Post by Nieve Ramírez on Mar 24, 2014 15:33:24 GMT -5
"So how come you boys never try to pull the whole 'overprotective older brother' routine on Rosalind?" Nieve asks idly, kicking her legs up to stretch across her fiancé all the more comfortably. "You were ready to kill back when my cousin had a tiny crush on Layla, if I remember rightly - and they were only eleven back then. But I happen to know that Rosalind's out on a date tonight, and I helped her dress so she's looking absolutely stunning, if I do say so myself. Definitely not something that an older brother would approve of. And yet none of you have even batted an eyelid at the idea."
Gabriel's answering smirk is crooked, flawed by the scar crossing through his lips and all the more endearing for it. She loves him best like this, she thinks; when they're both warm and lazy with the wine they drank during dinner and just utterly content with each other for company. His thumb rubs circles around her ankle, garnering a languid hum of approval from her in response.
"Rosalind is more Slytherin than anyone realises," is the only answer he gives her. "More so than Pip even, for all that he was Sorted there. She never gives up anything unless she absolutely, one hundred percent wants to. Or one of us coerces her into it," Gabriel adds with a snort of laughter.
"That doesn't mean you don't worry about her," Nieve points out contemplatively, and thinks of the times she's seen Rosalind return from a date. She remembers being seventeen years old herself: pretty and charming and hormonal, even if her heart already belonged elsewhere. More than that, she remembers her friends at the same age, none of whom had the same inner commitment that she had been held back by. They were all of old, proud blood; too high-class to return with smeared lipstick and mussed hair, but there were signs nonetheless. Now that she really stops to think about it, Rosalind has never worn that half-lidded look of feminine satisfaction or the curved smile of a woman who knows what it is to unmake a man. Whatever it is that Rosalind's seeking to find from her dates, it's not sex.
"Oh, we worry about her," Gabriel affirms darkly, and she doesn't think it's just the firelight casting shadows on his face. "Just not for the same reasons we worried about Leandra and Morgana and Layla. Rister keeps an eye on her though; we all do. Someone will catch her when she's ready, before she falls too far."
"What if she needs you but she's not ready to accept it?" Nieve asks curiously. This time, Gabriel's smile shows teeth and she tilts her head, masking sudden, heated interest behind dark hair.
"Then we set Mum and Dad on her," he answers simply. "Layla can get away with evading Dad's questions, sometimes. Rosalind won't. Not about this."
Gabriel's answering smirk is crooked, flawed by the scar crossing through his lips and all the more endearing for it. She loves him best like this, she thinks; when they're both warm and lazy with the wine they drank during dinner and just utterly content with each other for company. His thumb rubs circles around her ankle, garnering a languid hum of approval from her in response.
"Rosalind is more Slytherin than anyone realises," is the only answer he gives her. "More so than Pip even, for all that he was Sorted there. She never gives up anything unless she absolutely, one hundred percent wants to. Or one of us coerces her into it," Gabriel adds with a snort of laughter.
"That doesn't mean you don't worry about her," Nieve points out contemplatively, and thinks of the times she's seen Rosalind return from a date. She remembers being seventeen years old herself: pretty and charming and hormonal, even if her heart already belonged elsewhere. More than that, she remembers her friends at the same age, none of whom had the same inner commitment that she had been held back by. They were all of old, proud blood; too high-class to return with smeared lipstick and mussed hair, but there were signs nonetheless. Now that she really stops to think about it, Rosalind has never worn that half-lidded look of feminine satisfaction or the curved smile of a woman who knows what it is to unmake a man. Whatever it is that Rosalind's seeking to find from her dates, it's not sex.
"Oh, we worry about her," Gabriel affirms darkly, and she doesn't think it's just the firelight casting shadows on his face. "Just not for the same reasons we worried about Leandra and Morgana and Layla. Rister keeps an eye on her though; we all do. Someone will catch her when she's ready, before she falls too far."
"What if she needs you but she's not ready to accept it?" Nieve asks curiously. This time, Gabriel's smile shows teeth and she tilts her head, masking sudden, heated interest behind dark hair.
"Then we set Mum and Dad on her," he answers simply. "Layla can get away with evading Dad's questions, sometimes. Rosalind won't. Not about this."