Changing Places, Old Faces [Jesse Fforde/Invite]

[Yekaterina Ostrovsky]

Katya listened quietly to everything he had to say without interruption; this was one of her most favorite games, after all. A sometimes perverse little tête-à-tête, but mostly she just liked to know if she was right. A smile graced her lips when he confirmed, ignored, or denied each of her assessments. Not that it would matter much, one way or another, if she was right, but it was an amusing and strangely gratifying way to fill her time, nonetheless. Maybe if only to prove she was still observant, still sharp enough to know how to pass for 'normal' if needed, and it was interesting to hear him play along, begrudgingly or otherwise. Still, she couldn't help but laugh when he explained why she was lumped in with 'most women.' A slight shake of her head was all she gave him; the idea of wrangling a man into monogamous submission was enough to force her to suppress a cringe, the very thought inciting an unlikely and unusual little flag of panic to unfurl within her middle, especially as she considered the black hole she had so recently fallen into, and clawed her way back from. In her world, commitment was used sparingly and reserved for business partners and loyalty amongst like-minded friends, not romance, after all.

She shrugged at the suggestion they walk. With no real destination in mind, the blonde was happy to wander a bit, enjoy the fresh air, which was such a rare thing for her. She rolled his question around in her head a bit as she pushed off from the wall, weighing whether she should speak or not. The funny thing was, she didn't much care if Jesse gave a flying **** about her or not - it was more the challenge presented by the thought he might or might not. The challenge of finding out, one way or the other. That she gave a flying **** about him, in her own strange way, was obvious or he'd be nothing more than a passing blip on her screen and she'd have no reason to bother with him. She could say the same about him, and certain telling things that gave her an impression of his thoughts regarding herself, but then, that's all it would be until he confirmed or denied such a thing. An impression. That smile slid back over her lips, slow and sly, as she considered.

"Of course. As I told you - they're just conclusions based on instinct and wholly fallible. I'm not inside your head, Jesse. But people have tells, whether they think so or not. You're no different. I'm sure I'm no different, either." At least in that way. She shrugged again, giving a slight shake of her head at the next bit. "What makes you think I like talking about myself and details of my life any more than you do?" She asked, innocently enough, with her smile taking on a bit of a sly edge. She'd spilled some details to the man before, what seemed like a lifetime ago when the fall of the Broussard was still an open wound, when the thought of Emanuel coming back to her was still 'when' and not 'if,' or, like now... seemingly never. When she'd found herself lacking in company or even lackeys sent scurrying to do her bidding. But generally, if you put all the people in Katya's life together and had them say what they knew about her, it might amount to but a small fraction of the entire puzzle. For all she spoke, Katya might very well be as much of a mystery as Jesse himself was to her.

She cleared her throat softly as they ambled down the sidewalk, taking a sideways glance at the tattooed male at her side. "Most women, hm? Funny... I doubt the one woman was in the picture at the time I'm speaking about, because monogamous submission" -and again, she had to repress that telltale shudder at those words - "and ******* me don't exactly mix, do they? And so therefore... I refer to before." She snickered softly at the unadorned words, intended purely for shock value and lacking in any sort of bitterness or care. Katya was nothing if not blunt, and she had no room for euphemisms if they weren't intended for taunting or teasing. Now, she was simply getting a point across.

"No, Jesse. I'm not most women, generally speaking. I'm not for you, not in that way. I know that and you know that, and I think we always did. A one-off - nothing more, nothing less. Besides... there's really only one out there who can handle me and my... proclivities... and the night I wrangle him into any sort of monogamous submission is the night its over for good." She pulled a slightly disgusted face at the thought. "But lumping me in with all the rest..." she tutted softly. "That's a mistake very few... men or women... make twice. I'm the kind of woman who can make a very, very good friend... of a sort, anyway...I lack the requisite... emotion and stupidity for girlfriends... but one that those I keep close are pleased to have, even when I make their skin crawl." An unbidden image of Alexei came to mind and she smirked softly. "Or. I can make a very, very awful enemy, like my little human paladin friend could have told you... had I not had him carved into that knife I sent you at the holidays. I'd much prefer to be your friend." She smiled wolfishly and winked.

