Hey, it's a nice place. With nice people, you know? [ Tom grins, disarmingly, but it seems genuine. ] Well, so I keep hearing. So even if you don't want to go, at least it won't be a horrible place to be in, right?
[ She is not so poor at reading people that she doesn't catch that delay. Her forehead wrinkles but smooths out, swallowed up with a slight duck of her head. ] Sorry, [ she tells him, glancing up and then back down. ] It's not — you, at all. [ (It is. In part. A nice smile is not all that it takes to buy trust.) ]
[ I should get a couple drinks in you. That's the first thing he thinks. Maybe then we can see about getting you to relax. ] Now there's a relief, [ he says with an exhale, that smile permeating the rest of his features, bleeding from mouth to eyes to jaw, getting all over everything until he's perfectly harmless again.
(The second thing he thinks isn't nearly as nice. Put out, shut up and open wide, Nina, or I swear to fucking christ, I'll do it for you.) ] I thought, y'know. We were getting along fine.
[ Karl lifts his eyebrows, his shoulders, innocently. ] Unless, I missed something.
[ It's a smile that takes Nina by surprise. (He's handsome by most stretches of the imagination, and it isn't that often that she is the subject of any attention that could be taken as completely well meant.) ]
I guess it won't be too bad, [ she says, though the words falter. ] Are you — are you going?
I think so. I mean, yeah, probably. [ He shrugs—one shoulder up, the other down. If she is, he thinks, I'm going. A different woman. Different, somewhat, from Nina, but not so much—they have unfinished business.
Then, he looks up, eyes a little wide, with a sheepish laugh— ]
Oh my god, I'm sorry, that's not polite at all—I didn't even introduce myself! I'm Tom.
[ Arthur's posture is ... a bit more relaxed than usual, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and his voice is calm -- perhaps it's something about Nina that brings that out in him, though he can't quite put his finger on what it is. ]
It's probably not too reassuring, but it could be worse.
[ She mimics the gesture, though her eyebrows indicate more earnestness than they do worry. ] No, of course not. [ For an instant, she seems poised to reach out, but her arm folds back to her chest, her fingers by her lips. ]
[ Karl laughs, an exhale, not unkind (warm even). He's good at knowing how to behave, how to draw the best out of people, how to make women comfortable. It makes it that much easier to get them down on the slab (it makes them cry more when he's opening them up and taking a look inside.
Easily, he reaches out and touches Nina on the forearm, the elbow. A there, there, a right, a you don't have anything to worry about with me, sweetheart, you'll see. ] Could offer to buy you a snowcone. [ Karl winks but in a way that makes him seem embarrassed by the gesture. ] People still do that, right?
Nina. Nina. That's a good name, I like it. [ He doesn't go for a handshake either—instead rubs his hands together, almost awkwardly—with an endearing quality, like he's not sure how to handle a woman curtseying to him. Isn't that a little old-fashioned? Should he bow or something? Wow, she really is dainty. ]
Good to meet you, Nina.
[ He likes how the name feels in his mouth, though. Short. Sweet. Like her, really, he's sure she's very sweet. She wouldn't harm a fly, seems like. ]
So, um. Not to pry or anything, but—got any plans for living there? I mean, I'm sure you do, you don't have to tell me. Just seems like it's a good idea to go in with some idea of what you're gonna do.
[ (And, oh, she'll cry buckets, right up until she starts to laugh. Hi, honey, you like what you see?) ]
I don't know, [ she admits, the embarrassment on her end nothing if not genuine. There's only so much time she's had for anything besides ballet, only so many chances. Admittedly, this wasn't a chance, per se, but it's an experience. He reaches out and she only just manages not to fold further in upon herself, another blush coloring the bridge of her nose. ] But I wouldn't say no.
[ (And won't that just be the day. If only Karl knew, he'd plan something extra special; but half the fun is the surprise, isn't it?)
The admission of not knowing wrings a different expression out of Karl. Where once his features were sheepish and abashed now they rearrange themselves to something quieter, more sympathetic. When he was a boy he'd considered being a psychiatrist once, but he'd turned out to be too enamored with the human body, its ins and outs, all the various ways that it can break. (I bet that hurts and oopsie-daisy and now look what you fucking made me do.) He's not there with Nina yet. Maybe someday (someday sooner rather than later) he'll get there, but not yet. No, right now Karl remembers his manners and sometimes even recalls how to be sweet (genuinely sweet). How long it takes for them to get from here to past the point of no return—
Well. That's up to Nina, isn't it?
Karl tries to touch her again, more lingeringly this time, there on the curve of her shoulder. (Play nice, Nina.) ] It's a date, then?
