"OH. Um..." He wasn't expecting the question. Or really the fact that they'd be starting immediately.
"I read, mostly. I don't get out that much. But! I do enjoy the opera or an occasional ball, if I get the chance." It's so refreshing to get out and about when he's able.
"I love to dance, and surf, and swim. I'm not great at reading but I've been trying to learn to do it better here. I really like mythology." She's sizing him up though, imagining he's got all of Sweeney's latent dancing talents.
His grin blossoms; he's thrilled that they already enjoy similar things, but with the opportunity for him to help her with others. Something does strike him though.
When she meets him she's in a bikini. Board shorts, yes, but she's aware it's still almost as much skin as when he first met her on Sweeney's bed. She has a towel slung over her shoulder, and when they step inside it's already programmed as a warm Californian beach.
He flushes at the sight of her, and his gaze dips instinctively. But he reminds himself that if he's going to be here and actually help people, he's going to need to push out of his comfort zone.
So he dutifully lifts his eyes back to her face and dares a small smile before following her inside.
"Hold my towel?" She grins when he actually looks at her again. He's doing better than she thinks she would have, if she'd come from some older era and been suddenly exposed to half-naked men.
She throws a smile at him and then runs with her board into the surf. This is an art form to her, and like all good arts it's best seen and not explained. Besides, surfing always clears her head and she badly needs that right now.
She treats him to a range of her tricks: flipping, turning, skimming. When she falls into the water she's quickly back up again, and when she walks back up onto the beach she's soaked head to toe and peaceful.
He walks towards the edge of the sand where the soft slide of it isn't yet threatened by the water. Allowing himself to sit (not knowing how long she'll be), he watches her, fascinated by the whole thing.
It's such a pleasant moment, the warm sand, the crash of the waves. Familiar, yet difficult to place. He struggles to catch it. The reflected light of the sand forces color behind his closed eyelids, and he strains against it, wincing.
When she returns from the water, he stands and starts towards her. Once she's in range, he tosses the towel to her. With the briefest dusting of sand from his trousers, he reaches up to take the cigarette from behind his ear. Placing it between his lips, he makes short order of producing his lighter.
"Just showin' him the ropes then?" One brow arches, and he takes a slow drag before snapping the lighter shut. He's not thrilled at the prospect.
"He said he's never seen surfing," she towels off her hair and spares a wicked grin for him. "And when's the last time you saw me all out of breath and wet?"
"I wouldn't say no to more," she smirks, and wraps the towel around her waist. While he's here: "Can I trade for some whiskey? Maybe part of a bottle?"
"A book. I haven't even finished it yet, it'll drive me nuts not being able to, and I really like it." But she needs alcohol for Crozier so he doesn't get sick and die.
"Yeah. It's in my cabin, Godric's cabin. I can go change and bring it to you." She's watching him smoke, her palm all but itching for want of a cigarette of her own. Top that with the usual ways she wants him and she almost needs to walk out.
Sweeney has no desire to stay here, somewhere that strangers randomly show up unannounced. At least in the Greenhouse, he has a better chase of seeing them coming and has a bit of a home field advantage.
He taps his ash and tips his head before he starts to the door, ready to make a straight shot to the knoll. He didn't realize how much he's craving the touch of the grass and the smell of the earth until just now.
When she finds him again her hair is still damp--it often is around him, she's realizing--and she's in a more fall-appropriate skirt and top. She has the book tucked under her arm and she's finding it harder to give up than she'd thought it would be.
"This is it," she says, kneeling in the grass and offering it to him. It's an older text, all about dragons and centaurs.
In the grass beside him are a couple of flowers with long slender stems and small blossoms. They've been partially twisted around each other.
He takes the book when offered and starts to casually peruse it while tapping his ash, making sure to avoid the pages. Sweeney's not that much of a dick. And it would be good to have more books on hand, now that there's a market for lending.
Without looking up, he speaks casually. "How much do ya want fer it?" After all, there had been a few initial offers.
"A full bottle if you've got it," making herself look up from the book. Silly thing to be attached to, but it's the first book she's ever picked out just for herself, the first one she's spent time learning new words for so she can fully enjoy it. "I'm sharing with a guy now but this whole fucking month would be better if I could just be drunk till it's over."
He chuckles, pausing his page turning without looking back to her.
"Ya best be a light-weight 'bout it then. 'less he is." Going that long on a bottle is a tough task.
Sweeney's glad that she has a new man in her life. Hopefully he's not fucking gay and can actually fuck her whenever she likes. One less thing for him to stress about.
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"I read, mostly. I don't get out that much. But! I do enjoy the opera or an occasional ball, if I get the chance." It's so refreshing to get out and about when he's able.
"And you?"
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"What's surfing?"
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"Come on. Come on we're going to the Enclosure. Meet me there in twenty minutes, okay? I'll get someone to let us in. And I have to change."
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How did they get here? Wasn't this uncomfortably awkward only moments ago?
"Do I need to change as well?" He will require some clarification as to the proper attire. Even if Sweeney is terribly lacking in options.
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"I'll meet you there when you're ready then."
He likes plans. And this feels like a good plan.
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So he dutifully lifts his eyes back to her face and dares a small smile before following her inside.
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"Hold my towel?" She grins when he actually looks at her again. He's doing better than she thinks she would have, if she'd come from some older era and been suddenly exposed to half-naked men.
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"Of course," he manages and takes the towel.
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She treats him to a range of her tricks: flipping, turning, skimming. When she falls into the water she's quickly back up again, and when she walks back up onto the beach she's soaked head to toe and peaceful.
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It's such a pleasant moment, the warm sand, the crash of the waves. Familiar, yet difficult to place. He struggles to catch it. The reflected light of the sand forces color behind his closed eyelids, and he strains against it, wincing.
When she returns from the water, he stands and starts towards her. Once she's in range, he tosses the towel to her. With the briefest dusting of sand from his trousers, he reaches up to take the cigarette from behind his ear. Placing it between his lips, he makes short order of producing his lighter.
"Just showin' him the ropes then?" One brow arches, and he takes a slow drag before snapping the lighter shut. He's not thrilled at the prospect.
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"Ya forgot those bruises already? Or ya just lookin' fer some more?" Patience doesn't seem to be one of her virtues.
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"Whad'ya have in mind?" It's more curious than suggestive.
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Sweeney mulls on it, even though there's little need to. He takes a slow drag.
"May I see it first?"
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Sweeney has no desire to stay here, somewhere that strangers randomly show up unannounced. At least in the Greenhouse, he has a better chase of seeing them coming and has a bit of a home field advantage.
He taps his ash and tips his head before he starts to the door, ready to make a straight shot to the knoll. He didn't realize how much he's craving the touch of the grass and the smell of the earth until just now.
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"This is it," she says, kneeling in the grass and offering it to him. It's an older text, all about dragons and centaurs.
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He takes the book when offered and starts to casually peruse it while tapping his ash, making sure to avoid the pages. Sweeney's not that much of a dick. And it would be good to have more books on hand, now that there's a market for lending.
Without looking up, he speaks casually. "How much do ya want fer it?" After all, there had been a few initial offers.
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"Ya best be a light-weight 'bout it then. 'less he is." Going that long on a bottle is a tough task.
Sweeney's glad that she has a new man in her life. Hopefully he's not fucking gay and can actually fuck her whenever she likes. One less thing for him to stress about.
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