"You say you have no qualms about your dark tastes, or speaking of them. So tell me... how dark are we talking, Jesse? You show me yours, and I might show you mine."

[Jesse Fforde]

Tells. Jesse was definitely starting to think that Yekaterina and Doc would definitely get along well – two pseudo shrinks trying to get past his outer shell by reading his ‘tells’. Jesse is a private person, who doesn’t like anyone knowing his weaknesses or vulnerabilities. There’s no way in a blue ******* hell that he’ll sit down and have a weepy heart to heart with anyone. No, Yekaterina isn’t a stranger but she isn’t yet in what he would consider the inner circle. Not that he consciously calls it an ‘inner circle’; but only three people in this life (or any, given that point) have seen him at his weakest. Only three people have his complete faith and trust; if he should ever feel the need to break down, he would hope that it would be in the company only of one of those three particular people.

“That’s the ******* point,” he says, finally. “Maybe you don’t like talking about your life, just like I don’t. And there’s a whole reason why I don’t – it’s because I don’t want people knowing all about me. See? So you saying that I have tells only makes me want to distance myself,” he explains. His hands are shoved into his pockets, he walks alongside Yekaterina. He does not look at her. Instead, he watches the people that he passes by. Oh, how would it be to have grown up and to have lived a normal life? To trust easily, to open up easily, to not want to run away from someone because they think they can get to know everything about you just because you have tells.

There’s also no doubt in Jesse’s mind that he doesn’t know Yekaterina. He knows certain things; there are certain things that he can assume based only on her attitude and her actions, just like she does with his. Attachment issues, maybe, but who is he to judge? Who is he to label them as issues? They’re not issues. There’s nothing wrong with sleeping around and having a little fun, especially now that eternity is involved.

The way she speaks of their brief relationship has Jesse thinking that she has assumed there was something special in it; that even then she was not most women to him. He shrugs his shoulders and the smile that graces his lips is not wholesome; it is not really mirthful. Somehow, the conversation has managed to get under Jesse’s skin. Maybe its pride that does it, but he laughs, too. Veritably cackles as he stops and turns to face Yekaterina fully.

“So. What you’re trying to say is that if I continue to lump you in with most women that you’re going to dagger me? Slice me open like a ripe tomato? Okay okay, let’s go with before. I will admit that you had an allure, for sure. But you weren’t the only woman I fucked. What makes you think that I didn’t think you were most women then because I knew I could get into your pants, just like I could get into theirs?”

She wants him to talk. Well, she got it. She got past that cool and expressionless façade and she made him angry. Anger – something that comes so easily these days. Maybe the idea of being sliced open like a tomato appeals to him. But this seems to be something that he does well. Push people’s buttons. Push them into some kind of reaction. See what he might be able to say to put himself into some kind of danger. He’d got a taste for it. Now it’s addicting. He taps harshly at his temple.

“I said I’d readily admit to having darker tastes but to give them away would be to feed those tells of yours,” he says, still with that weird smile on his lips.

The more someone tries to get to know him, the more they push him, the more they try to persuade him to open up – the more he’ll clam up and back away. Which is exactly how this little interaction is turning out. He has no idea why he’d suggested the idea of ‘catching up’. How did he think that was a good idea at all, when in the past his and Yekaterina’s idea of ‘catching up’ would have led them to some place where clothes were not required.

