triangularity | for Stefan

for Stefan

Maggie spends the first part of the evening on her laptop, liveblogging in one chat window and using the other half of the screen to monitor threads on her section of the After the End Times forum. Maggie's good with people. She never minds a turn on forum duty, and as a beta on the site, she pays her dues just like everyone else who isn't a department head. It's a refreshing change, actually, to have an entirely merit-based system where her last name doesn't mean a thing.

As the first movie winds down, Maggie sets aside the computer, standing up and stretching. She did look around enough to take stock of the room. Almost everyone here is a regular. She knows all of their food and drink preferences, and she fully expects a couple to stay for half the week.

So of course it's the newcomer who caught her attention. He seemed amused by the movie, and she agreed with him on this one. Funny how a horror movies aren't scary at all when the world has turned into one.

Whoever invited him probably pointed her out to Stefan. Maggie got his name from the security scans at the door, but she isn't especially worried about strangers in her house either way. She tosses the remote to another Fictional, letting him take over and set up the next movie.

Stefan's the only one who needs to tell her what he wants, which makes him the logical choice for help fetching it. Maggie makes her way across the room, leans over one arm of the couch, and and introduces herself, probably unnecessarily. "I'm Maggie. Help me carry snacks from the kitchen?"

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"Perfect." One less thing he has to worry about. Stefan doesn't exactly need food, so if Maggie wants to take charge? By all means, go for it. "Hmm... everything looks good, so unless you've got a preference for meat or seafood, I might pick at random."

He grins, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"See, I eat pretty much everything, though oh. How do you feel about wine?"

"I'm not picky, but the chicken sounds good, with the lemon ginger sauce. And definitely dessert. Dark chocolate mousse with raspberry." She's decisive even if she does eat almost everything. "You can order anything you want."

Then she grins back at him. "As for wine, the answer is usually, 'yes please.' Preferably red."

Her chin joins her hand resting on his shoulder, because Maggie, unlike much of her generation, has never been big on personal space. Not with people she likes.

Oh, those were tempting choices. Delicious, tempting choices that made him re-think his choices - but in the end, Stefan settled on an compromise.

"Hm, then why don't I get the salmon and another order of that mousse? Along with red wine for us to share."

He doesn't mind the invasion of personal space, either - perhaps that gives him away, as someone that grew up before the Rising, but he missed that intimacy. He also missed people feeling free to touch him. So, without meaning to, he relaxes a little more.

Someone who noticeably relaxes instead of going tense for a fraction of second when you touch him. How nice. People like that do exist, but encountering them is always such a pleasant surprise. Maggie smiles, showing no sign of moving away even now that their decision is made and there's no menu to look over.

"Perfect. Hotel, we'd like to order the chicken with lemon and ginger, the salmon, two raspberry chocolate mousses, and a bottle of good red wine." Maggie speaks to the hotel computer in a tone that isn't quite as warm as the one she offers Stefan, but still normal. She doesn't mind talking to computers.

"Does it go without saying that this is the best part of my trip, too?"

For a fraction of a second, he freezes at the realization that yes, she can place an order with a voice-controlled computer rather than a phone call. God, technology moves faster than he can keep up with it.

"Mm, maybe, but I never mind hearing it." At least he's honest. Not where it counts, but he tries. "Maybe we should make our schedules coordinate more often."

Wait till he hears Maggie talking to her own house computer. It has Maggie's voice, which can be distinctly unsettling for people who don't like their computers to sound too much like humans. It's an unusual decision, but probably a deliberate one that Maggie derives amusement from.

"Mine is pretty simple most of the time. I'm a homebody. If you don't mind that I may fill the house with people and watch horror movies all night instead of sleeping like the rest of the world, you're always welcome. I can be lured elsewhere, with the right incentive, though."

Stefan shouldn't find it hard, should he set out to do so.

"Hm..." He pretends to seriously deliberate this, as if this is the hardest choice he's had to make all evening. "I think I'll just come over more often. Send me the details for your next film festival?"

Stefan doesn't want to rely on Zara for knowledge anymore. He doesn't need her - or Hazel - to shield him from a world he doesn't understand. No, he needs to embrace it. Being with Maggie is an excellent first step. It might be risky, given the prevalence of permanent, ineradicable security data, but Stefan likes this woman. He likes her a lot.

She's worth that risk, he thinks as he snuggles up. She's very, very worth the risk.

"You're already on that mailing list, though I might take you off of it and send you a message myself." Rather than the general invitations everyone gets.

She leans more of her weight against Stefan, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

"I did enjoy your writing, by the way."

Edited 2017-02-09 03:18 (UTC)

"Ooh, special treatment." He's flattered, truly, but - "You really don't have to. I'll stick to the mailing list like everyone else."

While he values his privacy, he's also certain that the other Fictionals won't do much more than allude to their relationship in whatever serialized romance they were writing next.

"Yeah? You actually read the whole collection?"

While he's even more flattered, he also knows deep-down, that his poems also leaned on the tragic side of life.

"Special treatment that really just means that I feel like talking to you," Maggie counters immediately. "Do you not want messages from me?"

There's only one correct answer to that question, Stefan, even if she's obviously joking when she asks it.

"Don't sound so surprised. I suppose 'appreciated,' is a better choice of word for the more tragic poetry than 'enjoyed.' Yes, I did."

