"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Truthfully, Vastra isn’t quite sure what he means that the original proposition has changed. She’s sure what she had been hinting at - but she’s not very good at games. She prefers to be direct, to just say whatever it is they mean. It had been fun for a while, their teasing in the meadow, but now she feels lost. She feels either too too old or too stupid to understand what is happening (or perhaps a delightful combination of the two). It’s as though a draft she had not been expecting has caught her wings and carried her off with force in a direction she had not been planning.
Through her uncertainty, though, his words feel like a rejection, even after he had taken a few steps towards her and as his eyes scan her. It stings, this idea that she could be rejected, that she could have spent the occasional afternoon thinking of him only to discover it was not mutual. Emotions are the worst, she figured that out a long time ago.
It does not occur to her to step backwards and away, to allow space to cool between them, even as she's questioning the logic of coming here at all. When had she ever thought to step away? That is not who she is. Vastra’s gaze does not shift from him - it’s focused and intense and her eyes grow wary of what, she’s sure, are incredibly mixed signals. She attempts to remind herself to be rational, to remember it had been a few years since their meeting in the meadow - and much could have changed in that time.
It had not for her, but time had been a funny thing for Vastra ever since she had lived as a lion for years gone uncounted. She wasn’t even sure of her own age anymore.
“Of course. It has been a long time, I suppose. Like you said.” Comes a careful but curt reply because she’s unwilling to allow her confusion to show. She just lets that small handful of words hang there as she continues to watch him. Hoping for, but unsure of how to ask for, an explanation of what has changed.
