[ Her head tilts towards him, twists her lips down like she's confused or edging upset at his sullen reaction. Mobile and everything, he says. She watches him just as closely when he risks those steps towards her, the way he's looking every bit like a deer that might scurry away at the wrong move.
This close she can see just how high and cut his cheekbones are, just how bad his eye bags are. Can hear just how sorry he actually is, and her teeth dig into her lip, vaguely uncomfortable. Vaguely amused. God, this guy really did a number on him. ]
Yeah.. It made me really sad after everything we've been through to just, I don't know, be treated like that? And for you to ghost me after.. It's like I wasn't even important to you or something.
[ She crosses her arms stiffly, keeps herself small. Lets him know, too, that this isn't a noβ because she isn't stepping back or pushing him away. She's letting him into her little bubble, her orbit. ]
[ His guilt spirals tighter with each phrase Lottie turns, twisting to a sharper and sharper point. She's right. He came in knowing all of this in a vague way, but hearing it spelled out makes him ache. When she hits I wasn't even important, Quentin finally can't look at her anymore, head bowing deep before he starts tearing up in earnest.
[ He can't explain how embarrassed he is of the way he had tangled himself around Danny--not when it had felt like the single most important thing in his world only a month ago, and not without calling all of his other relationships into question. He'd been so sure about his feelings about Danny, but he was sure in his feelings about Lottie too. Was that all bullshit too?
[ His fingers squeeze white around each other, teeth grind hard into his tongue to pull himself together. Still, he has a splotchy blush and a watery gaze when he brings his eyes back up. His mouth wobbles at the corners when he shrugs. Hoarsely: ]
[ With each visible tell, Lottie lingers a little further towards him. Drawn in, desperate to see the extent of her effect on him. His chin ducks down and it's so therapeutic. Feels just as good as it does terrible witnessing the raw guilt grip him tight, fingers squeeze around themselves with each reminder of how their relationship has changed.
(He looks like a kicked puppy.)
She finally sighs out, soft, hurt, a little watery herself. It doesn't matter how much enjoyment she derives out of thisβ she still doesn't like to see Quentin cry. She still gets emotional just as earnestly as he does. It's a little broken, herβ ]
Oh.. God, Quentin.
[ She opens her arms β it's awkward, but the intent is all there: it's acceptance. Forgiveness, maybe. It's an offer of warmth and comfort to cuddle into her and let her slim arms wrap around his tender frame, to run her hand across his back. If he doesn't take it, she'll draw them back into herself, run them over his forearms. If he does, she'll hold him tight. ]
Let's just start over! Pretend it never happened.. Okay? We can be friends. We canβ [ She pauses, as if thinking over what it is they even did as friends. ] we can hang out and talk, like we used to. You can trust me.
[ He takes the chance to be embraced without a second thought. They haven't been in much casual contact (and this in no way counts), so Lottie may not know how badly he constantly craves just being touched. He folds into the space Lottie offers like wax into a mold, warm and soft and hugging to the corners and seams.
[ When his arms wind around her back, one hand catches the tips of her hair, combing and twisting through them loosely. Mouth planted against her shoulder (the spot where the clavicle is tethered, safe under her top from any brush of his lips that might seem salacious), Quentin shakes his head minutely, breathes her in deep. ] Let's start over.
Jesus, let's...fucking do it right this time. [ He lifts his head, but his hands stay at Lottie's hips as he looks her in the eye. Officious, as joking as he can manage while sniffing back too much Feeling: ] Oh, Lottie Person? I'm Quentin Smith.
[ She doesn'tβ Lottie's only brush with Quentin's need to be touched have been in dire, emotional, situations. The same ones where contact makes sense. So when his arms wind around her and cinch tight, softly tugging at the tips of her too green hair, she tries hard not to stiffen. It's been a long, long, moment since she's hugged someone outside of sex.
It's weird and, frankly abnormal, butβ Quentin is warm and eager in her arms, as one hand settles at the crown of his head to run her fingers through his curls. She can feel where he's breathing on her. Does he feel safe? Has he ever felt safe since..?
He pulls away and she has to struggle with the insane, almost intrusive, need to pull him back. Maybe so he can't see how red her eyes are now, or how puffy her undereye bags must be. Maybe, so she can just feel him and not have to think so much, the loud buzz of static overwhelming in her mind, less preferable to the way Quentin miserably holds her. ]
Hi, Quentin Smith. [ She sniffles, too, tucks her head down to smile something small. Like she's scared of how normal it'll look to him rather than blindingly crafted. Her hands settle plainly at his shoulders, thumbing at the fabric of his cozy jacket. ] I'm Lottie Person. But my friends call me Lottie.
[ A beat. ]
..And my fans call me 'mom'. [ Laugh now, Quentin!! ] Nice to meet you.
