Juliana smiled a little wryly at his continued use of male pronouns for the elusive Marlowe Forfang. A habit, probably, and not one he'd be likely to drop anytime soon. Probably that was for the best, though; just because he had taken this news well didn't mean she wanted anyone else catching on to her identity, or suspecting that Forfang might be a woman. And he worked at the paper, so if he started unintentionally dropping hints, things could spiral out of control more quickly. She sensed she could trust him to be discreet, though — he'd been carrying around a much bigger secret for a much longer time, and hadn't been found out yet.
Oh, she had so many more questions she could ask him, now that she knew who he really was and now that he knew that she knew. Not here, of course — she had probably been a little too indiscreet already, in her excitement to communicate how she'd pieced it together, but she wouldn't continue in a way that jeopardized him at all. Probably it would be better to end the conversation soon; she'd done what she'd come for, he wasn't angry, and they could talk far more freely in letters than they could in public, even if they were at an out of the way booth and no one seemed to be interested in eavesdropping. She didn't want to leave, though — now that the connection had been made and brought to light she wanted to prolong this interaction as much as possible, taking time to drink him in and correct her assumptions about him. She'd already recolored the version of A she'd created in her head after she'd gotten a sample of his hair, but there was still work to be done in reconciling the man she'd imagined to be on the other side of her letters to the living, breathing one across the table.
So she wanted to say something, but the first thing that came to mind was to point out that he did the same thing. He talked about himself in third person when he talked about full moons. An artificial distance used as a defense mechanism. That wasn't the sort of thing she could say in a bar, though, and maybe not at all. It probably wasn't the sort of thing he'd enjoy dissecting, and it wasn't really the same, anyway — she had chosen to have two separate identities, and he hadn't.
"Well, you started it," she pointed out with a mild smile. "Asking if I'd heard about the book. And I just couldn't resist asking what you thought of it," she admitted. "But I suppose now I'll never have your unbiased opinion again."
Jules
Oh, she had so many more questions she could ask him, now that she knew who he really was and now that he knew that she knew. Not here, of course — she had probably been a little too indiscreet already, in her excitement to communicate how she'd pieced it together, but she wouldn't continue in a way that jeopardized him at all. Probably it would be better to end the conversation soon; she'd done what she'd come for, he wasn't angry, and they could talk far more freely in letters than they could in public, even if they were at an out of the way booth and no one seemed to be interested in eavesdropping. She didn't want to leave, though — now that the connection had been made and brought to light she wanted to prolong this interaction as much as possible, taking time to drink him in and correct her assumptions about him. She'd already recolored the version of A she'd created in her head after she'd gotten a sample of his hair, but there was still work to be done in reconciling the man she'd imagined to be on the other side of her letters to the living, breathing one across the table.
So she wanted to say something, but the first thing that came to mind was to point out that he did the same thing. He talked about himself in third person when he talked about full moons. An artificial distance used as a defense mechanism. That wasn't the sort of thing she could say in a bar, though, and maybe not at all. It probably wasn't the sort of thing he'd enjoy dissecting, and it wasn't really the same, anyway — she had chosen to have two separate identities, and he hadn't.
"Well, you started it," she pointed out with a mild smile. "Asking if I'd heard about the book. And I just couldn't resist asking what you thought of it," she admitted. "But I suppose now I'll never have your unbiased opinion again."
Prof. Marlowe Forfang
Jules