Allison who stocks ice cream in her house and knows enough places to have a favorite location that makes random and rare odd-flavor batches. Thoughts she can't help slipping through while Luther is talking and looking in her direction. It's so inconsequential to her days and months now (except now, except here, when she knows she didn't pick it entirely because it was inconsequential), and it makes her a little sad for him, which she tries to keep off her face.
He chose that just as much as she chose all of this.
"A free night seems as good an excuse as any," Allison offers back before nodding sideways for him to follow her to and through the front door. It's been a while since she's thought about it, but being here with him reminds her even more. About how even this, early on, had been another of those 'Oh, that's not how that works out here' moments.
The world outside of The Academy ate ice cream all the time, but especially more when things went wrong and 'you need a good sulk,' as Bea put it, than as a celebratory gift for when they went right. She could admit some of it never lost the zeel, even in sweat pants and bare feet on a couch, of feeling like she is unrepentantly breaking the rules in her father's face. Even if there were no rules, and she'd be surprised if her father thought of her at all.
(Some part of her still surprised Luther even answered that stupid drunken postcard.)
The door has a light chime, and then it's the bustling of the nighttime crowd voices who've backed all the stools, the little table-chairs set, and even in standing room only already, too, hovering in places. Allison notices it as much as she doesn't, just making her way to the frosted glass counters where the colored gallons of ice cream sit in neat rows, with their titles.
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Allison who stocks ice cream in her house and knows enough places to have a favorite location that makes random and rare odd-flavor batches. Thoughts she can't help slipping through while Luther is talking and looking in her direction. It's so inconsequential to her days and months now (except now, except here, when she knows she didn't pick it entirely because it was inconsequential), and it makes her a little sad for him, which she tries to keep off her face.
He chose that just as much as she chose all of this.
"A free night seems as good an excuse as any," Allison offers back before nodding sideways for him to follow her to and through the front door. It's been a while since she's thought about it, but being here with him reminds her even more. About how even this, early on, had been another of those 'Oh, that's not how that works out here' moments.
The world outside of The Academy ate ice cream all the time, but especially more when things went wrong and 'you need a good sulk,' as Bea put it, than as a celebratory gift for when they went right. She could admit some of it never lost the zeel, even in sweat pants and bare feet on a couch, of feeling like she is unrepentantly breaking the rules in her father's face. Even if there were no rules, and she'd be surprised if her father thought of her at all.
(Some part of her still surprised Luther even answered that stupid drunken postcard.)
The door has a light chime, and then it's the bustling of the nighttime crowd voices who've backed all the stools, the little table-chairs set, and even in standing room only already, too, hovering in places. Allison notices it as much as she doesn't, just making her way to the frosted glass counters where the colored gallons of ice cream sit in neat rows, with their titles.
"Old favorite or something new?"