[ A beat and then Karl laughs, shaking his head and looking away. ] Look at me, I'm— I'm sorry, I don't mean to assume.
[ She could almost laugh. She smiles like she might, breath fluttering as she ducks her head again, the gesture almost juvenile. (Perhaps it's sad that it isn't an affectation.) He's nice, she thinks, and it does a little to put her at ease, though the rest of her worries as to the right thing to say, the right thing to do. (She has never wanted to be a disappointment.) ]
Married with a child, [ she says, as if she's trying to tell some kind of joke. (She isn't. The concept — the husband and the son — terrifies her, as loathe as she is to admit it.) ]
[ Though there is little about ballet that Nina doesn't know, in this she is a novice. To hear that he's gone places before and that this is, comparatively, not the worst place to go. (Perhaps that's true, in some contexts, but hers is one destined for wrack and ruin.) ]
I'll take your word for it, [ Nina says, and there isn't even the faintest hint of sarcasm in her voice. ]
[ (Something extra special, something for the little princess, something for Odile and Odette, because here's the funny thing about the point of no return — she'll cycle back. Maybe she'd dreamed it, maybe it never happened, he would never. Something special because yes he would and don't you fucking touch me.
But for now, it's all white and pink lace, all small smiles and giggles, packed up in a lesson on human anatomy, sinews and muscle and bone all visible under skin that seems much too thin.)
This time, she does fold, although it isn't so much shying away as it is simply being bashful, as she rocks up onto her toes and back down again, lips caught in a smile. (She can play nice. She can play plenty nice.) ]
It's a date.
[ And now, now she reaches up, fingers curling around his lapel in a bid to straighten it out. ]
Really? Jeez, married? And with a kid... [ he repeats the concept, as if that'd somehow make it less strange. He'd certainly never entertained the thought before. Of either of those things. No, that's a lie. One of those things. One of them, not often—I just wanted to be friends!—but often enough to wonder what it would feel like.
To have her all to himself. All the time. ]
I know that's one of the, uh, prerequisites and everything, but it's still kind of weird to hear, you know? [ he smiles again, quick, liking the way she's reacting to him, so nicely, in such a feminine way. It's a breath of fresh air, actually. Most people he sees just want to get in, park, work, and get out—most of them don't even know his name, despite it being written on his work shirt. ] I'm sure whoever your husband and kid is—I'm sure they'll like you, and I'm sure you'll make a great wife and mom.
Oh—me? Well, there's this girl I like, so um. She's also going, so if we were married, then that wouldn't be so bad. I don't know about kids though. I don't know if I'm really dad material. Yet, anyway.
[ She can play nice and he can too and so, for the time being, aren't they a pretty picture. A widower and a ballerina, both with two faces each. One wears a mask oh-so-deliberately fashioned while the other desperately looks to cover a tear, but regardless of their motivations, a single truth is shared: they're both ugly underneath. (There's no way either of them is coming out clean. Monsters are so fond of mess.)
Karl stills when she reaches for her, stills as if her attempt at nearness makes him nervous (because nervousness makes him harmless and harmless things get taken to bed much more readily than the Big Bad.) But as quick as that look of apprehension comes, it's gone again, his shoulders lowering as he gives her another smile — the suggestion of anxiety, of friendliness, of a well-meaningness that doesn't actually exist. ] Great. [ A beat, coupled with an exhale. (Relief.) ] Great, great. That actually— that makes my day.
I really want this to work, y'know? I think we could be happy there. New beginnings and everything.
[ Nina knows what it's like to be invisible. There are only so many people who care about the ballerinas in the corps — they're important, yes, but a non-distinct entity, a training pool. Good for you if you make it in, sure, but there's little in that if you never make it out.
Her smile persists as he speaks, a silent thank you in the duck of her head and shoulders. In her experience, that kind of confidence is not something easily given, so that he offers it at all (but what if he's wrong) sets a slight flush to her cheeks and a wider bow to the set of her smile. ]
You'll make a wonderful father, [ she tells him, with a roll of one shoulder. ] And she — the girl — she's very lucky, to know someone so kind. [ (More assumptions, yes, but she has always been too quick to try to believe the best in people.) ]
[ Her fingers are nimble and deft, pinching the folds of his shirt, her arms coming the closest they've ever been to wound around his neck as she works her way along his collar. ]
We'll be happy, [ she tells him. (No, she doesn't know it to be true. And no, they won't be happy, not in the typical sense of the word. Monsters are so fond of mess.) Finally, she holds his gaze, eyes bright and hopeful and porcelain, easy to break, easy to shatter, a set of scales held in balance solely by the perception of kindness. ]
I want— [ a pause, a falter — she is not used to asserting herself, to saying I want as opposed to whatever you want ] —I want us to be happy.
