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I'm rather fond of the last little bit I wrote in the current fic THAT I AM GOING TO FINISH SOON DAMMIT, so I thought I'd post a teaser.
*
The heat and humidity had not yet broken when he exited his taxi on 81st and strolled into the Park that evening, but the clouds above were gray and puffy with portent. He'd agreed to meet Shaw outside the theatre, early enough to satisfy her need to spy out all possible angles of fire, or whatever it was she liked to do, but he had time to take the walk slowly, keeping to the side of the path to avoid joggers and those in a greater hurry than himself. It seemed odd, now, to be walking in a park without Bear at his side; certainly John would have preferred that he take the dog along, disguised as a service animal since he wouldn't be allowed at a performance otherwise. It was something of a joke between them now, and Bear seemed to love going to the movies as long as he was fed some popcorn now and then, but Shaw, for some reason, frowned on the deception, and he admitted he didn't care to put on "handicapable" airs with her.
In fact, he preferred to look his best even if this was a date only in the sense of an operation tied to the clock and calendar, and considering the weather he'd opted for cream linen, no vest, with blue-and-cream striped shirt and gold tie and pocket square. It felt… summery, in the best possible way, light and breathable and cool like vanilla ice cream, a reminder (but of the least bitter sort) that in another life, if he'd made different choices, he might have been sauntering along these paths with Grace at his side.
But even without that lost bliss, this looked to be an interesting evening, spent in intriguing company… and attractive company too, he noted with pleasure as he reached the Delacorte and found Shaw waiting for him. As if she'd queried some mutual acquaintance about his wardrobe selection (he cast a brief glimpse up at a serenely blinking security camera… but no) she was also in blue and gold, though richer in hue: loose trousers and a patterned top, sensible flat shoes (for fighting, he supposed, or running), her hair up, little dark tendrils curling down past her ears.
"Samantha," he said, and it came easily now. "You look lovely."
"You too, Harold. We're probably the best-dressed couple here tonight." She glanced around disdainfully at the other theatregoers, many of whom wore shorts and tank tops. "I would say the most striking, but I'm hoping to avoid punching anyone. Or getting hit by lightning. What do you think are the chances?"
"The odds of any one person being struck by lightning in a given year are one in half a million. I can't speak reliably to the other possibility. Shall we go in?"
*
That's the most flirtatious anyone gets in this; aside from Reese's inevitable heart-eyes, it's totally gen. But hopefully people will read it anyway.
WRITE MORE WORDS DAMMIT.
*
The heat and humidity had not yet broken when he exited his taxi on 81st and strolled into the Park that evening, but the clouds above were gray and puffy with portent. He'd agreed to meet Shaw outside the theatre, early enough to satisfy her need to spy out all possible angles of fire, or whatever it was she liked to do, but he had time to take the walk slowly, keeping to the side of the path to avoid joggers and those in a greater hurry than himself. It seemed odd, now, to be walking in a park without Bear at his side; certainly John would have preferred that he take the dog along, disguised as a service animal since he wouldn't be allowed at a performance otherwise. It was something of a joke between them now, and Bear seemed to love going to the movies as long as he was fed some popcorn now and then, but Shaw, for some reason, frowned on the deception, and he admitted he didn't care to put on "handicapable" airs with her.
In fact, he preferred to look his best even if this was a date only in the sense of an operation tied to the clock and calendar, and considering the weather he'd opted for cream linen, no vest, with blue-and-cream striped shirt and gold tie and pocket square. It felt… summery, in the best possible way, light and breathable and cool like vanilla ice cream, a reminder (but of the least bitter sort) that in another life, if he'd made different choices, he might have been sauntering along these paths with Grace at his side.
But even without that lost bliss, this looked to be an interesting evening, spent in intriguing company… and attractive company too, he noted with pleasure as he reached the Delacorte and found Shaw waiting for him. As if she'd queried some mutual acquaintance about his wardrobe selection (he cast a brief glimpse up at a serenely blinking security camera… but no) she was also in blue and gold, though richer in hue: loose trousers and a patterned top, sensible flat shoes (for fighting, he supposed, or running), her hair up, little dark tendrils curling down past her ears.
"Samantha," he said, and it came easily now. "You look lovely."
"You too, Harold. We're probably the best-dressed couple here tonight." She glanced around disdainfully at the other theatregoers, many of whom wore shorts and tank tops. "I would say the most striking, but I'm hoping to avoid punching anyone. Or getting hit by lightning. What do you think are the chances?"
"The odds of any one person being struck by lightning in a given year are one in half a million. I can't speak reliably to the other possibility. Shall we go in?"
*
That's the most flirtatious anyone gets in this; aside from Reese's inevitable heart-eyes, it's totally gen. But hopefully people will read it anyway.
WRITE MORE WORDS DAMMIT.
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Date: 2013-08-16 09:41 am (UTC)From:(Reese's heart-eyes are inevitable, aren't they?)
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Date: 2013-08-16 11:25 am (UTC)From: