very_sharpe: (Default)
[personal profile] very_sharpe
Thomas smiled when Greta walked through the door. "Flip the sign, would you?"

He'd given Rowan a break, sent him off on lunch. But now that Greta was here, he supposed it wouldn't be too untoward to take a little break himself. It wasn't unusual for the shop to close for lunch - he had so few staff members that it just had to be that way, most of the time. But more than that, it seemed oddly civil.

"There's something in the back I want to show you. I'd thought to just bring it over later, but this is perfect."

He liked that she dropped in to visit him, whenever she had time or whenever it occurred to her.

Date: 2018-04-16 01:59 am (UTC)
andhiswife: (smile - friendly)
From: [personal profile] andhiswife
Greta can't help a sheepish smile as she obliges. She doesn't drop in unannounced too often, both because their shifts so often overlap, and because she doesn't want to be a distraction when the shop is still a bit low on staff. She knows Thomas has some new hires, but they're probably still finding their feet. Regardless, it isn't very professional for her to haul their boss into the back room.

But it's getting on towards lunch, anyway, and Thomas seems more pleased than usual to see her. And with no one else here, there's no one to mind if they disappear for a little while.

"Are you working on a new design?" she asks, eyes alight with curiosity as she crosses over to him. He doesn't typically bring his experiments to her, but it might be something Saoirse would like, too.

Date: 2018-04-21 03:42 am (UTC)
andhiswife: (downcast - pleased)
From: [personal profile] andhiswife
Embarrassed as he might be, Greta rather enjoys these little moments when she manages to fluster him, especially if she doesn't even have to try. She knows that he's about as well-practiced at maintaining his composure as she is at baking; he wouldn't fumble like this naturally. It's nice to think she has such an effect on him, and her attempt to bite back a grin doesn't even come within shouting distance of success.

The explanation -- such as it is -- leaves her desperately curious, but when he offers her the box, she finds herself unable to do much more than blink at it for a moment or two. That's--is this jewelry? She can just about guess by the shape of the box, and the weight of it when she reaches for it, automatic and unthinking, and takes it from him. It's still quite a guess, though, because she hasn't been gifted jewelry since her wedding. They never had the means for such things, back home; most gifts served some practical function, and most finery was inherited. Even if someone could afford such things, they would never be bought on a whim.

"Thomas," she starts, shooting him a glance that's more stunned and incredulous than pleased. She's not quite sure where to go with it, though. 'You shouldn't have' only applies when you can fully believe someone's done something in the first place. But the box isn't imagined, and neither is the sweet sincerity in his expression. A giddy little smile graces her features as she looks back down at the box, and then gamely cracks it open.

It's a necklace: a smooth gemstone (goodness knows what sort, though it has a warm, amber color to it) set in silver. The design takes her a moment to parse: a figure with something -- a lyre? -- tucked into the crook of his arm, and a rather grim, skull-like countenance. Or perhaps it's meant to be wearing a helm of some sort.

It ought to be an odd choice. There really isn't anything about the look of the necklace that she finds especially noteworthy, no element of the design that speaks to her. Yet there is something about it... some vague affinity she can't quite place, as if it's an old family heirloom she only saw once, as a child, and then promptly forgot.

"I..." She doesn't know what to say, and she can't seem to tear her eyes away from the necklace. But she knows she doesn't want Thomas to think he's bungled it, and she shifts over to tuck herself against his side as she continues to examine it. "It's..." she huffs out a bewildered little laugh. "It's lovely. But I--I think I see what you mean, about it being... hm."

Date: 2018-04-27 11:42 pm (UTC)
andhiswife: (smile - appreciative)
From: [personal profile] andhiswife
That shouldn't make as much sense as it does. She knows that, and some distant part of her wonders if she ought to be worried. A scarf, a shoe, a cow -- there are items Darrow could conjure up for her that would belong to her because they did and not because they just feel, vaguely but persistently, as if they ought to.

And then Thomas presses a kiss to her cheek, breaking her out of her reverie. She leans into the gesture, lips quirking into a smile, then turns to face him, arms winding around his waist, the necklace dangling from her fingers.

"It might be too easy a target for everyday wear," she agrees with a rueful smile. "I wouldn't want one of the smaller children yanking it off." The impulse to draw her hand back so she can look at it again niggles at her, but she resolutely shoves it aside. She's comfortable just as she is, thank you.

Still, she can't resist asking, "Where on earth did you find it?"

Date: 2018-04-29 03:12 am (UTC)
andhiswife: (smile - sheepish)
From: [personal profile] andhiswife
Part of her is still reeling a little that he bought her jewelry, that she's with the sort of man who walks past a jewelry shop, sees something in the window that catches his eye and makes him think of her, and then gets it. Of course, some of that is simply down to where they are. She could probably afford to buy herself jewelry if she really wanted to, or if it had ever occurred to her. But it hadn't. Saoirse is far easier to indulge, and it's hard to think of finery as something she ought to be spending money on.

His question prompts a brief flare of mortification. Between her surprise and curiosity, she hasn't even thanked him, has she? And though he hardly seems annoyed, she can't help but think he must notice those little faux pas. A Lady would have got out a 'thank you' by now, surely.

"Truly," she's quick to reassure him, though not so quick that it sounds like a lie. "Thank you." She pushes herself up onto her toes to kiss him, sweet and lingering, before dropping back onto her heels. "I'm just not used to being gifted jewelry," she adds. There's some playful exaggeration to her tone -- as if the gift is just horribly decadent -- but there's no masking the plain truth of it.

Date: 2018-05-03 03:39 am (UTC)
andhiswife: (grin - goober)
From: [personal profile] andhiswife
"Oh, god," she says, tipping forward to smother a laugh against his shoulder. Sapphires, indeed. As a child, she'd dreamed of being with someone who might shower her with such riches. It's harder to imagine, now. Too many years of an unglamorous life lived; too many simpler wishes deferred or denied. What would she even do with rich jewelry, besides keep it in a box and live in constant fear of something happening to it?

"One of the dogs would probably swallow it," she declares with a rueful air, as if it couldn't be helped. "And then where would we be?"

Date: 2018-05-07 03:55 am (UTC)
andhiswife: (smile - tiny)
From: [personal profile] andhiswife
Greta can't even begin to keep a straight face, so she doesn't bother, smiling against his lips even as he kisses her. A soft, contented sigh escapes her, and part of her is almost embarrassed at how utterly smitten she must seem. Well. Is, really.

There ought to be music. The more she grows to care for him, the more keenly she feels its absence. It's not that none of this feels real, without it; they've spoken too much, and too honestly, for her to doubt him. But it... god, it almost puts her in mind of adopting Saoirse: of waiting impatiently for some bewildering bureaucracy to officialize something that was already true. Except for the part where Darrow at least provides a bureaucracy, but heaven forbid it give them a tune.

She just wants this to be real. And she doesn't know how to make it feel that way without music. She doesn't know how to tell him she loves him, as if it wouldn't sound trite and hollow without a melody to fill it out.

In that moment, her thumb idly smoothing over the jewel on her new necklace as Thomas's brushes against her cheek, she wishes there could just be music.

But she knows better. And this, as it is, is still rather wonderful. "I admire your restraint," she says, mock-serious, catching his hand with her own and pressing a kiss to his palm. Some methods of communication, at least, don't require words at all.
Edited Date: 2018-05-07 03:57 am (UTC)

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Thomas Sharpe

December 2019

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