Allison always loves that. Forever and ever, since her earliest memories to this moment. Making Luther laugh.
"Mhmm." Is the first sound -- because they needed no one to gauge, had no one to guard them, and the world had given them little reason to pause for over a decade -- while her eyes went one way, looking decidedly more amused, and her face went the other, with stoic and mocking disappointment. "Like all the other little boys and their toys. So disappointing."
When it was anything but. When this might be a joke, but that's all it was, too. They were both possessive of each other, of the life they'd carved out here. Both doing this and when the days were done, and all the costumes could be put away. They might have been possessive, yes, but they'd never found a real reason to be jealous. Luther had known even before they came here that not only had she dreamed of acting, she was already good, with only their father in her way.
In a way, Luther never had been. Ever would have been, or ever would be. Nor that she'd ever want him to feel a need to. That it made her happy was all he'd ever cared about with it. There might have been a half dozen fabricated love stories her face was a part of, but she'd never so much as even considered any of those men -- even when they'd made it abundantly clear they would like to be -- since the first time Luther had kissed her. Though, honestly, it went back further than that even. So far back, she couldn't even say where it began. How long before they'd ever even hesitated at a touch, broken childhood rules.
(But, even then, even when it did happen, she told him. Usually, the same day or so.
It wasn't even that she told him because it might evoke some response from him, that day or any other later. She told him, because they didn't have secrets, and they both told each other about the great and small things that happened in the few days or hours they were ever actually apart, even though they still talked during at times. Because he was the love of her life, but he had started as and would always be, her best friend and confidant, too.
Both the person who could be told without ever wondering if she was tempted, or trying to manipulate them, but also who would listen in case the coming weeks meant it might become silted and unbalanced on her sets, or even, in the worst cases, a frustrating impediment at her job or to public appearances for the films depending on how that person took their brushoff, too.)
no subject
"Mhmm." Is the first sound -- because they needed no one to gauge, had no one to guard them, and the world had given them little reason to pause for over a decade -- while her eyes went one way, looking decidedly more amused, and her face went the other, with stoic and mocking disappointment. "Like all the other little boys and their toys. So disappointing."
When it was anything but. When this might be a joke, but that's all it was, too. They were both possessive of each other, of the life they'd carved out here. Both doing this and when the days were done, and all the costumes could be put away. They might have been possessive, yes, but they'd never found a real reason to be jealous. Luther had known even before they came here that not only had she dreamed of acting, she was already good, with only their father in her way.
In a way, Luther never had been. Ever would have been, or ever would be. Nor that she'd ever want him to feel a need to. That it made her happy was all he'd ever cared about with it. There might have been a half dozen fabricated love stories her face was a part of, but she'd never so much as even considered any of those men -- even when they'd made it abundantly clear they would like to be -- since the first time Luther had kissed her. Though, honestly, it went back further than that even. So far back, she couldn't even say where it began. How long before they'd ever even hesitated at a touch, broken childhood rules.
(But, even then, even when it did happen, she told him. Usually, the same day or so.
It wasn't even that she told him because it might evoke some response from him, that day or any other later. She told him, because they didn't have secrets, and they both told each other about the great and small things that happened in the few days or hours they were ever actually apart, even though they still talked during at times. Because he was the love of her life, but he had started as and would always be, her best friend and confidant, too.
Both the person who could be told without ever wondering if she was tempted, or trying to manipulate them, but also who would listen in case the coming weeks meant it might become silted and unbalanced on her sets, or even, in the worst cases, a frustrating impediment at her job or to public appearances for the films depending on how that person took their brushoff, too.)