"No." It struggles out of her throat. Faltered, into firm. Marian is very uncertain what is lodged in her throat, but action.
Action is so much easier to move toward. Action. Reaction. She's moving, very suddenly but not very quickly. There is surprise, but nothing like panic allows itself to exist in her face any longer. It's the kind of trained grace, in the worst of easily turned to deadly, and possibly even more deadlier, situations, that has only deserted her in the few times she could barely stand under her own volition.
"I'll get something that fits from the Bar." Her fingers are in her skirts, spreading them back out, and her eyes forcing themselves to meet across Kate and the only partially duster laden Caspian. If her gaze flickers, features flicker, on the second, the set of her shoulders and the hold of her chin never does. Milliways. Milliways always excelled at finding way to make one unfoot themselves from everything.
If it takes the effort of the second, to settle on Caspian's face, and nothing lower than gold hair and such reddened cheeks, it's with the knowledge that she'd want no less than to crawl under the grass if it were her, feeling half undone. Fingers too comforted by heavy cloth under them, which annoys her at herself. Knowing that he'd probably do no less if she needed his help. Like anytime she ever had.
Her mouth pressed, trying to curve toward something like a firm reassurance, aiming to catch his grey eyes. "I'll be right back."
And she will. At least it did not do her any disservice in getting to move quickly back toward the bar.
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Action is so much easier to move toward. Action. Reaction. She's moving, very suddenly but not very quickly. There is surprise, but nothing like panic allows itself to exist in her face any longer. It's the kind of trained grace, in the worst of easily turned to deadly, and possibly even more deadlier, situations, that has only deserted her in the few times she could barely stand under her own volition.
"I'll get something that fits from the Bar." Her fingers are in her skirts, spreading them back out, and her eyes forcing themselves to meet across Kate and the only partially duster laden Caspian. If her gaze flickers, features flicker, on the second, the set of her shoulders and the hold of her chin never does. Milliways. Milliways always excelled at finding way to make one unfoot themselves from everything.
If it takes the effort of the second, to settle on Caspian's face, and nothing lower than gold hair and such reddened cheeks, it's with the knowledge that she'd want no less than to crawl under the grass if it were her, feeling half undone. Fingers too comforted by heavy cloth under them, which annoys her at herself. Knowing that he'd probably do no less if she needed his help. Like anytime she ever had.
Her mouth pressed, trying to curve toward something like a firm reassurance, aiming to catch his grey eyes. "I'll be right back."
And she will. At least it did not do her any disservice in getting to move quickly back toward the bar.