Even in the windless entryway, Mayerling manages a graceful elongated swirl of his cloak out away from them and slowly floating back toward them as she takes his arm. His own way of showing off—of peacocking—for her. The drama, the flare, the effort Sharon deserves. All in one highly reserved movement that leaves her on her own two feet.
Mayerling follows Sharon's lead with pleasure, both because he quite enjoys when a woman takes control the way she has and because it's easier to hold back on his emotions when Sharon plans and executes the date. Also, it's a better date if he doesn't vamp speed them all the way to the gallery. The journey along the way is part of it, no matter what his overeager nerdiness says. It could readily spend the whole night there. Except the point isn't, in fact, primarily the art but that Sharon's giving him the opportunity to see the art and to see it together. Walking, therefore, proceeds at a human pace.
"I have wanted to go there for months," Mayerling admits, "However, I doubt they take well to admitting anyone who is on fire, for the sake of the art even should that have been worth the effort." He even considered the best place to stay nearby and the location of the closest lamp location.
"Thank you."
He lets that conversation carry forward, as though that excitement covers up how long it takes him to notice that mention of her work. It does not. Mayerling knew Sharon did something with paint. It could have been as little as painting targets for practice or as much, it seems, as painting work worthy of a gallery. It gave him time to gather himself a little. At the shyness in her voice. At the swelling ocean of emotion that threatens to overtake him. Of course she's an artist. Of course she is.
"Sharon," Mayerling says, "What an achievement, something so many artists never achieve in their whole lifetimes. You move people. Your emotions have always been large. The talent, skill, and time to shape them into a form that invokes, incites, and inflicts them in all the best ways on others is incredible. More than all the other art in the gallery, I wish to see yours."
He wants to see all of her art. Mayerling wants to see all of her, to know all of her, to have all of her but that which he will never have of a human. His emotions run like that of any other vampires, strong from the very start—too strong to share when Sharon's still figuring hers our. Mayerling only shares smaller bites, these pieces that hint at the true depth of feelings. That is the best way to do right by her.
no subject
Mayerling follows Sharon's lead with pleasure, both because he quite enjoys when a woman takes control the way she has and because it's easier to hold back on his emotions when Sharon plans and executes the date. Also, it's a better date if he doesn't vamp speed them all the way to the gallery. The journey along the way is part of it, no matter what his overeager nerdiness says. It could readily spend the whole night there. Except the point isn't, in fact, primarily the art but that Sharon's giving him the opportunity to see the art and to see it together. Walking, therefore, proceeds at a human pace.
"I have wanted to go there for months," Mayerling admits, "However, I doubt they take well to admitting anyone who is on fire, for the sake of the art even should that have been worth the effort." He even considered the best place to stay nearby and the location of the closest lamp location.
"Thank you."
He lets that conversation carry forward, as though that excitement covers up how long it takes him to notice that mention of her work. It does not. Mayerling knew Sharon did something with paint. It could have been as little as painting targets for practice or as much, it seems, as painting work worthy of a gallery. It gave him time to gather himself a little. At the shyness in her voice. At the swelling ocean of emotion that threatens to overtake him. Of course she's an artist. Of course she is.
"Sharon," Mayerling says, "What an achievement, something so many artists never achieve in their whole lifetimes. You move people. Your emotions have always been large. The talent, skill, and time to shape them into a form that invokes, incites, and inflicts them in all the best ways on others is incredible. More than all the other art in the gallery, I wish to see yours."
He wants to see all of her art. Mayerling wants to see all of her, to know all of her, to have all of her but that which he will never have of a human. His emotions run like that of any other vampires, strong from the very start—too strong to share when Sharon's still figuring hers our. Mayerling only shares smaller bites, these pieces that hint at the true depth of feelings. That is the best way to do right by her.