ooc ↻ appointments & messages

[herotypical]

❮ buffy, when i said you could slay vampires and have a social life, i didn't mean at the same time! ❯

catch-all appointments & messages post for herotypical @ luceti; please title and date your top tag accordingly -- think of the childrentimelines! [ written ], [ voice ] & [ action ] are all viable. the addition of funky and hip song lyrics is also welcome (and maybe a little encouraged).

ATTENTION -- looking for old threads? previous appointment posts can be found here and here.

Comments

[all7seas]

"I'm going to try. To outdo him." Because perfect was too good a challenge to pass up. The pirate made to stand -- a bit stiffly, to tell the truth.

[herotypical]

"Good luck with that. You'll need it. Derek's family was Italian. Pizza is kinda like Italy's raison d'etre -- along with suits and cars. Possibly fine art, if I'm to believe what Andrew keeps e-mailing me. Kept. Kept e-mailing me."

Gathering her gift-shells, she also stood. "...Need a hand?"

[all7seas]

"Nah." He was already on his feet. "Want to bring me home, now?"

Jack meant Seven. It still felt almost...like he was violating something sacred, calling it that.

http://youtu.be/DHEOF_rcND8

[herotypical]

"Happily."

There were too many shells to carry in one hand. She split them across both, swinging her arms a bit to feel their nearly-not-there weight shift in loose fists.

"And then I'll put some ice on that bruise."

[all7seas]

"Afterward you can put some you on it. Even more better."

[herotypical]

"Hey, unlike you? I have pretty much zilch in the department of magical healing. There's not much good I'll do you. Ice, though...maybe we have a bag of peas in the freezer."

She slipped her feet back into the sandals she'd left in the sand at the dock's beginning. "I just can't shake this crummy feeling over the whole thing."

[all7seas]

"Hmmmmmmm?" Jack sought her hand. "Over what whole thing, love?"

[herotypical]

"Me. You. The projectile soda pop."

Her fingertips touched the X on his palm. It signal-boosted her guilt.

[all7seas]

"Woman, I'm not damaged. Just a bit bruised up. Feeling better even now." He squeezed her hand in his. "No more crummy feelings. Savvy?"

[herotypical]

"You practically groaned while standing up. Any more pitiful of a display and I would've expected to have to carry you."

[all7seas]

"I'm not pitiful. Captain Jack Sparrow is never pitiful."

Except for those moments when he was.

[herotypical]

"Fine. I take it back. Never pitiful; always a marvellous example of manliness and, uhm, what else should I be saying right now?"

[all7seas]

"Virility. And exceptional balance. And his own brand of elegance and ferocity."

[herotypical]

"Fine. But can you wrap that all up into one word? I'm looking for parallelism, here."

She twisted to face him, entering the fort with a dramatic backwards step.

[all7seas]

"Ferocibalegance." He followed, equally dramatically -- trying to pretend like it wasn't just the tiniest wrench to leave the shore behind.

[herotypical]

It was cooler in here. Buffy even found herself experiencing the odd shiver as she descended the narrow fort staircase.

"Neologisms don't count," said the arguable queen of made-up words. "At least, not bad ones."

[all7seas]

"You love my word-inventions." Jack tried to keep contact as they moved down the dark steps: fingertips brushing a feather, or her shoulder, or her arm, ghostlight in the dark narrow place. "Are you still feeling crummy?"

[herotypical]

Yes. Yes, she absolutely still felt crummy. But she understood that he was asking her not because he wanted an answer but because he wanted a particular answer. So, after one of his more lingering wing touches, she stopped on a step below him.

Buffy wrapped an arm around his waist, despite the added height difference. Her nose nudged up against his chest.

"Nah," she breathed, "I'm pretty much all de-crummed."

[all7seas]

"Good." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Because I want you to feel happy. Joyful. Content. Loved."

[herotypical]

It probably shouldn't have been such a...tall order. But Buffy had to hold herself back from explaining that she couldn't contain those feelings exclusively -- and, worse, a few of them were occasionally something of a challenge for her.

"It's just that...y'know, I'd kinda like to see you feeling those things. Too. As well."

[all7seas]

"HA! Haha!" A genuine Jack-laugh echoed through the dark space. It was all honest delight: a rare phenomenon. "Buffy. Buffy Anne Summers. You make me happy. You love me."

[herotypical]

"But sometimes I forget that you--..."

She shook her head. He was laughing -- and it was that favoured laugh -- so she decided to shrug through the uncertainty and simply kiss the man.

[all7seas]

Sparrow sank back until he found his shoulder blades pressed against the cool wall of the fort. He let his hands drop to her waist and held her loosely, letting himself drift in their kiss. It felt free, kissing her like this. It felt joyful.

[herotypical]

It felt happy. This fact surprised her because she wasn't entirely certain she had expected to feel happy today. The hand still holding onto her gift-shells was left with the curl of her fist pressed lightly against the back of his neck. High -- high enough to avoid both the bruise and the lettering.

Anyone left at the beach could have chosen that moment to also return to the village but...but it was dark and comfortably chilly and she had him. And he was coming home with her.

Afterwards, her forehead rested on a patch of chin just left of his beard. Some sadness dovetailed into her happiness: she missed Cullen House; she missed solitude; she missed their bed and couch.

The fireplace. The sleeping bag. The table. J-O-Y.

"R-right. No more kissing distractions until after you're iced. Or we'll never make it back."

[all7seas]

"No more, then. But later? I want you to distract me lots." The transporter beckoned. Jack was surprised at how much he missed Cullen House. When he'd first gone to live there, in the throes of a murderous madness, it had been hateful and frightening and lost and lonesome. Somehow along the way, it had gained (and lost) other occupants. Somehow it had become home, with a tiny bitty small "h", of course.

Seven? Seven was like a shrine. Like a shrine filled with gods and idols that a living mortal man dare not disturb. There he must be quiet and stealthy and cautious. He is reminded of past occupants whom he misses still. And he has a hard time thinking of it as Home for these reasons.

But her bed is soft. Her window is unlocked to him. He can make her waffles there. It's alright. Going to be alright.