for cable (nathan)

[selfeffacingly]

Comments

[selfeffacingly]

[ Dry, yes. But she knows all about dry humor, it's her specialty. A smile unfurls over her face, slow and appreciative.

It sounds like an offer for her to sit, that purposeful question, but Francesca is too polite to do so without a proper invitation. So she'll continue to stand, but she puts her hands on the back of the chair across from him. ]

London. England. [ She doesn't clarify exactly where in London, because that would give too much away about her. The posh accent can at least be written off. ]

And yourself? I can't place the accent.

[sodark]

Home's here. From Texas, mostly. [Which is a deliberately vague answer. Partly because he's private and partly because he wants to lure her in a little.]

You can sit if you want. [He nods at the empty seat in front of him.]

Unless you've got somewhere to be.

[selfeffacingly]

Mostly. [ She echoes. That's wonderfully vague.

Her stomach flips at the directness of the offer. She wavers, reminding herself it doesn't necessarily stipulate anything and unsure if that's a comfort or disappointment, but takes the invitation and sits down.

She tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of her ear. Until now, he'd been forced to look up at her and that had made her feel a degree of removed. Now, they're eye level.

There's a momentary silence. Then: ]

Have you lived here long?

[sodark]

[It's certainly nice for Nate to have her closer. He's surprised to have captivated her this much, but for once he's enjoying having company. So much so that he offers her a small smile.]

Ten years, give or take. Got on the plane, got a house here, never went back. [He picks up the rim of his glass with his fingers, giving it a gentle shake.]

Would you like another drink?

[selfeffacingly]

[ Francesca finds small talk exhausting, she isn't a social butterfly like many of her siblings, so she's glad that the conversation has found its way so quickly out of those waters.

She's charmed by the smile. She even manages one in return. Gives a nod. ]

Whatever you're having, please. [ She can hold her liquor, thank you.

His answer is so interesting. She wants to ask so many questions already. She'll have to ease them out. ] Why Scotland? [ Pause. Teases: ] Loch Ness Monster? You do look the type.

[sodark]

[Cable gestures casually to the pub owner, who makes him repeat the gesture yet again, much to his chagrin.

Her question also catches him off-guard and he scoffs out a confused laugh.]

I look like a conspiracy theorist? Is it the accent? [The pub owner sets their drinks down, not loitering before moving away.]

I like it here. People mind their business.

[selfeffacingly]

[ Francesca doesn't offer an answer. Just a small conspiratorial smile that says perhaps. Maybe trying to flirt.

( She's really awful at it. She always has been. )

She picks up the glass closest to her, holding it behind her hands and enjoying the cold sweating off. ]

Except when somebody is reading an exceptional piece of literature, of course. [ An air of complete seriousness as she speaks. ]

I like the quiet best. I find it soothing.

[sodark]

Some opportunities are too good to pass up. [If they're both going to attempt to flirt, he might as well get more obvious about it.]

So do I, usually. Pub's an interesting place for quiet, but.. [Cable gives his shoulders a small shrug.]

I figured if I put the ball in your court, you could choose if you wanted to stay quiet.

[selfeffacingly]

The ball in the ... court. Right. [ She repeats him, almost dumbly.

Oh. Okay. She hadn't misread the signs.

Her cheeks carry a hint of pink now. She takes a sip of her whiskey to settle her nerves, looking away from him to gather her thoughts. ]

I'm sure you can tell that I don't usually come to places like this. [ Or talk to people like him. Men his age. She peeks at him, then lets her gaze linger, running over his jaw, the cut of his nose. He's even more attractive up close.

She didn't realize she liked older men at all until this moment. ]

Anyway. My name is Francesca. Most people call me Fran. Or Frannie. I mean. You don't have to feel obligated. Francesca is good. Perfectly fine.

[sodark]

You didn't look uncomfortable, hence not wanting to disturb you. [He assures her. He feels like she's taking him in a little, which he feels more than accepting of. He's had plenty of time to admire her soft features, but it's her eyes that give him the most trouble. They're so big and bright, it's both hard to look away and hard to look directly at them.]

Nathan. Nate is fine. Natie isn't. [He is trying terribly hard not to tease her for babbling, but he's fascinated by how nervous she seems. Is he making her nervous?]

What inspired the change?

[selfeffacingly]

[ Same hat. She's having the same conundrum, only it's that his eyes are so rich and so intense, she feels like she's being dissected. Some kind of rare specimen.

If she could kick herself, she would. ]

I took a year off between my studies. Gap year. So here I am. And I always wanted to come to Scotland, at least for longer than the trips I took here as a child. [ Another sip. She's talking so much. Truly not like herself. ]

I don't think a more beautiful place can be found on earth.

[sodark]

[She is a rare specimen, so it's hard not to analyse her.]

I agree, and I've been around. [Again, kind of a vague answer but he's far more interested in hearing about her. And talking to her is nice. Easy, actually, but it isn't strictly why he wanted her attention.]

Is it too cliche if I say I haven't seen a more beautiful woman, either? I've been trying to think of a way to work that in since you came over.

[selfeffacingly]

[ Her eyes snap up to his, fully disarmed.