[Yekaterina Ostrovsky]

Watching him as he spoke, as that odd little smile grew upon his lips, had her on the verge of snickering again, the only reaction her mystified mind would allow at the moment, sane or not. Had she been anyone else -"normal" or whatever you could call it - she might have tried to soothe ruffled feathers. To calm the fires beginning to burn within his angered gaze and understand just what had triggered such a reaction, or maybe to try and explain everything he had gotten so very, very wrong. But rather than toy with the boiling rage and perhaps make him completely explode, like she usually would have done, the Killer simply tilted her head to one side and stopped dead in her tracks. One brow arched slow.

Mystified. That was Katya. If that cool, emotionless face wasn't her almost-ever-present expression, she might have even been a very accurate picture of such a thing, a diagram for a dictionary definition. And it held her, stunned, for just a moment. But as it was, a grin broke over cool, carmine lips as an incredulous laugh slipped out after all. The inappropriate reaction was soon smoothed away as she slowly crossed her arms and simply stared at him while attempting to figure out just what to say. She’d invested enough time in the male already, and even if her reasons were mysterious to herself, she wasn't about to just allow that particular brand of ******** to fly without some effort being made.

"Is that really what you think, what you think I think?" she finally said, her tone dripping with something that wasn't anywhere near amusement. "God, but that's funny... but no. No, no..." She trailed off a moment, clearing her throat, as her expression returned to the usual restful placidity. "You... I don't..." For once, she was struggling to find the right words, to say what she had been trying to say before he'd gone on his angry little tangent and confused the **** out of her. Why couldn't this **** be easier? Finally, she decided just stating the truth of things would have to be enough, for better or worse. The end result wasn't likely to change, and so, what did she have to lose, or care at this point? But she'd be damned if he would be allowed to think such... base things about her, to be so mistaken over her perceived intent. She suppressed another shudder of disgust at the very thought of him, daring to apply disturbing things like jealousy, upon her.

"Jesse. I'm a... functioning sociopath, among other fun little things." How functioning, she could or would not say and it was unlikely even she knew the depths of her own depravity. "...Or at least, that's what they tell me. That's what I meant. Maybe I should have said 'most people,' because I'm not certain I qualify as one. But that's the truth... emotions, feelings, they... don't exist for me, not in the normal sense. I don't get jealous, except where one person is concerned, and that's more of a fucked up head-game we like to play. I don't love, and I never have... not even my parents. I did horrible things, still do horrible things, without any degree of remorse... and all it does is sate something that was always there, from before Emanuel turned me... only now, I don't do it for him, or for my job. I do it because I want to. I give in easily to or pursue fleeting attraction without forming romantic attachments - you included - and the one repeat is someone who is... quite a lot like me and therefore knows how to keep me interested. If you think I'm annoyed you got into my pants..." she snickered again, the sound cold, like tinkling shards of glass, before she went on. "Sweetpea, you didn't do anything I didn't want you to do, nothing I wasn't aiming for from the very first moment you dug a needle into my flesh, and I don't have regrets, even when I supposedly should by societal standards. I... don't know much about how to... act, to be, beyond what I've learned from observation and managed to apply. That's how I learned about tells, and perhaps I am... hyper-aware of them in others as a result, but I don't use them against those who I tend to... enjoy, unless they give me good reason.

"Those who I do want to stick around..." she cleared her throat again, "...like you, like my business partner and a few others whose company I enjoy... for me, it really is that simple. There's something about you that I like, enjoy, perhaps want to know more about. Very few people intrigue me or make me give a **** and those who do have earned a place in what could be called my... group of ‘friends,’ if they’re willing. Pissed off or not, that's the pure, unadorned truth. Take it, or leave it, but please do to tell me one way or another, because I don't usually like to waste my time."

