It wasn't Valentine's Day in the sense that the natives of this world were celebrating a Christian Saint, but there were enough people from her world, or a world similar to hers, that she'd heard the word muttered around the place. And it seemed the natives were either picking up on the vibe or they were carrying one of their own, because she noticed more romantic themed things around stalls and vendors than she had before.
Or maybe it was the same amount and she was just noticing because it was on her mind. Which it shouldn't be. Because she wasn't dating anyone.
Except... hell. She had no idea what the hell she was doing with Clark, but whatever it was, she liked it. Enough to harass Alan into doing her a favor so she could get something done that she found herself hoping he'd like. And then second guessing herself, because what if he didn't? What if he thought she was stepping over some line? God, what if Alan was pulling one over on her and it wasn't even--... no. She had to stop talking herself out of this.
She set a box on Clark's bed, wrapped up in a festive scarf (not pink) and with a card that had his name on it and instructions on how to work the gift. As if he could mistake that it was for him. She'd found an artist that imbued magic into what he made, and what was wrapped up in a box on his bed was a portrait that was carved into a dark crystal type rock. The magic part of it was that if someone ran their finger down the side of the image, it would cast a faint holographicly lit up image that lasted for a few minutes before fading back into just the carved version of before. She'd paid more than she felt she should for it, but what the hell did she know about how much magical shit should cost? She just hoped that Alan had done a decent approximation of Clark's mother in that sketch, otherwise she was going to take it and smash it over his goddamn head.
Then, she went into her room, closed the door, and waited. Why did she feel nervous? Probably because it had been a long, long time since she'd cared about what someone thought of her, and longer still since she'd tried to do anything for someone with any feeling behind it. Chewing on her thumb, she listened for the sound of the door and tried not to reach for the bottle of whiskey tucked under the bedside table.
For Clark
Or maybe it was the same amount and she was just noticing because it was on her mind. Which it shouldn't be. Because she wasn't dating anyone.
Except... hell. She had no idea what the hell she was doing with Clark, but whatever it was, she liked it. Enough to harass Alan into doing her a favor so she could get something done that she found herself hoping he'd like. And then second guessing herself, because what if he didn't? What if he thought she was stepping over some line? God, what if Alan was pulling one over on her and it wasn't even--... no. She had to stop talking herself out of this.
She set a box on Clark's bed, wrapped up in a festive scarf (not pink) and with a card that had his name on it and instructions on how to work the gift. As if he could mistake that it was for him. She'd found an artist that imbued magic into what he made, and what was wrapped up in a box on his bed was a portrait that was carved into a dark crystal type rock. The magic part of it was that if someone ran their finger down the side of the image, it would cast a faint holographicly lit up image that lasted for a few minutes before fading back into just the carved version of before. She'd paid more than she felt she should for it, but what the hell did she know about how much magical shit should cost? She just hoped that Alan had done a decent approximation of Clark's mother in that sketch, otherwise she was going to take it and smash it over his goddamn head.
Then, she went into her room, closed the door, and waited. Why did she feel nervous? Probably because it had been a long, long time since she'd cared about what someone thought of her, and longer still since she'd tried to do anything for someone with any feeling behind it. Chewing on her thumb, she listened for the sound of the door and tried not to reach for the bottle of whiskey tucked under the bedside table.