoping too add some extra oomph with her boots. He deserved much worse. Gods, he'd betrayed her. She'd given him so much, given him what little faith she had, and he'd thrown it back in her face. Clocking wick. So, after she kicked him, she leaned close to him, her voice a hissing whisper, cold and yet filled with her strange anger.

"If you ever even mention her name again, I will kill you." Tallulah meant what she said. It wasn't a threat- it was a promise. She lingered there, near him, unmoving, her hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes as cold as new snow.

And then he was down, kneeling, and she didn't really think about sitting on his chest, it just sort of happened. And her fists were hailing punches down on what ever they could reach. She couldn't believe she'd trusted him. She'd liked him. A frustrated growl worked its way through her full lips, her eyes hard and vengeful as she pummeled him. How could he?

He wasn't entirely sure what had happened. One instant she was calm, which he had known deep down would only lead to some amount of pain and loads of trouble, and then the next she exploded, as did several parts of his anatomy- in searing pain. First it was the most sensitive spot any man laid claim to, then the more mental pain to his ego that he had allowed it- that he was listening to her threaten his life in his own house, and then an instant later it was more pain to his ego and his physical being alike. Tallulah was a blur of absolute rage. And Artemis was not upset with her. Which surprised him. He was, instead, upset with himself that he had crossed that line he had promised her he would never cross again. That he had broken something special he thought he'd had for once in his pitiable excuse for a life- that he might have shattered it wholly and completely and beyond repair, and it would all be his fault when she would finally storm out the door when her rage had all been spent in the form of physical abuse, when it would have subsided into simple anger, then blossomed into utter loathing once more and that would be the end.

So it took him a while to remember how to stop it- to get a hold of himself and stop her while he still had the chance. And when he did it was with little care or any real effort but for that it took to do so gently. To not strike back at her. To not lash out from his own anger at his own stupid actions. He managed a hold on her wrists and pushed her to the left, rolling her off him and at the same time rolling to his feet, ignoring the burning pain to the best of his abilities, a grunt still escaping his lips as he crossed rigidly to the table where he'd had tea prepared for their first break. He poured himself a cup, not saying a word. If he opened his mouth now there would be nothing to say but a whole bunch of stupid. So he kept it firmly clamped shut for the time being, save for when he took a long sip from the calming, piping-hot brew. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath, let it out. The silence seemed eternal. Deafening in and of itself. And still there was his own voice beyond the silence, cursing himself and the situation he knew damn well he'd gotten himself into.

And then he spoke.

"I was wrong." There was an uncomfortable pause before he turned around, gathering the courage to look her in the eye, "I was wrong, and I am sorry. I crossed a line I knew very well I shouldn't have. I betrayed you." At that point his voice cracked and it was becoming difficult to hold himself together. Moron. "I am sorry." Of course it would be stupid to assume she would ever forgive him, but he still owed her the apology. Idiot. Stupid, stupid fool.

And suddenly it was gone. All of it. All of it was gone because he had taken it and he was being kind to her- or as kind as he could be. And she, again, was broken. She, again, was crying the tears that weren't there, shaking with the ghosts of things she couldn't fight, things she couldn't run away from because she'd wanted to hurt him. He'd betrayed her, he'd broken her, and it would be hard for her to forgive him- but he had recognized it, and he'd apologized and Tallulah's anger was still there. It hadn't been self-defense. She had wanted to hurt him. She still wanted to hurt him, or break something, or run, or scream, or just change. Just make a change that would impact someone, but she couldn't because she wasn't there. Not really.

She was tired of the stagnaticity of her life, tired of her hate, tired of her fear, and it made her so damn angry. And then he'd pushed her. And pushed her. All she wanted was to do something right, and she tried so damn hard. She worked, and worked, and just didn't want to hurt him and then he pushed her, but it wasn't his fault. No. Because only monsters broke the way she had.

Why was she so weak? She was laying on her back, too dazed to move, and the shaking was coming- she could feel it. The shaking but never the tears, never that release because she didn't deserve that. It all built up and had no where to go and gods damn it all he had to apologize. It was too much.

