Something had altered in their conversation suddenly – some facade disassembling. Elias expected the worst, in her Mr. Grimstone alone, supposed this might be a door slammed in his face before he had stepped through it, or even so much as knocked; but he kept his eyes on her in spite of it, searching her expression for any honest sign of hope here.
Oh. She thought he was a good man – she barely knew him, but it was nice of her nonetheless – and Elias’ hands slipped down off the counter again in surrender. “Thank you,” he interjected, smiling wryly as she continued, because he could deal with bluntness. Bluntness made things so much more straightforward – he was almost more at ease with it. It was the affectation of polite society, a complicated scale of rites and judgement and tradition, a world he had not quite been raised in, did not feel quite himself in, that was worse. This Miss Potts had read him head to toe already (or if even you know; Merlin, she was sharp), but it was half a relief to have someone see it, for the idea to no longer be only alive in his own head.
“Of course,” he blurted out emphatically, giving himself away more clearly by his haste. He shook his head in assurance. “I’m not looking to do anyone wrong, believe me.” I wouldn’t, he might have said, but that felt too lofty to say, when maybe he had when he was younger.
But he had learnt his lesson; he had made a mess of things once, and he was determined not to make a mess of this. He swallowed quietly, contemplating. “Though I’m not yet sure if there’s... the same interest there.” He raised his eyebrows a touch as he confessed it, casting his eyes meaningfully across to her side of the florist’s counter; but maybe Thistle Potts knew her sister’s mind better than he did, or would do him the favour of finding out? (He had thought there had been a hopeful sign or two, some comfortable, natural warmth between them – but it was always hard to realise it, in letters or at events or in public. But there had been a moment, at least for Elias – back when Daffodil had visited the workshop – where it truly felt like she had seen him. But if he was to go about things properly, moments alone were no measure of anything: they were too far and in between. So perhaps he would just have to trust in the potential.)
Oh. She thought he was a good man – she barely knew him, but it was nice of her nonetheless – and Elias’ hands slipped down off the counter again in surrender. “Thank you,” he interjected, smiling wryly as she continued, because he could deal with bluntness. Bluntness made things so much more straightforward – he was almost more at ease with it. It was the affectation of polite society, a complicated scale of rites and judgement and tradition, a world he had not quite been raised in, did not feel quite himself in, that was worse. This Miss Potts had read him head to toe already (or if even you know; Merlin, she was sharp), but it was half a relief to have someone see it, for the idea to no longer be only alive in his own head.
“Of course,” he blurted out emphatically, giving himself away more clearly by his haste. He shook his head in assurance. “I’m not looking to do anyone wrong, believe me.” I wouldn’t, he might have said, but that felt too lofty to say, when maybe he had when he was younger.
But he had learnt his lesson; he had made a mess of things once, and he was determined not to make a mess of this. He swallowed quietly, contemplating. “Though I’m not yet sure if there’s... the same interest there.” He raised his eyebrows a touch as he confessed it, casting his eyes meaningfully across to her side of the florist’s counter; but maybe Thistle Potts knew her sister’s mind better than he did, or would do him the favour of finding out? (He had thought there had been a hopeful sign or two, some comfortable, natural warmth between them – but it was always hard to realise it, in letters or at events or in public. But there had been a moment, at least for Elias – back when Daffodil had visited the workshop – where it truly felt like she had seen him. But if he was to go about things properly, moments alone were no measure of anything: they were too far and in between. So perhaps he would just have to trust in the potential.)
look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3