You think so? [ Now that she says it, he seems to find similar reassurance in himself—right, of course he'll be a good dad, just like he'll be a good boyfriend and a good husband. Nina's absolutely right. He takes care of what's his, and he'll hurt anyone who tries to take it from him. That's what it means, right? To love something so much that you'll do anything to protect it. That's love. That's family. That's worth it. ]
Yeah. Yeah. Wow, thank you, Nina, that's really nice of you to say. [ his grin becomes wider, stretches, and it's still well-meant—only the shape of his face and lips give it such an eerie tint that it's hard to see that it reaches his eyes. She's blushing, he sees, and it's lovely on her, all of her so pale save for the pink on her cheeks. Something bubbles up in his chest, like pride.
Tom, he knows, isn't the best of people. He knows the best people. She's a good person, a kind person, just like Nina here, just like those who smile at him and make him feel like he's important, who give him the time of day. He believes the best in people; not himself, because he's no saint.
But he is much, much worse than he thinks he is. ]
Hey, listen. If I end up going, we could spend some time together, if you wanted. You know, like friends. A day at the park or something. Could be fun, I guess, if you're up for it.
[ It's hard to see that it reaches his eyes, and for a moment, Nina falters. She picks out uncertainty and doubt where it doesn't exist and lets it eat her up from the inside, from smiles that don't stretch quite wide enough to the cut of someone's glance that makes her think they're being insincere. (You're not good enough.) But no, that well-meaning reaches his gaze, too, and so her smile stays as it is.
Easily: ] I'd love that. [ She loves that he would propose the idea at all. It means he likes her, to a small degree at least, and that, like everything else in her life, is two things. One: a comfort. She's doing something right. Two: a fear. She'll mess up. She'll disappoint him, in one way or another. But for now, at least, there's nothing she need worry about. This interaction is too short, surely, for her to make any kind of misstep. And (surely) he is too kind to be so quick to judge. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
Just gotta look on the bright side, that's all.
no subject
no subject
(The second thing he thinks isn't nearly as nice. Put out, shut up and open wide, Nina, or I swear to fucking christ, I'll do it for you.) ] I thought, y'know. We were getting along fine.
[ Karl lifts his eyebrows, his shoulders, innocently. ] Unless, I missed something.
no subject
I guess it won't be too bad, [ she says, though the words falter. ] Are you — are you going?
no subject
Then, he looks up, eyes a little wide, with a sheepish laugh— ]
Oh my god, I'm sorry, that's not polite at all—I didn't even introduce myself! I'm Tom.
no subject
It's probably not too reassuring, but it could be worse.
no subject
We're good. We are.
[ Then, a smile, small but true enough. ] —Right?
no subject
Easily, he reaches out and touches Nina on the forearm, the elbow. A there, there, a right, a you don't have anything to worry about with me, sweetheart, you'll see. ] Could offer to buy you a snowcone. [ Karl winks but in a way that makes him seem embarrassed by the gesture. ] People still do that, right?
no subject
[ Instead of offering him her hand, she does a small curtsy, and in that, in the gesture, executed as neatly as a dance move, she is sure. ]
It's nice to meet you.
no subject
You're right. [ A beat. And then, slightly more confidently: ] You're right.
And you're — you're there already?
no subject
Good to meet you, Nina.
[ He likes how the name feels in his mouth, though. Short. Sweet. Like her, really, he's sure she's very sweet. She wouldn't harm a fly, seems like. ]
So, um. Not to pry or anything, but—got any plans for living there? I mean, I'm sure you do, you don't have to tell me. Just seems like it's a good idea to go in with some idea of what you're gonna do.
no subject
I don't know, [ she admits, the embarrassment on her end nothing if not genuine. There's only so much time she's had for anything besides ballet, only so many chances. Admittedly, this wasn't a chance, per se, but it's an experience. He reaches out and she only just manages not to fold further in upon herself, another blush coloring the bridge of her nose. ] But I wouldn't say no.
no subject
Yeah. Haven't been there long, but so far the setting seems ... friendlier than a couple others I've had to adjust to.
no subject
The admission of not knowing wrings a different expression out of Karl. Where once his features were sheepish and abashed now they rearrange themselves to something quieter, more sympathetic. When he was a boy he'd considered being a psychiatrist once, but he'd turned out to be too enamored with the human body, its ins and outs, all the various ways that it can break. (I bet that hurts and oopsie-daisy and now look what you fucking made me do.) He's not there with Nina yet. Maybe someday (someday sooner rather than later) he'll get there, but not yet. No, right now Karl remembers his manners and sometimes even recalls how to be sweet (genuinely sweet). How long it takes for them to get from here to past the point of no return—
Well. That's up to Nina, isn't it?
