[ Goddamnit, but Sal's got some moves, too. Her hand pushing back Anathema's hair makes her stomach turn over again; makes her wish, for the first time since she burned her ancestor's books, that she actually had the safety of a prophecy again. Some predictable guarantee, some promise of you'll get the girl and this works out okay.
Looks like you'll just have to wing it like everybody else for once, Anathema. ]
Mmhm. I managed to find a a Cuban place just the next neighbourhood over that I'm a fan of. I'm gonna ask that we walk this time, though. The wind'll fuck up my hair.
[ She flashes the other woman a wider grin, then. It really is a good restaurant. It was her closest thing to a touch of home in this strange and unfamiliar world; meals that reminded her of her mama's cooking. When they set out into the street — February is a little brisk, but they're in Nevada, so the night is still warm enough — she locks the door behind them, then loops her arm companionably through Sal's while they walk. ]
Saint Valentine isn't a thing back in your world, is he? Or something like it?
Nothing like it, which means it's up to you to clue me in on anything important tonight. I'm sure I'm in capable hands.
[Sal's not looking directly at her when she says it (wasn't there some opera line about the dangers of staring too much at the sun?), so it's hard to tell but the hint of a crooked grin suggests she's being cheeky on purpose. It can't be helped, she feels her mood lifting with every step down the road. Not to be too sentimental about it, but it's enough just to walk like this in a peaceful neighborhood together.
It's the honest truth, Sal knows. Life's taught her to be cautious, on edge, ready for an attack at all times; it was a rare moment back home when she was able to shed that armor even for a night. This world, however, proves very different. All it takes for her to start feeling comfortable, safe, is Anathema taking her by the arm and assuring her with the simple and innate warmth of her presence.
Sal moves her free hand up to rest on Anathema's gently. She tries to reorient her point of view to those who travel down on the street like this; but unlike some evenings when her thoughts weigh too heavily on her mood, tonight isn't the time to remember all the days after her magic was stolen. There's no need to feel haunted, or broken, from the life she lived before. Sometimes it's nice to just live for what's beside you for once, or maybe everything that's waiting up ahead. (She knows this feeling enough now to call it by its name, hope.)]
Shit, we might have to include your knowledge on Cuban food in that agreement too. It's been a while since I was ported in, but there's always something new around every corner, isn't there?
I FUCKED UP I MEANT TO SAY PUERTO RICAN, PRETEND I DID
Always learning new things, meeting new people. It's the whole reason I don't entirely mind being stranded in this new universe, away from home. You're another reason.
[ She says it so loosely, so casually, that it almost — almost, but definitely not — belies how important that admission is. But it's true. Every time the world's gone to shit over here, Anathema's found herself at Sal's or vice versa. It's a rock-steady foundation, a comfort. She makes her feel better. It's as simple as that.
So, like stepping out onto shaky ice, Anathema explains while they walk. ]
It's typically a romantic holiday, you know. Couples give gifts to each other, like anniversary presents, and/or take each other out for a special evening. Date night. Dinner, a movie, cooking for each other. Chocolate, flowers. Spoiling each other rotten for a day. Things like that.
[ Then, because Anathema is Anathema, she continues— ]
There's some disagreement on what the ancient origins of the holiday are, of course. Some people think there's a connection to the Roman festival of Lupercalia, which was a pastoral celebration to avert evil spirits and release fertility. Goats and dogs were sacrificed, priests were anointed in blood, and then they ran through the city naked. We don't do that.
Lupercalia was celebrated around the same time of year, but there's been no real evidence linking it with Valentine's Day, though. Valentine's started off as a religious feast day, and then the connection to romantic love is more likely due to the influence of a 700-year-old poem.
[ beat. ] Anyway. I did a doctorate in history. I, uh, talk a lot.
[Sal didn't interrupt Anathema's impromptu lecture—she couldn't, and maybe you could say she was too caught off guard by that tiny, near-missable concession before it. It's surprising, almost startlingly off the cuff, and it makes Sal look over again, openly staring as Anathema goes on about couples and flowers, ancient rituals and blood sacrifices. She wasn't able to come up with anything clever to say, and by now they're standing at the end of the block and waiting to cross the street.