Tallulah pulled herself up slowly, pushing her knees to her chest, sinking her head to her kneecaps, and wrapping her arms around her legs. Her hair cascaded around her body, shielding her from his eyes. She was in as tight a ball as she could force herself, trying to stop herself from breaking like she always did. How did she let him get this far? How could she let him get so close? Gods, she was so fragile. How could he not see how close she was to falling apart?

She was aware that she was trying to speak, trying to give some sort of explanation as to why she couldn't keep it together. She knew she was trying to tell him he didn't have to apologize to her- never to her. She could feel the words there, she could see them forming in her mind, but she couldn't get them past the lump in her throat- past the way she was gasping for breath.

(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p8yMI03q17g ))

Gods, what had he done? He had broken her! And he felt terrible for it. Like a hatcher. A horrible monster with a black heart and a lust for the pain and anguish of every good and wonderful thing around him. She was curled up into herself, as if trying to make herself so small she would just disappear. He knew that pain. He had brought it upon her, just as he, like so many others, had brought it upon himself. Why wasn't she leaving? Wouldn't it be healthier for her if she just left? If she just found someone else- one of her own kind. Someone who could make her smile. Laugh. Dance like a dervish and forget all her worries and troubles... and never, never lead her to this verge of tears. This inescapable prison of built up anger and frustration. Why did he do this to people? They didn't deserve his hate. His troubles. They had no part in it. In any of it. So why did he have to push them? To prod them until they were broken like him? Bitterness didn't even begin to describe it.

He had thought that she had brought a change in him. That she had made him a better person. Certainly he had been happier than he'd been in years since she'd come into his life... as odd as that seemed. And now he'd ruined it. Pushed her too hard. And he didn't want that. He was.... afraid? No. Terrified. Terrified of losing her. His connection to reality. To something more than the misery he'd taught himself. Quietly, he slipped down to the floor, crossed over to her, and wordlessly held her in a warm embrace which he hoped would lend her some form of comfort. "Let it out." He whispered, as soon as the words came to mind. "For once, let the tears flow. Let go of everything. It's not your fault."

Artemis was pulling her to him, and it felt real. It felt like everything. It felt like Tallulah's world was being pulled out from beneath her, and she had nowhere to fall but his arms. And she found her own arms curling themselves against his chest, her body compulsively seeking some sort of comfort. She needed him. Not just then, not just when she was broken, not just when she was hurting because of him. He had made her so damned happy. He had made her laugh, and grin, and smile, and smirk, and giggle, and chuckle. He had made her believe she was whole. And, just as efficiently, he'd given her back her pain. Leaning into him, pressing her light weight into him, giving up, accepting, breathing, not trying to stop it any more . . . and, very suddenly, crying.

Tallulah was crying. And it was so strange, so different, that she almost laughed. Almost. A wave of release hit her with so much force, it almost left her light-headed. The tightness in her chest, a tightness that she'd lived with for years was washed away. Her guilt was there, but seemed strangely distant, because it all was distant. It was all gone, except for him and her and them and the way he was holding her and how long she'd needed it.

She hadn't cried for gran. She'd never cried for herself. She was crying because he'd told her to. Because he'd told her she could. Because he made her feel safe. And even though it was stupid and wrong and painful and forbidden and completely new . . . she trusted him. Despite what he'd done to her.

Because he stayed. Because he was honest. Because he knew a pain far more deep than hers, and yet still had room for her tears.

This all felt very new to him, and yet at the same time there was the familiarity. His arms wrapped around a crying woman in a desperate attempt at consolation. This was familiar because he had done the same thing for Theressa, on the odd occasions when she would cry. That didn't happen often, and when it did it was usually his fault. It was honestly a wonder she'd stuck with him as long as she had, especially when it usually took him at least two days before he was ready to man up and apologize, which would lead to her crying and trying to explain herself before giving up and crying some more, always in his arms.

And yet this was all new to him, for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps it was because that had all been years ago. Because his skills in comforting a woman- and being sincere in the gesture- were as rusty as an ancient, unwieldy sword that had long since received the care it required. Or maybe it was because Tallulah never cried. Because, for so long, she had pent up her emotions, holding everything in until she was bursting at the seams, and still she would hold it all, refusing to let go. Because she had never been allowed to cry, and now she was- she had been verbally given permission to cry, and oddly enough it seemed that was all she'd needed. And oddly enough she was comfortable enough with him to cry in his arms. For the first time since he'd known her, she was letting herself let go. And while he felt terrible for pushing her to this point, he hoped that he was helping her, to some small degree.

