un_fallen | (no subject)

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"We should talk," was all he'd said to Coyote in the bar, after a few aborted (and silent, aside from the stilted greetings) attempts at broaching a conversation. There wasn't a corner removed enough, though, and the idea of the rooms upstairs, well. They didn't have the most appropriate atmosphere.

"Come see my new place!" he'd said instead, with a little too much enthusiasm. So they'd strolled through the door, up the street, and into his new apartment building with Raguel in grim silence and Coyote apparently in relaxed spirits. Once inside, though, Raguel came partially back to life to play tour guide.

"Front door opens onto the living room, but I don't mind. Er. Got a new table. Black," he adds helpfully.

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"I, uh. I'm trying to come back a little more, so probably." He pauses, then gestures toward the only room that's not immediately visible from the door.

"Bedroom's over there, and the bathroom. Running water's supposed to work in there, too, but I haven't tried it. So, you know," he concludes, gesturing vaguely around. "Not as big as some, but better than the last place.

"I have the distinct impression that the last place would have hard to beat."

Tell her she's wrong.

Coyote sets herself down on the couch and crosses her legs, swinging one foot idly.

"You did say you wished to talk. Interior decoration is not my usual topic of conversation, but if that is what you wish..."

What's up, Angel?

"I, uh," he begins, but falters once again. He crosses back to the living room and sits in the chair across from the couch.

"I saw the announcement in the bar," he says. "I just. And we haven't talked in a while, but." He frowns. If she doesn't know why he wants to talk after all this time, then maybe things are ~~worse than~~ ~~better than~~ not what he thought.

"I see." All becomes much clearer, actually. "I did see your note. I hope I can be forgiven for not replying swiftly? I have been busy. And unfortunately not with anything as pleasant as marriage."

Coyote ponders. "Were you jealous?"

Raguel gapes helplessly. He tries to answer a few times, but the end result is two or three false starts.

"Are you happy?" he says at last. "I want you to be happy, I just. I had no idea, and I guess I thought that I would've."

He perches on the chair opposite, looking uncertain.

"Why?" she says, looking up at him. "We enjoy each other's company, certainly. We have spent pleasurable time together. But we see each other rarely enough. Things happen."

She doesn't look away.

"Tell me why."

"Well, yeah, but it." Silence.

"Look," he says, trying again. "Even if there was nothing else between us, even if we'd never seen each other outside of the bar, and those meetings - rare enough, yeah - inside were all we had, I would still expect I'd hear if you were getting married, because we'd be friends." He takes a breath, twitches through something that might be a shrug.

"And with things as they are, uh. You obviously aren't just a friend in the bar to me, that's why."

Her look softens a little. "We are friends."

Pause.

"The 'wedding' was a surprise to everyone involved. Lilly Kane recited gibberish and dumped perfectly good whiskey over our hands. My unfinished business divorced us a few days later, citing it all as a distraction."

She doesn't mention that she and Epimetheus were in bed at the time.

Edited 2008-05-29 04:27 (UTC)

"It was a-- oh."

Shocked, he looks at his hands, then slowly shakes his head.

"Lilly Kane. Should've guessed, maybe."

"Did you truly wish to assure my happiness in holy matrimony, Raguel?" Coyote sounds half amused and half resigned.

"Most would have a very different reaction."

Wasn't he jealous? Goddammit.

It still looks like he hasn't quite grasped what happened.

"Of course I didn't," he snaps, before getting himself under control again. "I mean, happiness, yeah, but I didn't want to just... ship you off with some unknown. Who's th--" he breaks off.

"So you didn't even know you were getting married?" he asks instead, a little pathetically.

"I would at least have had a properly raucous party had I planned it," she assures (?) him. There's a smile spreading across her face now, possibly because of the aforementioned break in control.

"Have you ever met Epimetheus?"

"I hope you would," he says, some of the tension - just a little bit - relaxing.

"And, uh. I don't think so."

He's spent the last few weeks wracking his memory, is what he means. And he has a very good memory. He has not.

"I believe you would like him."

They both seem more sensible than herself, at least. Not very hard, but she doesn't admit that so often. (Good sex makes her much more accepting of her partners being better than her at something.)

"Mm," he says, darkly.

"Maybe. It doesn't seem out of the question that we'd run into each other in that bar."

"Mm," Coyote echoes. "You are not exploring any outdated idea of chivalry, are you?" Once again, torn between amusement and resignation. Because it would be kind of hot to have people fighting over her. But she wouldn't want them to actually damage each other.

"What sort of chivalry? Courtly love or something?" He snorts, which effectively sums up his views on the matter.

"Duels for the heart of a fair maiden was more what I had in mind. You cannot really think I approve of courtly love."

Excuse the narration while it falls over laughing.

Okay, better now.

"No, I guess not. I can't see you going for the guy who kills the other in a fight, though, either," he adds.

"Why, do you think he wants to?"

Raguel would totally kick his ass.

...He thinks.

"Nnnno. He is not the overly aggressive type. You would both be very hard to kill, but I would not wish you injured, either."

She nudges his shin with the tips of her toes.

"Much obliged," he says, wry, but there's a smile underneath it.

"I wonder if there's a reason you go for the hard-to-kill types."

Coyote tosses her head, arranging her hair over one shoulder. "It is only that most of you play hard-to-get. Clearly, you are asking for trouble."

"I guess we must be, trying that hard to stay out of it," he says. "Reverse psychology. Just gotta hope it doesn't backfire."

"In Milliways, not asking for trouble is an almost certain way of getting it," she replies, dry. "I know this as well as any other patron. Perhaps more than a large percentage."

Not many people who go to Milliways lose bodies and still come back, after all.

"Yeah, you probably do. Not sure I'd say you never ask for it, though," he adds, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You know the ups and downs of the place better than just about anybody, though, I'll give you that."