[ Like a charm, he sputters, turns his head aside so he doesn't laugh straight in her face. ]
Nice to fuckin meet you.
[ One last squeeze around her hips, and he lets one hand drop away to angle towards the table. The other lingers as long as she'll allow. ] Those drawings--is that your work?
[ Ooh, good. Good. That makes her ego run up miles high. She lets his hand stay, makes a point to pause before speaking just to glance down and look at it. Not admonishing, just flushed, maybe. One hand delicately dabs at her nose as she angles her own head away, so he can't see. ]
There's a reason why I have so many kids.
[ Jokingβ because she feels like she's on a roll. ]
I designed my own line. Fashion is like, kind of my thing. Soβ yeah. It is! I wanna make more modern things since I can't sell stuff with my face on it..
Holy shit. Can I look? [ His hand only leaves her when he steps towards the table, all the better to pick up her sketches with. ] Did you wanna do this back home? I mean, if you can get paid for stuff with your face on it, more power to you, but...
[ She snorts as he picks up her things, Lottie gesturing to give him the go ahead. Some of what he'll see are replicas of her athleisure collectionβ bras and underwear with bands that have LOTTIE emblazoned at the bottom in stylish typography. Others, it's fashionable every day wear much like the things she makes for herself. Pants with tapered ends, shirts that cinch tight and flatter busts. ]
I did. I was a very successful business woman back home!! I even did an exclusive drop with Nike. But I don't think I'm quite there yet, here. No YTB's or crying when people see me, you know..
[ He grins, but it softens quickly enough as he flips through her sketches. So much talent, but he's never even heard her mention her art before. Typical, hilariously on brand for Lottie. ]Β
What do you think is keeping you back, here? Just...looking for the right moment of inspiration?Β
Would I buy a skirt suit? [ He holds up one of her drawings, the featured figure plainly missing a top under her blazer. ] Probably not. But strictly because I don't have any money, and you don't want what I have to trade.
Otherwise, this would really do my calves a favor.
Duh, I know you can't buy it. [ That gets her to snort, tucking her head down to hide in the palm of her hand like she doesn't want him to see just how amused she is, how human she may look. ] How do you know I wouldn't want what you have to trade?
That's so ignorant, we've never even bartered before.
Oh, sorry, I didn't know hot leaves and stinky oils were in such high demand for you. [ She can hide; as usual, he shows his amusement and a little self-effacement in full display. He grins back down, keeps shuffling through her drawings. ] Come on. What do you even need from me?Β
[ She lets him shuffle through her things, lets him see some more designs. Some shirts, bodywear, even a dress or two. Eventually, she moves closer to the table, reaches out for a swath of fabric she laid out to look busy for him, when the months old sketches would end and he'd have to focus on her. ]
I don't know, an IOU?
[ After all, it's not about what she needs from him now, it's what she could need. ]
An intern? Town fashion crier? What do you do when people want things from your work?
The apothecary is for everyone. Most of our stuff just leaves for free. [ And it's not art, he figures, but...but there is stuff that Merta does that's beyond him. The occasional remedy that has to be made with rare materials. The things they receive from the Duchess that are more specialized. His hip leans against the table as he watches her. ] ...I guess people bring in what they have. Food. Goods. Favors.
What size IOU would we be talking about for a Lottie Person original?
[ That gets Lottie to laugh. She actually stops thumbing at her fabric to stare at the ground, like she's remembering something. Like it's important. And in a matter of moments she scratches at her scalp, deliberately messing up her meticulously styled hair. Her lips quick up softlyβ ]
God, I meanβ that depends. Are you interested in the athleisure collection or some Lottie Person brand shirts? Clothing for the olden times people here? The first has briefs, by the way.
What? But they take the least amount of--you know what? [ He sets down the drawings in hand to put both his hands up. You got a point: ] Worth it. For underwear lighter than wearing pajamas under my pants? For couture? The biggest IOU. I'll start making a list of things I can do. How many dirty options are you open to?
It's a service, isn't it? [ He's amused with himself, but he's not without shame. He ducks his head even while he grins. ] "No dirty options" is also a perfectly legitimate answer, I'll just have to stretch farther for stuff I'm good at.
[ Lottie almost looks wry, the way she stares at him. But then she abruptly replies: ]
Yeah. Sure. Okay.
[ She grabs a mostly blank piece of paper from the endless pile on her desk and moves it his way, grabs a pencil for him to use, too. Just lets him guess what he's supposed to write as she smiles. ]
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This close she can see just how high and cut his cheekbones are, just how bad his eye bags are. Can hear just how sorry he actually is, and her teeth dig into her lip, vaguely uncomfortable. Vaguely amused. God, this guy really did a number on him. ]
Yeah.. It made me really sad after everything we've been through to just, I don't know, be treated like that? And for you to ghost me after.. It's like I wasn't even important to you or something.