She stood there, like a slim, tall statue made of marble, with a soft smirk twisting pretty lips, waiting to see just what sort of tantrum, if any, those words might evoke.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The tirade continues, and each word penetrates his mind not like a knife, but like a fashion parade of ego, frustration, and attempted flattery. At least, that is how his mind deciphered them straight away; the melt together and the conclusion comes hastily. His tongue comes unstuck in a slick tsk, his bright eyes glancing down the street for a few heavy seconds as he decides what to say next. What to say next? He forces himself to calm down, because why is he so ******* angry anyway? Why is it, these days, that his temper is so quick to lash out? Once upon a time this conversation would have had him laughing. Something is broken inside. Something has broken inside which has been remedied with a quick fix – a band-aid, maybe, on a wound that should need stitches.

Though, in the end, he has always reacted spontaneously to things. And what is this anger, if not spontaneous?

But he does smile, now; it’s not mirthful. His eyes scrape over Yekaterina’s features, searching for those signs she’s so keen on. What makes her tick? What exactly does she mean, whether she intends to or not? He doesn’t really know, not entirely. But he knows what her words are telling him; what that cold derisive laughter helps him to understand. The things that he easily assumes; and the very reason why he is angry. Yes, that’s it. That’s where it has come from. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“There it is. Do you enjoy me like a cat enjoys its playtoy? You keep me around because I amuse you somehow, and keep you on your toes? You know how that sounds, right? I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to? That’s fucked up. Like what… you were playing me all along and I was just some game?” he snorts. He laughs some more. He laughs not only at the whole situation, but at the fact that he sounds like some kind of emo teenage boy who’s just had his heart broken.

And the laughter doesn’t stop. It’s erratic; it’s a wildfire virus that takes over. It has him crouching over with his hands on his knees, until he’s dropped to his haunches, elbows digging into his thighs and fingers raking through his hair. He looks up at Yekaterina; now, at least, the anger has somewhat abated.

“I sound ******* ridiculous. I could apologise but maybe it’s been entertaining for you,” he says. He rubs his face with his hands, and when next he speaks, the words are muffled.

“You don’t want emotions. Not really. But you do know how you sound, right?” he says, again peering up at the woman. “You sound like some ice-queen, egotistical ***** who thinks she’s the be all and end all, keeping people around only as foot stools and fan wavers,” he says, smirking. “Have I got that right or is there more to it than that?”

[Yekaterina Ostrovsky]

The Killer's lips twisted into a fresh smirk at the unexpected reaction. Laughter. Teasing. Now this was different, and far closer to the Jesse she did know. Though her head tilted in a curious way as a brow arched once more, her true main 'tell' that could mean all manner of things at once. For all of her observations, though, she often came back to a particular conclusion, one she loathed, because it was everything she despised when people did it to her, but sometimes... in some ways, many men seemed to be much the same in one specific area.

"Do you have selective hearing?"

It was an innocent enough question, neutral in tone, but full of honest curiosity - she'd said a lot, but he only seemed to pick out the things he wanted to hear, which subsequently led to some twisting of her words. But somehow, tonight, her well of patience was running deeper than usual. Such was the way when she was around someone she wanted to be around, she supposed - she could suddenly handle all sorts of varied reactions, endless questions, or having to constantly explain herself, though even she knew there was a breaking point somewhere.

Katya simply shook her head, the smirk melting into a true smile, before she replied. "Do you mean, did I use you? In some ways, maybe." She shrugged with a slight nod. "I'm not above that, no one really is. We had fun. We indulged in a fleeting mutual attraction. I'm sure you used me in those moments, too. But I can tell you, if that's all you were to me, some long-won game, I wouldn't be here right now. I would have walked away the moment you blew up, if I bothered to see you again at all after our time together." She smiled again, the words still spoken in a neutral tone, with little behind them save the ring of truth.

