sunburned | (no subject)

Laurence did not feel entirely comfortable with following Granby to his place of work, yet there he was nonetheless, knocking politely on the door-frame and clearing his throat.

"Granby?"

He looks up from the papers, pen still in hand and, frustrated or not, he brightens visibly when he sees that it's Laurence standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Laurence," he says, bright enough. "Something you needed?"

"Not entirely. I was on my way to supper and thought I would see if you wanted some as well. It is getting late." Laurence cast an uncertain eye on the stack of papers before the other man even as he spoke. "Though, if you are busy I would not want to intrude."

"Supper would be entirely pleasant," says Granby, already pushing his chair back from the desk with his heels. The day is warm enough that he didn't bring a jacket, came to work in creased, light layers and all he has to do is reach for the bag containing his day to day essentials and sling it over across his chest.

"Papers will wait until tomorrow and I am all yours, Laurence," he says. "Where are we eating?"

Like many Aviators before him, Granby can always be relied upon to have a healthy appetite when the situation requires.

Laurence, through a great show of inner fortitude, did not blush as his mind treated the phrase all yours in an entirely alarming and unappreciated fashion.

"At the tavern, I assume." Or what passed for a tavern on the island at least. "Unless you would prefer something different, of course."

"Winchester sounds splendid," says Granby, falling into step with Laurence once they're out of the office proper. "Here, remind me once I sit down - I've something for you."

"I shall." He nodded, then was largely silent as they walked. It was more companionable that way and, if he tried very hard, he could almost forget that anything untoward and complicated had passed between them. For all the small advantages of their situation he could not help longing for something simpler.

Silence is not John Granby's natural aspect, but he's also not given to babble for no reason. He matches his stride to Laurence's, keeping his distance. He glances across, palming his hair back from his face.

"I am glad you came calling, Laurence," he says, hoping that he can say at least that much.

"Thank you. In most circumstances I would not call upon you and take you from your work in such a way, yet--" Yet he could not find a truly adequate reason for why he acted so. "Yet it was getting late and I thought a meal might do us both some good."

"I'm virtually certain than I can be spared, Laurence," he says, smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "Helen might not even notice I'm gone, if I'm honest. And, you're right - a meal will be good for both of us."

To converse as friends without considering the complications that existed between them could only do them good.

Laurence smiled briefly at that for he could not help hoping that a meal would be little more than that. A simple talk between friends without... distractions. In fact, he so looked forward to it that he almost imperceptibly sped up his pace as the Winchester came in view.

The tavern is crowded but not terribly so, and it's easy enough to find a table. Granby drops his bag on the bench and slides in after it, ordering beer from the waitress when she comes.

"Better than anything I'd have scraped together at home."

"What was that?" Laurence asked. He had been distracted with the ordering of his own drink when Granby had spoken and unintentionally missed most of what he had said.

Granby huffs a laugh and shakes his head, settling himself into a corner of the bench.

"Nothing important," he says. "You'd be used to my occasional ramblings by now."

Laurence shook his head politely. He would have never described the other man's talk as little more than inconsequential rambling. Granby might have occasionally acted in a manner that might provoke underestimation, but Laurence knew better than to disregard his words as a friend and a fellow officer. "You said earlier that you had something to tell me once we were situated?"

"Not so much tell as give, honestly," says Granby, flipping open the lid of his bag and digging through it one handed, pausing to smile his thanks at the girl when she brought drinks.

"Here," he says, flipping through the book until he fingers the ink line drawing of Temeraire that he's been working on for a few days. He carefully tugs it free of the pad and holds it out to Laurence. "For you."

"Thank you. I--" Laurence sat silently for a minute, thoughtfully looking at the drawing. One fingertip traced the outline of a black wing. His expression remained far away and quiet. "Thank you very much, John."

The use of his given name makes Granby smile, just a little, and he sips his drink, watching as Laurence examines the drawing.

"Was it the wrong thing?" he asks, concerned by Laurences expression and silence both. "I do hope not, Will. And, if it was, just...give it back to me, alright? It's only a drawing and it's easily fixed."

"No. It is quite all right, John, truly. I am only afraid that I miss Temeraire a great deal more I sometimes like to admit." Of corse such a sentiment would have come as no shock to Granby, but to the rest of the island Laurence had given little sign of his distress over the matter.

"I think I understand that better than anyone," says Granby soberly, turning his glass with his fingers against the rim. In his sketchpad, what isn't Laurence or Julie is always Iskierka. He sighs and takes a sip of his drink.

"Let's speak of other things, rather than the things we can't change just be wishing them other than as they are."

"Yes." Laurence did not turn the drawing over so that it could not be seen, but he did very purposefully move it off to the side. There it stayed, just in the periphery, but no longer sitting there in plain view before him. "What shall we talk of, then?"

Edited 2012-08-30 03:02 (UTC)

Granby mulls that over for a minute, taking a sip of his beer in the mean time.

"What did you do today?" he asks. "You were..." He nearly says that Laurence was still asleep when he got up but thinks better of it. "I haven't seen you since this morning, after all."

"Very little, I am afraid," Laurence said with a rueful expression. A life of idleness did not sit well with him and it showed very clearly. "I was not meant for a place such as this."

Edited 2012-08-30 03:21 (UTC)

Granby supposes that it's typical of a lifetime spent as an Aviator, that he's managed to find some way to occupy himself relatively easily. At thirty-one, he's been an Aviator for twenty four years; he's used to making do.

"I understand, Laurence," he says, attempting to be reassuring. "But there's always the ocean - have you thought about taking to a boat?"

"Every now and again, but never very seriously." It was, however, something that he had thought of rather more frequently than he would have admitted. After all, he had not been a captain in the naval sense for quite some time.