She starts to smile, more automatic than authentic, but it falls, and she simply looks at him. Silently. Thoughtfully. ]

No. Not too cliche.

[ She smiles then, mostly to herself.

Looking down at her lap: ] So you're ... not married?

[sodark]

[It isn't alarming to Nate that she doesn't fawn at the compliment, but she's also not just politely accepting it in an uncomfortable way. Makes him curious.

Particularly when coupled with the question.]

Not anymore. Not for a long time.

[He assumes she's only asking because he's old, so.]

Are you?

[selfeffacingly]

[ Unmarried. A divorcee. That's good. Though, he could lie if he was just looking to get lucky, she's not that naive about men, but she suspects that isn't the case. She gets the impression, however wrong she could be, that he wouldn't do that.

It's a fair rebuttal, but one that makes her lips twitch with a private joke. She stretches out her left hand, the ring finger pointedly bare, and smiles shyly at him. ]

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. [ Does that sound pathetic? Oh God. She adds: ] Mostly because I have seven siblings and four of them are married.

[sodark]

[It becomes very difficult not to look perpetually amused by her, but he decides to try meet her energy at least a little. When she extends her fingers to show him, he takes her hand and gently guides it toward himself so he can have a better look. Like he needs to inspect, with a soft hum.]

You look young. What's the rush? [He doesn't want to, but he lets go of her and pulls back.]

How old are you?

[selfeffacingly]

[ His hands, warm and calloused. Heat flashes through her, her breath causing. She regrets when he lets go of her, her fingers curling into her palm.

Ah. The question. This could make or break things. She swallows, but answers honestly. ]

Twenty-three.

[sodark]

[It's not exactly a shocking revelation for Nate. He doesn't necessarily skew younger when he dates, but he knows when he's too old for someone. But here he is.]

Fifty-two. [She doesn't ask but he offers, for transparency.]

Sure you've got better things to do than sit here and talk to me.

[It's deliberately self-deprecating, but he feels she's owed an out after the revelation. If only because he'd really like to see her turn it down.]

[selfeffacingly]

[ Fifty-two. She doesn't look surprised, really, but the number does weigh on her some. That would be about the age of her father, if he was still alive.

It makes her wonder if this is immoral or just ... weird. She knows very few women that date so much older. God knows the looks they got.

She's getting ahead of herself now. It's just a drink.

She stares right at him for the comment, something of a challenge in her expression. She takes another sip of her whiskey. ]

No. I really don't.

[sodark]

Just my luck. [And he smiles broadly, but tries to mask it by taking a drink. He didn't expect to get this far, now he has to think about how far he wants to get.]

I'd invite you back to mine, but I live pretty far out. Lots of wood, big lake. Think you'd worry I was trying to kill you.

[Which is such a weird thought to plant, but he doesn't seem concerned.]

But it's nice out there. Private. Quiet.

[selfeffacingly]

[ Francesca blinks at him. That's not unsettling or anything.

But it's more so the fact he's all but asked her over to his house, and the ripe implications therein. The thought writhes through her stomach, turns her hands clammy. He doesn't know -- of course he wouldn't know.

That she never does anything like this. Has never done anything of the nature he's all but suggested. For a moment, she thinks of bolting. He has the impression she's far more experienced than she actually is, and why shouldn't he? She'd approached him. Not the other way around. ]

Is it?

[ Her mouth is dry after she says it. ]

[sodark]

It is.

[He looks a little confused, but he sees nerves in her expression and hears it in her voice.]

We don't have to go anywhere. Just wanted you to know I was interested. [He manages to balance a firm confidence in his voice with something gentle, with understanding.]

I bought you a drink to get your attention, and I got it. Anything from there is a bonus. One I appreciate, for the record.

[selfeffacingly]

[ As soon as she says it, she feels as confused by herself as he looks.

It's visible, how quickly she calms as he speaks, the tenor of his deep voice strangely comforting to her. It's a curious feeling for her to experience from anyone outside her family, let alone an entire stranger, but one she doesn't altogether reject.

Francesca nods, to let him know she understands, and looks back down at her glass.

She's not not intrigued either, she realizes. That's even stranger. It's why she'd made that ambiguous question back. ]

I'm sorry. I'm awful at ... this.

[sodark]

At talking to strange old men at bars? Probably for the best.

[Nate points it out, still gentle. No matter how shy she might feel, she's here and it makes him even more taken with her. Feels a little like the perfect girl just fell in his lap, which makes him slightly wary.

And yet.]

But if you mean flirting? [He leans in just a little, letting his voice dip. A little sly, trying to be encouraging.]

It's working.

[selfeffacingly]

[ That's a relief. Her mouth twists, a hint of self-confidence budding. She's not total rubbish at it, then.

Which makes her feel playful.

Archly, with a scrunch of her nose: ]

Good.

[ In one move, she brandishes off the rest of her drink. She manages to down it without a grimace, looking him straight in the eye as the liquid burns down her throat. When she's finished, she turns her head and motions to the server again.

Then, turning back, she leans her elbows on the table in order to rest her chin on her hands. Already, she can feel the whiskey working its liquid courage. ]

Tell me something interesting, Nathan.