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[livinginmyglass]

Viola isn't sure whether she had that strange magic flu or just a nasty cold, but whatever it was, she slept for about three days straight and woke feeling much better.

(She thinks she was herself the whole time, but then again she has a hazy, feverish recollection of dreams of the shipwreck, of a rescue that was not her own-- of waking, and seeming to see the room through her brother's eyes before drifting to sleep again.)

But she's better now, so time to set all that aside (not least her encounter with Hal, which she blushes even thinking of. It was far less scandalous than kissing, of course, but somehow the memory of it-- of trailing his other self, of looking so wretched in front of him, of curling up on the couch at his side-- embarrasses her more.)

But setting that aside-- the library. That's always a safe, calming place.

Comments

[never_promised]

"O, yes." He retrieves the tablet and finds the picture of Boy George again, and leans a little closer himself, to tilt it so they both can see. "What think you? Mistress Bar can provide hat and shirt and other raiment; but I have not the art to paint my face so. And then this..." He runs a hand through his none-too-long hair.

[livinginmyglass]

"Sure she can provide paint and wig, also," Viola says, leaning in. "But how shall thy friend ever know thy promise is kept?"

[never_promised]

"She may provide the paint, but she cannot daub it about... How will he know? Setting aside for the moment that he is not a friend, well, I think I must be seen thus." He shoots her a grin. "Dost think it suits ill with my great dignity?"

[livinginmyglass]

She snorts. "Thou hast but little dignity, 'tis true. And methinks it would demand a more outlandish guise by far to warrant comment in this place. But if
thou wilt, I will see thee painted."

[never_promised]

"Then I will trust thee with the task. But first I would see whether Jim recalls the promise I made when he was ill." His eyes fall on the books, and he groans. "O, and I said I would read these. Well, they shall await my pleasure."

[livinginmyglass]

"How dutifully thou fulfill'st his command!" Viola laughs. She scoots a little closer-- so she can see the spines of the books better. "And what are these?"

[never_promised]

"Plays," he answers, "and poetry. I am told this man Shakespeare is a great writer of his kind, and even Harry Percy has read him: and so I would not lag behind. But I own I am in no mood for plays and poetry just now."

[livinginmyglass]

"Indeed?" She reaches across to snatch the book off the top of the pile. She glances at the title: As You Like It.

"But thy mood inclineth to-- what? Music?"

[never_promised]

"'Tis thine to read an it please thee. --O, I know not what my mood inclines to. 'Tis well thou camest in as thou didst, or I might have fallen into a slumber. But thy company always suits."

[livinginmyglass]

"You shall make me proud with flattery," she says, swatting at him with the book.

[never_promised]

He shields himself with his hands, laughing. "And you will murder me here in the library! For shame!"

[livinginmyglass]

"O, I have heard of men killed for books, but never by them."

[never_promised]

He tries to take back the book. "O, it must have happened at least once in the world before now. But I would not put it past thee to invent a new sort of villainy..."

[livinginmyglass]

"My feeble strength is not equal to the task, I am sure."

She clings to the book, though.

(And if she were more skilled in flirtation, she'd ask herself why she's not just giving it back and would know the answer. Probably she knows the answer anyway.)

[never_promised]

Yes, and somehow Hal's feeble strength is not equal to the task of pulling the book from her grasp. He's going to have to wriggle one of his hands along the spine without letting go, and try to pry her fingers off. "Thy feeble strength! Thy grip is as steel..."

[livinginmyglass]

Hey! She lets go with one hand to slap at his, then with a sigh surrenders the book and flops back with a sigh. "Why, take it, then."

[never_promised]

He rocks back as well as soon as she lets go. But he pulls himself up again, and places the book against her knee. "Nay, 'tis thine, have it."

Ngh. His hand hovers a moment, indecisive, before he pulls it back. No. No, however they proceed, it will never do to reach for too much too soon.

[livinginmyglass]

She takes the book and draws her knees up to her chest. How stupid, she can't help but think, to be back here again. They kissed once already, didn't they? And they had to sidle up to it in just the same way, playfully and pretending it was by accident.

But then years and years passed. For him. So maybe it makes sense that they have to start over again.

"I thank thee," she says.

[never_promised]

Not so many years, he'd protest if he heard her thoughts. But enough that he couldn't say offhand just how many. And now no more years will pass for him, not in England or France or any living country. So--yes, they have to start over again. Conditions have changed.

He smiles over at her, a little ruefully. "Thou'rt as snug there as a cat by the fire."

[livinginmyglass]

"Now there is a trade that would suit me well," she says. "To stalk amongst the shelves and bask me in sunbeams."