( The delay is longer this time, and he has to keep consciously reminding himself that it's because she's in Canada. She told him so. She told him in advance and Canada is the reason he's pacing more circles into the carpet while waiting for a reply — it's not because he said something wrong, offended her, scared her off, accidentally severed this tentative, delicate, precious connection.
Of course he doesn't pick up on it; can't tell what's sitting between the lines, the thoughts that go rushing through Allison's head before she pens her response. Luther doesn't know, exactly, how his words are received on the other end. They're just thrown out into the ether, and then he waits for something to come winging back, while everything else in his life sits on hold until the next letter. Like the universe is holding its breath.
Luther's never been particularly good at talking, at stringing together his words without shoving his foot in his mouth, but in letters... He can take his time. He can sit at his too-small desk, thoughtfully chewing the end of a pen, and trying to make them sound right, for once. )
Dear Allison,
Sometimes I sit around thinking about what I might do, if I were in your shoes. It'd be the gym every morning, because old habits die hard, but I think I'd like sight-seeing and museums. More than the kind of visits we had before: they were always just whistle-stop tours and publicity shots at landmarks before we had to be rushed on to the next one, or showing up just long enough to wave to the crowds. (Visiting the Eiffel Tower does not count. Not like it's around anymore anyway.)
I have trouble picturing you eating takeout in your PJs, to be honest, but that sounds fun. Just relaxing, I mean. More than 30 minutes, at lea Nobody to tell you what to do anymore. You can eat all the ice cream you like, even.
Next month, they have me guarding a shipment of jewellery to a casino in Vegas; it'll be closer to LA than I've been in a while. At least we'll be in the same timezone, right?
- L.
PPS: Ascending rank of nobility, and then royalty, obviously.
no subject
Of course he doesn't pick up on it; can't tell what's sitting between the lines, the thoughts that go rushing through Allison's head before she pens her response. Luther doesn't know, exactly, how his words are received on the other end. They're just thrown out into the ether, and then he waits for something to come winging back, while everything else in his life sits on hold until the next letter. Like the universe is holding its breath.
Luther's never been particularly good at talking, at stringing together his words without shoving his foot in his mouth, but in letters... He can take his time. He can sit at his too-small desk, thoughtfully chewing the end of a pen, and trying to make them sound right, for once. )
Sometimes I sit around thinking about what I might do, if I were in your shoes. It'd be the gym every morning, because old habits die hard, but I think I'd like sight-seeing and museums. More than the kind of visits we had before: they were always just whistle-stop tours and publicity shots at landmarks before we had to be rushed on to the next one, or showing up just long enough to wave to the crowds. (Visiting the Eiffel Tower does not count. Not like it's around anymore anyway.)
I have trouble picturing you eating takeout in your PJs, to be honest, but that sounds fun. Just relaxing, I mean.
More than 30 minutes, at leaNobody to tell you what to do anymore. You can eat all the ice cream you like, even.Next month, they have me guarding a shipment of jewellery to a casino in Vegas; it'll be closer to LA than I've been in a while. At least we'll be in the same timezone, right?
- L.
PPS: Ascending rank of nobility, and then royalty, obviously.