It's a lovely, mild evening. The sun is edging closer to the horizon, its departure leaving a beautiful tapestry of color across the sky. And here they are standing on the sidewalk, side by side, a new adventure waiting just ahead. Sal remembers the letter she sent, the muddied words, phrases lost between one city and the other. Even if she hadn't botched that mission, she understands clearly now that what she had written down wasn't exactly what she meant to say. Not all of it, at least.]
Do you mind if—
[Now whose turn is it to feel anxious and awkward, eh? Sal pulls away for a moment, just so they can stand more easily face to face. The street is quiet, there's no cause for a sudden interruption. Sal's looking at Anathema and again she's overtaken by that same warm feeling.
The sudden breathlessness strikes before she can finish her question. Her usual striking gaze softens, trailing up from the lines of Anathema's collarbone, up the slender curves of her neck, tracing along the familiar edges of her jaw to stop at her mouth. Time stops for the moment of a single stuttering heartbeat before she looks up and the two women can meet each other's eyes.
Sal stands a little straighter, blinking away her momentary haze. Hesitation isn't any good tonight. She has to say what she means for once, because she remembers in the space of every cold and lonely evening the consequences of silence. Of pulling away from what your heart wants, to allow the demons of your past to rule over your future. She offers a small smile, the sort she's only given to one person on this particular world, a place so different from her old home.
I don't entirely mind being stranded in this new universe, away from home. You're another reason.]
Can I give you a kiss?
[It comes out surprisingly confident. Not that Sal is certain about the response, not when the entire rest of this day has been nothing but surprises, but she's sure of one thing at least. She doesn't move, only waits for a response and a sign.]
[ They've gone still on the sidewalk, ostensibly waiting for the crosswalk, but the light changed a little while ago and they still haven't made any moves to keep walking. Anathema watches Sal watching her, and when that question finally slips out—
For a moment, she remembers her last partner and Newt's tremulous Can we do it again?. Her own curt response, cutting him off at the pass with We don't have time. Shutting the door on that possibility quickly. She's appreciated the politeness both times, but there's a crucial difference here: she awfully, awfully wants this particular diversion.
Instead of telling Sal yes, Anathema just steps closer to clear the last of the distance between them, catches the woman's lapels, and drags her into a kiss: a little matter-of-fact at first, but deeper and more insistent the more she leans in, hangs onto Sal's shirt. By the time they break apart, her face is bright, cheerful, a little exhilarated. ]
[When at first their lips touch, Sal's smirking. Anathema might not be a real, actual princess but she does command a few unique privileges; touching Sal in such a frank and forceful way among them. She's got no reason to protest this, at all, and in the span of a breathy chuckle she leans down a little further and rights her position.
Her hands come up to gently run along Anathema's face, her thumbs resting warmly at the base of her jaw. Sal's been thinking of this for—a hell of a long time, honestly, and she's going to savor this, world at large be damned. There's nothing else to fill her awareness but Anathema's mouth, soft and more insistent as the kiss continues; the smooth warmth of her skin against the palms of her hands; the subtle hint of that perfume she's grown to recognize anywhere; the heat of their bodies pressed together as Anathema keeps her held in place with no distance left to impede them.
It's real nice, is what it is, and when they break apart Sal finds her smile again. A mirror to Anathema's own exhilaration, she takes a moment to adjust her jacket and to sink into a pleasant feeling of self-satisfaction.]
Well we can't have any of that tonight.
[She offers to take Anathema's arm again, ready at last to continue on across the street. For their date! What a fucking magnificent thought.]
You want to tell me more about your history studies over dinner?
[ The sensation of Sal's hands against her face, her jaw, is electric; Anathema can feel her skin gone ticklish and over-sensitive under the touch and she hitches a little laugh. It's been too long since she's been touched like this. Longer than she'd have liked; turns out the repeated near-end of the world keeps throwing wrenches in the gears in terms of finding some intimacy.