"I am many, many things, Jesse. But I'm not a liar and I'm no fool, either. It isn't entertaining so much as it is fascinating because you're half-right. I don't deal in emotions, but I can mostly handle them from others. I do know just how I sound to those who don't care to listen to my actual words and I can guess how much you're reading into what I'm saying. But I also know I'm honest and loyal, I talk straight most of the time, and I earned the right to be an egotistical ice-queen *****, or whatever else you can throw at me, if it suits me to be one, though I have yet to turn it on you. I never told you all of it - even that night I spilled some of my guts in a moment of weakness - but I didn't get where I was in my old life by being sunshine and roses. I'm used to people cowering, obeying, scurrying to do what I tell them to do, sure. But I had enough people to do that **** for me, back then. Back then, they were lackeys, lower rungs on a ladder. Now, they're employees and paid extremely well to handle my businesses. So, to answer your question, I don't think I'm the be-all, end-all and I definitely don't just keep people around to satisfy those old expectations. I just happen to know and accept precisely what I am. My friends do, too.

"I don't know how many more times or how many different ways I need to say that I would like us to be... friends, but there it is once again. It isn't something I offer lightly, because there aren't many people I respect or even really like enough to want to trust." She didn't bother explaining that friendship, for her, was something odd indeed when compared to the typical, and a somewhat foreign concept to her, though the basics likely remained the same. But once given, it was almost never taken away, and certainly never betrayed.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse doesn’t need to be told that friendship is a foreign concept to Yekaterina. It’s right there, in the entire way that she’s handling this situation. If the point of the entire conversation was to offer him friendship….he still laughs, still shakes his head. He’s no longer victim to the kind of laughter that has one doubling over in pain, so he stands again, shoving his hands into his pockets, that wry smile still resting on his lips.

“You talk a lot, Yekaterina, and you’re making this sound like some kind of job interview,” he says. He’s not afraid to say it as he sees it. He himself doesn’t like to talk much, because these are usually the kinds of situations that ensue. Misunderstandings, and so on. The way she explains herself, before ending the speech with the same offer. An offer of friendship. It seems an odd kind of offer when Jesse just already assumes they are friends.

“But you know, I’m chuffed,” he says with his hand over his chest, as if the offer has gone straight to his heart and caused a blossoming of warmth. Even though, basically, in the end, it still sounds strange the way that she words it. As if she’s some scary ***** whose friendship is something that should be cherished because it is rare. That he should feel somehow privileged to be in that inner circle of friends.

The story that she tells him is one that could be true, and he does believe her, to an extent. But he’s never seen her at this worst that she speaks of. He has never felt the need to cower or be in any way afraid of Yekaterina, and he doubts he ever will. He’s stubborn like that.

“You need to chill out. Friendship isn’t some contract to be signed. It’s not a thing that people really go around offering other people. Not like this,” he says with a snort, his hand gesture to the space between them. Maybe he’s coming across as condescending. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. But his own reaction to the entire thing has thrown him for a loop, and the defensive walls are still standing. He has a feeling that he won’t change. He’ll never be sunshine and roses himself. He’ll never trust anyone at a first meeting, nor after a second. People are better if they’re kept at a distance.

Again, his hands are shoved into his pockets. They’ve stopped again, but he makes no attempt to keep moving. They’re far enough away from the raid to be given their own little bubble of privacy.

“Also – you’ve never scared me. I feel like that has to be said,” he says with a smirk and a peculiar glint to his eyes. Maybe it’s a challenge. Maybe it’s just a statement, as it is laid out to look like. If this is going to be a friendship, he’s going to go into it knowing that Yekaterina knows that regardless of how much power she may have had over other people, she’s never had any over him – and isn’t ever likely to.

[Yekaterina Ostrovsky]

His continued laughter was becoming more mystifying than ever by that point - what was there to laugh about, after all? Friends were indeed a rare thing, and while it might not quite be a contract, there were certain expectations people usually had of friends and she had to be sure of his. Sure that he understood, and maybe that was it. Maybe that's where she was failing to explain herself. Still, for a time, all she could really do was shrug, leaving the confusion behind the habitual mask that belied the crawling mass of everything that made up her tainted mind; snake-like, she could no more help the thoughts that slithered through her head than she could have helped to breathe as a mortal.

