He wanted to rattle his fingers against the tabletop, to tap the pads to the hard wood, run them in little circles that never led to anywhere. He wanted to escape, tangle his fingers in a pony's mane and let them work off his excess, nervous energy.
The wait was always the worst. Getting the words off his tongue wasn't the hardest part, it was what came after: the silence, as they sank into the conscious. Were processed. Evaluated. He watched, eyes burning with dry, dark fire, a pit of vipers in his gut. Watched, but not as he had previously. Instead of a curious, elated sweeping, it was a hard, desperate stare, moving from his shoulders to his neck to the back of his head, and back, too restless to hold still.
Then Jigano began to speak, and genuine confusion began to seep into Rory's bones. Easier if he had stayed a fox? What was he talking about? And what had he missed, or implied, if that was suddenly were they were at?
But he said nothing, sensing that it wasn't his time yet, that.. there was more, something deeper, so he waited, still watching. When Jigano turned, he watched his face, but his gaze lacked wonder and hunger—it was dark, because only the shadows could drown out his fear.
And he was full of that.
And as Jigano crouched by his chair, he was immensely relieved. Not by the words, per se, but for the honesty. That he didn't try to explain it away, or hold on to that mask, that faked, fragile half-smile, the subject change as if it was nothing...
Rory turned slowly upon his chair, so that he faced Jigano again; one of his hands reached for the bard's, a light and gentle touch, meant to anchor, to soothe, not capture.
"To me, need..." he began slowly, trying to choose his words with more care this time, "I can go weeks without human interaction, and it doesn't bother me. I just.." He shrugged weakly, unsure of how to phrase it. He just didn't need company, as he needed food and air and sleep. "I still appreciate company, and can want it, and .. miss individuals, I will admit that." That he did not need company did not mean that he chose, or somehow strove for, isolation. His free hand went hesitantly towards Jigano's face, to follow the line of his jaw to his chin and tilt it up. "Isn't it better to be chosen anyway?" he asked softly. "To know that I want-" (carefully weighted words and yet it slipped onto his tongue, and with his heart beating wildly among his ribs he chose to let it slip) "-you?"
The wait was always the worst. Getting the words off his tongue wasn't the hardest part, it was what came after: the silence, as they sank into the conscious. Were processed. Evaluated. He watched, eyes burning with dry, dark fire, a pit of vipers in his gut. Watched, but not as he had previously. Instead of a curious, elated sweeping, it was a hard, desperate stare, moving from his shoulders to his neck to the back of his head, and back, too restless to hold still.
Then Jigano began to speak, and genuine confusion began to seep into Rory's bones. Easier if he had stayed a fox? What was he talking about? And what had he missed, or implied, if that was suddenly were they were at?
But he said nothing, sensing that it wasn't his time yet, that.. there was more, something deeper, so he waited, still watching. When Jigano turned, he watched his face, but his gaze lacked wonder and hunger—it was dark, because only the shadows could drown out his fear.
And he was full of that.
And as Jigano crouched by his chair, he was immensely relieved. Not by the words, per se, but for the honesty. That he didn't try to explain it away, or hold on to that mask, that faked, fragile half-smile, the subject change as if it was nothing...
Rory turned slowly upon his chair, so that he faced Jigano again; one of his hands reached for the bard's, a light and gentle touch, meant to anchor, to soothe, not capture.
"To me, need..." he began slowly, trying to choose his words with more care this time, "I can go weeks without human interaction, and it doesn't bother me. I just.." He shrugged weakly, unsure of how to phrase it. He just didn't need company, as he needed food and air and sleep. "I still appreciate company, and can want it, and .. miss individuals, I will admit that." That he did not need company did not mean that he chose, or somehow strove for, isolation. His free hand went hesitantly towards Jigano's face, to follow the line of his jaw to his chin and tilt it up. "Isn't it better to be chosen anyway?" he asked softly. "To know that I want-" (carefully weighted words and yet it slipped onto his tongue, and with his heart beating wildly among his ribs he chose to let it slip) "-you?"