But. Finally.
Sal's aura is blinding now that she's so close, now that Sal's radiating and bleeding messy emotions everywhere. Normally Anathema wouldn't try to sneak a glance at someone's aura like this, but it's hard to block it out: it's like looking at the sun. She catches the other woman's offered arm. Feels like she's going to soar right off the ground again, except they're not actually flying. ]
You're going to fall asleep in your gumbo if you let me drone on, probably. But I'd be glad to.
[ And they set off again, towards the restaurant, and Anathema can't help but think giddily: thank god for that letter. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Looks like you'll just have to wing it like everybody else for once, Anathema. ]
Mmhm. I managed to find a a Cuban place just the next neighbourhood over that I'm a fan of. I'm gonna ask that we walk this time, though. The wind'll fuck up my hair.
[ She flashes the other woman a wider grin, then. It really is a good restaurant. It was her closest thing to a touch of home in this strange and unfamiliar world; meals that reminded her of her mama's cooking. When they set out into the street — February is a little brisk, but they're in Nevada, so the night is still warm enough — she locks the door behind them, then loops her arm companionably through Sal's while they walk. ]
Saint Valentine isn't a thing back in your world, is he? Or something like it?
no subject
[Sal's not looking directly at her when she says it (wasn't there some opera line about the dangers of staring too much at the sun?), so it's hard to tell but the hint of a crooked grin suggests she's being cheeky on purpose. It can't be helped, she feels her mood lifting with every step down the road. Not to be too sentimental about it, but it's enough just to walk like this in a peaceful neighborhood together.
It's the honest truth, Sal knows. Life's taught her to be cautious, on edge, ready for an attack at all times; it was a rare moment back home when she was able to shed that armor even for a night. This world, however, proves very different. All it takes for her to start feeling comfortable, safe, is Anathema taking her by the arm and assuring her with the simple and innate warmth of her presence.
Sal moves her free hand up to rest on Anathema's gently. She tries to reorient her point of view to those who travel down on the street like this; but unlike some evenings when her thoughts weigh too heavily on her mood, tonight isn't the time to remember all the days after her magic was stolen. There's no need to feel haunted, or broken, from the life she lived before. Sometimes it's nice to just live for what's beside you for once, or maybe everything that's waiting up ahead. (She knows this feeling enough now to call it by its name, hope.)]
Shit, we might have to include your knowledge on Cuban food in that agreement too. It's been a while since I was ported in, but there's always something new around every corner, isn't there?
I FUCKED UP I MEANT TO SAY PUERTO RICAN, PRETEND I DID
[ She says it so loosely, so casually, that it almost — almost, but definitely not — belies how important that admission is. But it's true. Every time the world's gone to shit over here, Anathema's found herself at Sal's or vice versa. It's a rock-steady foundation, a comfort. She makes her feel better. It's as simple as that.
So, like stepping out onto shaky ice, Anathema explains while they walk. ]
It's typically a romantic holiday, you know. Couples give gifts to each other, like anniversary presents, and/or take each other out for a special evening. Date night. Dinner, a movie, cooking for each other. Chocolate, flowers. Spoiling each other rotten for a day. Things like that.
[ Then, because Anathema is Anathema, she continues— ]
There's some disagreement on what the ancient origins of the holiday are, of course. Some people think there's a connection to the Roman festival of Lupercalia, which was a pastoral celebration to avert evil spirits and release fertility. Goats and dogs were sacrificed, priests were anointed in blood, and then they ran through the city naked. We don't do that.
Lupercalia was celebrated around the same time of year, but there's been no real evidence linking it with Valentine's Day, though. Valentine's started off as a religious feast day, and then the connection to romantic love is more likely due to the influence of a 700-year-old poem.