Finally, she eyed him with a slightly narrowed gaze. "You are mocking me," she said quietly, keeping the lashing of curiosity out of her tone. Another thing that was foreign to her, definitely. He didn't need to say he'd never been scared of her before - she could tell, or he'd likely be as all the others who were. Which would have had her quite bored almost immediately, because who wants a friendship built on fear and obligatory respect, after all? What would be the point?

"Chill out? I'm not..." She canted her head slightly, eyeing him up for a long moment. "I don't mean it to sound like an interview. Its just... like I said. I know exactly what I am. I don't see it as some... position to be filled. Its not." She cleared her throat slightly, a brow quirking. "For me, its a rare thing to know someone who I like well enough to consider a friend. It isn't a privilege for you, its one for me. I mean... I told you, I can be an excellent friend to have, and that's the truth. But people tend to have expectations and I think I might fall short of any you may have, conventionally-speaking, anyway. For instance. You need someone dead or maimed, quickly and quietly? I can do that, with few questions asked. But I probably won't meet you for drinks and gossip" - and even she had to laugh at the thought of Jesse wanting to gossip - "or be of any use for things I consider inane or mostly unknown, like, oh. I don't know. Relationship advice, I suppose. I mean... I'll listen, but I'm not very good at those sorts of things." A grin flashed across her cool lips, finding the conversation moving more toward amusement by now. It was a relief.

She had to snicker at the last bit though, knowing now that her suspicion was confirmed. "I'm glad I've never scared you... you don't know how refreshing that is to hear..." She didn't add the next thought, though - that some night, he might know what she had done, could do, and would regret ever considering her friendship in the first place. But that was his choice to make, and one that might bother her on some level if he decided to split, though she knew, already, that it would make very little difference in the end. Attachments - normal ones, anyway - just weren't her thing, no matter how some people insisted on applying them to her and her general modus operandi.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse continues to smirk. Mocking, yes. It is his fall back, generally. Serious is not his forte. He doesn’t want to talk about feelings. He doesn’t want to talk about who he is or why he does the things that he does. Light and fluffy leaves a bad taste in his mouth – except when it’s with Grey. Though, generally, whatever he and Grey talk about it’s not light and fluffy. It’s rife and heavy with emotion which all very new to Jesse. Things that he has not ever felt before, and which he is subject to now with heightened senses. If it’s a weighted admission that Yekaterina wants from Jesse, she’ll have to extract it from him with tooth and dagger. To stand there and reassure her, to tell her that of course they’re friends and they’ll always be friends is far too much for Jesse.

The expression he adopts as Yekaterina continues is one of disappointment – his hands fall lank at his sides and his head rolls back, a slight tsk clicking in his throat. As if this meeting had been orchestrated by Jesse, and the one thing that he’d been after he’d just been denied. He shakes his head and paces, just a little – a couple of steps away from Yekaterina and then back again.

“If I need someone dead or maimed, quickly or quietly, I can do that myself,” he says. Not to mention he’s got an entire faction at his back. And, if not the faction, a bloodthirsty family who’d not hesitate to help one of their own. Joining Andras was one of the best things Jesse had ever done; something that he would never regret, regardless of what trials and tribulation he may go through with his fellow family members.

“I thought I could really count on you, Yekaterina,” he says. He even manages to infuse his voice with what he thinks to be a genuinely disappointed tone. He’s quite proud of it, really, given that he’d not spoken for how long? Maybe it just comes natural to humans—and to vampires, really. The ability to lie convincingly.

“See, I have this wedding coming up and I’d have really used some advice about centrepieces. I’m stuck between the unicorns or the mini Elvis statues,” he says, gesturing at the size of the imaginary things with his inked fingers curled into hooks in front of him. He’s kidding around, of course, but whether this is clear to Yekaterina or not is a different story. His eyes are narrowed and inquisitive – even a smidge hopeful, as if expecting Yekaterina to suddenly be an expert on weddings.