Karl tries to touch her again, more lingeringly this time, there on the curve of her shoulder. (Play nice, Nina.) ] It's a date, then?
[ A beat and then Karl laughs, shaking his head and looking away. ] Look at me, I'm— I'm sorry, I don't mean to assume.
no subject
Married with a child, [ she says, as if she's trying to tell some kind of joke. (She isn't. The concept — the husband and the son — terrifies her, as loathe as she is to admit it.) ]
What about you?
no subject
I'll take your word for it, [ Nina says, and there isn't even the faintest hint of sarcasm in her voice. ]
— I'm Nina, by the way. Pleased to meet you.
no subject
But for now, it's all white and pink lace, all small smiles and giggles, packed up in a lesson on human anatomy, sinews and muscle and bone all visible under skin that seems much too thin.)
This time, she does fold, although it isn't so much shying away as it is simply being bashful, as she rocks up onto her toes and back down again, lips caught in a smile. (She can play nice. She can play plenty nice.) ]
It's a date.
[ And now, now she reaches up, fingers curling around his lapel in a bid to straighten it out. ]
no subject
To have her all to himself. All the time. ]
I know that's one of the, uh, prerequisites and everything, but it's still kind of weird to hear, you know? [ he smiles again, quick, liking the way she's reacting to him, so nicely, in such a feminine way. It's a breath of fresh air, actually. Most people he sees just want to get in, park, work, and get out—most of them don't even know his name, despite it being written on his work shirt. ] I'm sure whoever your husband and kid is—I'm sure they'll like you, and I'm sure you'll make a great wife and mom.
Oh—me? Well, there's this girl I like, so um. She's also going, so if we were married, then that wouldn't be so bad. I don't know about kids though. I don't know if I'm really dad material. Yet, anyway.
no subject
Karl stills when she reaches for her, stills as if her attempt at nearness makes him nervous (because nervousness makes him harmless and harmless things get taken to bed much more readily than the Big Bad.) But as quick as that look of apprehension comes, it's gone again, his shoulders lowering as he gives her another smile — the suggestion of anxiety, of friendliness, of a well-meaningness that doesn't actually exist. ] Great. [ A beat, coupled with an exhale. (Relief.) ] Great, great. That actually— that makes my day.
I really want this to work, y'know? I think we could be happy there. New beginnings and everything.
no subject
Her smile persists as he speaks, a silent thank you in the duck of her head and shoulders. In her experience, that kind of confidence is not something easily given, so that he offers it at all (but what if he's wrong) sets a slight flush to her cheeks and a wider bow to the set of her smile. ]
You'll make a wonderful father, [ she tells him, with a roll of one shoulder. ] And she — the girl — she's very lucky, to know someone so kind. [ (More assumptions, yes, but she has always been too quick to try to believe the best in people.) ]
no subject
We'll be happy, [ she tells him. (No, she doesn't know it to be true. And no, they won't be happy, not in the typical sense of the word. Monsters are so fond of mess.) Finally, she holds his gaze, eyes bright and hopeful and porcelain, easy to break, easy to shatter, a set of scales held in balance solely by the perception of kindness. ]
I want— [ a pause, a falter — she is not used to asserting herself, to saying I want as opposed to whatever you want ] —I want us to be happy.
no subject
Yeah. Yeah. Wow, thank you, Nina, that's really nice of you to say. [ his grin becomes wider, stretches, and it's still well-meant—only the shape of his face and lips give it such an eerie tint that it's hard to see that it reaches his eyes. She's blushing, he sees, and it's lovely on her, all of her so pale save for the pink on her cheeks. Something bubbles up in his chest, like pride.
Tom, he knows, isn't the best of people. He knows the best people. She's a good person, a kind person, just like Nina here, just like those who smile at him and make him feel like he's important, who give him the time of day. He believes the best in people; not himself, because he's no saint.
But he is much, much worse than he thinks he is. ]
Hey, listen. If I end up going, we could spend some time together, if you wanted. You know, like friends. A day at the park or something. Could be fun, I guess, if you're up for it.
no subject
Easily: ] I'd love that. [ She loves that he would propose the idea at all. It means he likes her, to a small degree at least, and that, like everything else in her life, is two things. One: a comfort. She's doing something right. Two: a fear. She'll mess up. She'll disappoint him, in one way or another. But for now, at least, there's nothing she need worry about. This interaction is too short, surely, for her to make any kind of misstep. And (surely) he is too kind to be so quick to judge. ]
Thank you, Tom.