[ She crosses her arms stiffly, keeps herself small. Lets him know, too, that this isn't a noβ because she isn't stepping back or pushing him away. She's letting him into her little bubble, her orbit. ]
I mean, how do I know you won't do it again?
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[ He can't explain how embarrassed he is of the way he had tangled himself around Danny--not when it had felt like the single most important thing in his world only a month ago, and not without calling all of his other relationships into question. He'd been so sure about his feelings about Danny, but he was sure in his feelings about Lottie too. Was that all bullshit too?
[ His fingers squeeze white around each other, teeth grind hard into his tongue to pull himself together. Still, he has a splotchy blush and a watery gaze when he brings his eyes back up. His mouth wobbles at the corners when he shrugs. Hoarsely: ]
Now...now I know who my friends are.
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(He looks like a kicked puppy.)
She finally sighs out, soft, hurt, a little watery herself. It doesn't matter how much enjoyment she derives out of thisβ she still doesn't like to see Quentin cry. She still gets emotional just as earnestly as he does. It's a little broken, herβ ]
Oh.. God, Quentin.
[ She opens her arms β it's awkward, but the intent is all there: it's acceptance. Forgiveness, maybe. It's an offer of warmth and comfort to cuddle into her and let her slim arms wrap around his tender frame, to run her hand across his back. If he doesn't take it, she'll draw them back into herself, run them over his forearms. If he does, she'll hold him tight. ]
Let's just start over! Pretend it never happened.. Okay? We can be friends. We canβ [ She pauses, as if thinking over what it is they even did as friends. ] we can hang out and talk, like we used to. You can trust me.
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[ When his arms wind around her back, one hand catches the tips of her hair, combing and twisting through them loosely. Mouth planted against her shoulder (the spot where the clavicle is tethered, safe under her top from any brush of his lips that might seem salacious), Quentin shakes his head minutely, breathes her in deep. ] Let's start over.
Jesus, let's...fucking do it right this time. [ He lifts his head, but his hands stay at Lottie's hips as he looks her in the eye. Officious, as joking as he can manage while sniffing back too much Feeling: ] Oh, Lottie Person? I'm Quentin Smith.
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It's weird and, frankly abnormal, butβ Quentin is warm and eager in her arms, as one hand settles at the crown of his head to run her fingers through his curls. She can feel where he's breathing on her. Does he feel safe? Has he ever felt safe since..?
He pulls away and she has to struggle with the insane, almost intrusive, need to pull him back. Maybe so he can't see how red her eyes are now, or how puffy her undereye bags must be. Maybe, so she can just feel him and not have to think so much, the loud buzz of static overwhelming in her mind, less preferable to the way Quentin miserably holds her. ]
Hi, Quentin Smith. [ She sniffles, too, tucks her head down to smile something small. Like she's scared of how normal it'll look to him rather than blindingly crafted. Her hands settle plainly at his shoulders, thumbing at the fabric of his cozy jacket. ] I'm Lottie Person. But my friends call me Lottie.
[ A beat. ]
..And my fans call me 'mom'. [ Laugh now, Quentin!! ] Nice to meet you.
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Nice to fuckin meet you.
[ One last squeeze around her hips, and he lets one hand drop away to angle towards the table. The other lingers as long as she'll allow. ] Those drawings--is that your work?
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There's a reason why I have so many kids.
[ Jokingβ because she feels like she's on a roll. ]
I designed my own line. Fashion is like, kind of my thing. Soβ yeah. It is! I wanna make more modern things since I can't sell stuff with my face on it..
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I did. I was a very successful business woman back home!! I even did an exclusive drop with Nike. But I don't think I'm quite there yet, here. No YTB's or crying when people see me, you know..
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What do you think is keeping you back, here? Just...looking for the right moment of inspiration?Β
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Can you embroider my face on a top?
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Otherwise, this would really do my calves a favor.
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That's so ignorant, we've never even bartered before.
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I don't know, an IOU?
[ After all, it's not about what she needs from him now, it's what she could need. ]
An intern? Town fashion crier? What do you do when people want things from your work?
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What size IOU would we be talking about for a Lottie Person original?
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God, I meanβ that depends. Are you interested in the athleisure collection or some Lottie Person brand shirts? Clothing for the olden times people here? The first has briefs, by the way.
[ Her eyes playfully dart towards him. ]
The briefs will be the biggest IOU, by the way.
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Why do you assume I'm into the dirty options?
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Yeah. Sure. Okay.
[ She grabs a mostly blank piece of paper from the endless pile on her desk and moves it his way, grabs a pencil for him to use, too. Just lets him guess what he's supposed to write as she smiles. ]
I mean if you say you're good.