Of course, in that sparkle and gleam of his ice-blue eyes, there’s the semi-clear hint of mischief. Something that, no matter how hard he tried, he’d not have been able to hide.

[Yekaterina Ostrovsky]

The blonde watched as the myriad reactions rolled across the male's face, intrigued. Yes. The smirk stayed for some time until - was it... disappointment? Really? She found her own level of relief significantly lessened the more he kept it up. Brows drew slightly together as her lips pursed just a bit, the only sign she was at something of a loss.

"I know you can," she said quietly, gaze narrowed as her head tipped to one side. Now she was truly curious as to what was going through his head. "It was just an example. Something I excel at that I would go out of my way to do for you," she offered. But as he continued, the confusion moved on to a slight bewilderment. He was disappointed, or so he would have her believe, but she kept both looks carefully tucked behind the mask. Sociopath she might be, but those were two things even she could not escape from time to time - who could, after all? Though it was something that had become a worryingly more-often occurrence for her as the nights of immortality continued on.

She opened her mouth to protest when he spoke of counting on her, but it quickly gave way to a snicker as she tried to imagine the male standing there, trying to choose between two equally tacky decorations. And it was then that she realized he was poking fun at her after all while actually sharing some interesting - and personal - news. Even if it hadn't been laced in the words, it was easy enough to pick out in his gaze, even if it hadn't been the most ridiculous image in the first place. An answering grin slid across her features as she nudged him in the ribs.

"Well **** me silly," she said with a fresh smirk gracing her lips. "Jesse Fforde, married. The brunette?" she asked casually with a raised brow, thinking so many things about that little drive-by glare made more sense now. "I really hope she doesn't let you pick the centerpieces..."

[Jesse Fforde]

Jess snorts.

There it is. He was wondering whether, in the end, Yekaterina was going to actually think he was serious—that he’d be disappointed that she could not help him to pick centrepieces, of all things. There’s a lot of stuff that he and Grey have to figure out, but centrepieces is not one of them. At least, Jesse doesn’t think so. He shakes his head.

“I am not going to **** you silly. I have already done that, and I do doubt that my fiancé would be too pleased,” he says. As if that much would not be already obvious – hell, Grey had seemed none too pleased simply to see him standing, buddy buddy, with the glamorous blonde. Jesse half coughs as he clears his throat, bringing up a hand to idly rub at the back of his neck.

When he’d first proposed to Grey, when she’d said yes, he hadn’t announced to the world, en masse. He had not posted any threads in any Crownets. Ha hadn’t thrown any parties. But it was a bit of a news that he hadn’t been able to keep to himself for very long. Velveteen was the first to find out, and a few others afterwards. It wasn’t something that he’d wanted to keep to himself. There are plenty of things that he won’t share with Yekaterina. Hell, there are still things that he’s reluctant to share with Grey herself, but he’s slowly learning to let everything go with her. Everything, down to his deepest, darkest, dirtiest desires and secrets.

Being Grey’s fiancé, the fact that he’s getting married, isn’t something that he needs or wants to keep to himself. He doesn’t like to make a huge deal out of it, but it is something that he is proud of. That he is happy about. Again, he shakes his head.

“I don’t think there’ll be centrepieces to decide on. You need tables for centrepieces, and tables are usually used to eat from. There’ll be no food, because there’ll be a rare few who can actually eat it,” he explains, reasonably. But, maybe he’s putting too much thought into it. Really, in the end, he doesn’t want a massive ceremony. All the major emotional incidents between he and Grey had been discovered and confessed in private, and he feels like the ritual to bind them should be private, too. Maybe they’ll throw a party afterwards. It’s still something that they’re discussing, and with everything that he’s rushed Grey into in the past, he’s not going to rush her into this as well. Besides which, he doesn’t do too well with planning anything.

He shrugs. But he’s grinning like the cat that got all the cheese.