RE: Thinking of You

[Hamlet]

------

From: Hamlet
Subject: RE: The Training Room
Message:





I'll be there.

------

[Pi dArtois]

Pi dressed casually. Too casually. She didn’t know what Hamlet’s game was but she knew she wasn’t keen to play it if it meant what Elliot believed it did and that this was a date and Hamlet was interested in something more than… normal. But she had no idea what normal for a man like him. The last time he'd taken her, it was to visit his mother, a pleasant woman he seemed to take joy in taunting her with. He seemed an odd, confusing man, and she had known him too little to guess at his motives despite what Elliot believed.

Yes, casual seemed a good way to do it. Black jeans, skin tight, tucked into boots, just past her ankle, paired with a black long sleeved shirt and corduroy jacket . And weapons, not a lot of them, but she was going armed. Her sword, and Carys, both strapped easily over back, crossing one over the other. He’d told her to wear her favourite outfit, and she had.

How did Pi get herself into situations like this. She had never been overtly flirtatious, the opposite was true. Her existence (despite recent shenanigans with Elliot) was rather Spartan and continued to be so. Two men in her life, only two and none before either. (none that counted at any rate) and yet, here she was nervously preparing herself for a potential date with a man she was required to go on a potential date with.

Elliot would be at Lancaster’s, waiting, hopefully not intervening because she couldn’t fathom being the filling in that particular sandwich. But he’d be there and she felt a little better for it because she wasn’t’ sure she could meet with another man with the one she loved watching. Better on her own. Better Elliot trust her enough to do this on her own.

She worried the ring on her finger, spinning it around and around, the diamonds running along one side flashing in the dim light of their shared bedroom. It was new, wearing his ring, him wearing hers, the symbol was as much ownership and possession as it was a commitment to each other. She worried still, that they’d jumped into this decision, had made it only because someone else threatened them and not because they had come of it on their own. But did it matter how? Only that it was. Was she worrying at it like a weeping wound because she had doubts or because she was that insecure.

Slowly she wound the scarf around her neck, pale pale blue. The colour of a Carolina blue sky, it made her eyes starker, bleak and cold, the look of the black Irish. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, pushing it off her face.

When she walked into The Training Room she did so through the secret wall on the west side of the building her steps slow and measured. She stopped at her desk and sat.

Waiting.