The whole time he remained silent. He sat there, holding her in his arms, and let her cry. He wouldn't say anything more until she had let it all go. So in his arms she sat, shoulders shaking, but not so violently as before with the release of the tears, and he absently caressed her shoulders, and waited.

Tallulah was helpless. Empty. Broken. Lost. And found, as she her choking sobs quieted and her mind began to settle back into its normal process of analyzing everything. She began to notice in some foreign part of her mind, that she liked this. That despite how he'd made her cry, despite the fact she'd still like to give him a good what-for, she liked the way his hands moved over her shoulders in slow circles, the way her head rested against his chest, the way he smelled . . .

Gods, she felt like shit. Breathing in small, hiccuping breaths was about all she could manage- and she wasn't ashamed. It didn't bother her that she was going to pieces, and that Artemis was witnessing it. Though she didn't know why- he'd betrayed her trust before, why would this be any different? How could she know that her weakness wouldn't come back to haunt her?

. . . She didn't.

As she let this idea roll itself around in her head, her breathing quieted and began to even out, the ragged gasps becoming shuddering breaths, the salty wetness of her tears drying to her cheeks as well as his chest- and suddenly Tallulah realized how pathetic the whole situation was. Well, that's what she made herself believe- she was laughing because the relief of finally letting it all out was nearly overwhelming. She was laughing because she was, surprisingly, comfortable in his harms. And, finally, she was laughing because she had no tears left to cry.

"Gods- I'm a mess!"

It was all pleasant in an odd sort of way. Once the tears began to subside and she had resigned herself to simply curling up quietly in his arms. He still felt the guilt of what he had said, but things oddly seemed better now. He was still waiting for her to say something when she suddenly burst out laughing, which was quite honestly the last thing he'd expected. Perhaps it was the relief of finally releasing her pent up emotions. Or, perhaps, he was about to get very badly hurt and this was his only warning. So, naturally, it was with a slight, if well-disguised unease in which he replied to her comment.



"Yes, well I think we've always known that." He smirked, shifting his weight but not yet moving. He had become quite comfortable with his arms around her and until she pulled away he was quite content to remain this way. "I really am sorry... I didn't mean what I said at all. But it was still wrong."

Tallulah was quite content to stay put as well, and so she sighed, burrowing her way into the warmest nook of his embrace. The crying had left her feeling oddly drained- but in a good way. All the stress she'd carried in her shoulders, all of the tension in her mouth, every bit of anxiety she kept in her rigid stance- it was gone.



Tallulah laughed at the first bit- huh. Her laughter seemed to come more easily, too. He'd made a joke that was actually funny. 'Hurry, someone find the streamers.' Tallulah smiled again at her own thoughts, her face falling only when he gave his apology. "It's . . . It's fine, I think." Turning to look up at him, her body shifted but didn't really move- exactly as he had. "Just . . . Just promise me you'll never do that again. Ever."

Lu's eyes were open and soft and pleading, her face glistened with left-over tears. The newly-found dismissal of her stress gave something . . . pleasant to the shape of her mouth, something which seemed to have been lost a long time ago.

His silver eyes flicked over her face, noting the tracks of undried tears, and his smirk softened into a smile as he ran his thumb over them tracing the tracks and drying them away. She wanted him to make a promise. That could be difficult. He could make all the promises he wanted to, and intend to keep them with all his heart, but the act of keeping them could easily elude him. He could say one stupid thing and everything could shatter into nothingness. The best he could do was try. So he nodded, "I promise you, Tallulah, I will never intentionally bring harm to you again." That, at least, was a promise he could honestly keep.

Tallulah's smile was small- real, but small. She felt so safe in his arms. So happy. His silver eyes were soft, and soft for her. Only her. There was doubt in the crinkling of his brow, in the downturned edges of his mouth, so Lu tried to to smooth it away, but her hand got stuck somewhere on his cheek, and suddenly she was lifting her chin, raising her lips to his- and pausing. She needed to know that she wasn't taking the leap alone. So she waited for him to make the next move- to call her back to reality, to accept her, to reject her . . . to do something.

Gods, how she wanted to kiss him.