[ beat. ] Anyway. I did a doctorate in history. I, uh, talk a lot.
no subject
[Sal didn't interrupt Anathema's impromptu lecture—she couldn't, and maybe you could say she was too caught off guard by that tiny, near-missable concession before it. It's surprising, almost startlingly off the cuff, and it makes Sal look over again, openly staring as Anathema goes on about couples and flowers, ancient rituals and blood sacrifices. She wasn't able to come up with anything clever to say, and by now they're standing at the end of the block and waiting to cross the street.
It's a lovely, mild evening. The sun is edging closer to the horizon, its departure leaving a beautiful tapestry of color across the sky. And here they are standing on the sidewalk, side by side, a new adventure waiting just ahead. Sal remembers the letter she sent, the muddied words, phrases lost between one city and the other. Even if she hadn't botched that mission, she understands clearly now that what she had written down wasn't exactly what she meant to say. Not all of it, at least.]
Do you mind if—
[Now whose turn is it to feel anxious and awkward, eh? Sal pulls away for a moment, just so they can stand more easily face to face. The street is quiet, there's no cause for a sudden interruption. Sal's looking at Anathema and again she's overtaken by that same warm feeling.
The sudden breathlessness strikes before she can finish her question. Her usual striking gaze softens, trailing up from the lines of Anathema's collarbone, up the slender curves of her neck, tracing along the familiar edges of her jaw to stop at her mouth. Time stops for the moment of a single stuttering heartbeat before she looks up and the two women can meet each other's eyes.
Sal stands a little straighter, blinking away her momentary haze. Hesitation isn't any good tonight. She has to say what she means for once, because she remembers in the space of every cold and lonely evening the consequences of silence. Of pulling away from what your heart wants, to allow the demons of your past to rule over your future. She offers a small smile, the sort she's only given to one person on this particular world, a place so different from her old home.
I don't entirely mind being stranded in this new universe, away from home. You're another reason.]
Can I give you a kiss?
[It comes out surprisingly confident. Not that Sal is certain about the response, not when the entire rest of this day has been nothing but surprises, but she's sure of one thing at least. She doesn't move, only waits for a response and a sign.]
no subject
For a moment, she remembers her last partner and Newt's tremulous Can we do it again?. Her own curt response, cutting him off at the pass with We don't have time. Shutting the door on that possibility quickly. She's appreciated the politeness both times, but there's a crucial difference here: she awfully, awfully wants this particular diversion.
Instead of telling Sal yes, Anathema just steps closer to clear the last of the distance between them, catches the woman's lapels, and drags her into a kiss: a little matter-of-fact at first, but deeper and more insistent the more she leans in, hangs onto Sal's shirt. By the time they break apart, her face is bright, cheerful, a little exhilarated. ]
I'd have been upset if you never did.
no subject
Her hands come up to gently run along Anathema's face, her thumbs resting warmly at the base of her jaw. Sal's been thinking of this for—a hell of a long time, honestly, and she's going to savor this, world at large be damned. There's nothing else to fill her awareness but Anathema's mouth, soft and more insistent as the kiss continues; the smooth warmth of her skin against the palms of her hands; the subtle hint of that perfume she's grown to recognize anywhere; the heat of their bodies pressed together as Anathema keeps her held in place with no distance left to impede them.
It's real nice, is what it is, and when they break apart Sal finds her smile again. A mirror to Anathema's own exhilaration, she takes a moment to adjust her jacket and to sink into a pleasant feeling of self-satisfaction.]
Well we can't have any of that tonight.
[She offers to take Anathema's arm again, ready at last to continue on across the street. For their date! What a fucking magnificent thought.]
You want to tell me more about your history studies over dinner?
end ♥
But. Finally.
Sal's aura is blinding now that she's so close, now that Sal's radiating and bleeding messy emotions everywhere. Normally Anathema wouldn't try to sneak a glance at someone's aura like this, but it's hard to block it out: it's like looking at the sun. She catches the other woman's offered arm. Feels like she's going to soar right off the ground again, except they're not actually flying. ]
You're going to fall asleep in your gumbo if you let me drone on, probably. But I'd be glad to.
[ And they set off again, towards the restaurant, and Anathema can't help but think giddily: thank god for that letter. ]