He scrunches up his whole face. As much as he'd like the general mailing list, he likes messages from Maggie even more. It doesn't take a genius to pinpoint that right answer.

“Of course I do,” he relents, knowing that he's lost this round. “Just as much as I like knowing you appreciated them. They're uh, they're getting better in tone.”

Coincidentally, he had pitched a more hopeful series around the time he had met Maggie. Even more of a complete coincidence: each incident was timed with something even more hopeful. Not causal correlation. Of course not.

"Are they?" Maggie asks, smiling. She lifts her head enough to study Stefan for a moment. A shift in tone means good things. That he's happier.

Leaning in, she offers a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad. I'll look forward to reading those too."

Once again, he melts at the touch - but he turns his head and returns that kiss on the cheek.

"You'll be the first one to," he confesses, because her attention is the only kind he wants for this series of poems. (The replies and comments are always fun to read, but no one keeps him on his toes like Maggie.) "Should you want that, I mean."

That was the best thing to say. Maggie's whole face lights up, and she leans in closer, pressed up against Stefan's side. She takes his face in her hands, kissing him on the mouth this time. She's gentle but sure, not a bit of hesitation in it.

"I can't think of anything I'd like more. It would be an honor to get the first look at your newest work."

As she kisses him, Stefan gently wraps his arms around her neck. Maybe it was a little forward, to presume that she'd want this contact - but she initiated it. She would also let him know if it were Too Much.

"Then it's all yours." He laughs, letting so much joy seeping into his voice. Maggie's the first person who's made him feel like him in a long, long time. "That's a promise."

Just so she knows, he'll return the kiss, equally as gentle.

Maggie likes forwardness, she likes touch, and she definitely likes Stefan kissing her back. She's a little more playful on that second kiss.

Then she grins at him. "I'll have to return the favor and send you something before I publish it. I am feeling rather inspired at the moment. I wonder why."

And hopefully he doesn't mind her just staying wrapped up around him now that they've started, because that's an awfully appealing prospect. Maggie slides an arm around Stefan's waist and rests her head on his shoulder.

"Gee, it's a little hard to say," he says, in-between laughs. Stefan can't even finish a sentence, but he suspects he doesn't need to. (There's plenty of time for talking and learning later.)

Now, he leans in, gently kissing the tip of her nose. "But I'll look forward to it."

Kiss number three's his favorite: he's still gentle, as if he can't believe that he's here, with her, on what may possibly be the most romantic date he's had in 30 years. His affection grows more desperate over time, though, as if he really thinks it's a dream - and that when he wakes up, he'll be all alone again.

Maggie has no objections at all to the turn that third kiss takes, leaning into Stefan and bracing a hand on his chest. Her part of it isn't desperate, but eager and delighted and sincere. She isn't going anywhere.

If she was grinning before, Maggie's smile when she pulls away to catch her breath is incandescent by comparison. "I'm so glad you're interested. Not that I'd have objected to good company from a poet by any means, but I did hope." That kiss lived up to her idle hopes very nicely.

He takes a moment to memorize the radiance on her face. Stefan's once again grateful for his photographic memory; it lets him relive the good right alongside the bad.

His heartbeat grows faster as he realizes where her hand's shifted, and - well. A gentleman would know when to pull back and insist on them having a proper meal. Room service should be here any minute. Even he can't look distinguished when he answers the door all dishelved.

“I'm always interested as far as you're concerned,” he admits, his voice turning breathless. “But uh... before we go further, we should probably eat...”

Maggie laughs warmly, teasing, "I'm not the one who decided where that last kiss went. You act as if I'll start pulling your clothes off before we so much as eat dinner."

A playful kiss on the cheek, and then she settles back to rest her head on his shoulder. "There, see, I can be perfectly well behaved."

“Then that makes me the ill-behaved one,” he confesses, though his gratitude is as plain as day. For someone with eternity at his fingertips, he sure feels like a teenager all the time, with emotions and feelings running through his brain faster than he can stop them.

(Or maybe it's been too long since he's last found someone to love. He's not sure which.)

“Makes me think I'll have to take a few pages out of your book, won't i?”

"I don't know," Maggie muses, her tone mostly serious through the lingering amusement. "I haven't had the chance to read much yet, but I'm intrigued by the first page or two of yours.

"I might like to read that one all the way through at some point."

“Ah, well, I'm a pretty open book.” He can't quite hide his amusement either. “You're welcome to read me all you want.”

It's a good thing, he thinks, that he can hear the all too familiar sound of the room service cart heading over. He pulls back only reluctantly, tugging on his shirt and turning his head towards the door.

Maybe the food'll help him behave a little better.

She unfolds herself off the couch and goes to answer the door with a smile.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she tells him, "Good. There are few things better than a well-written poem or book. In case my career choice wasn't enough indication, I like reading."

Which could have more meanings than one, considering the content of some of the writing Maggie makes a living with.

"I'd sure hope you do," he teases, rising up and surveying the food as it's brought over. It looks even yummier in person, and for a moment, he wishes he were human again so that he could really savor the flavors.

(Instead, he supposes, he'll have to make do with the chilled "smoothies" he had left behind in his hotel room.)

"But seriously, you've got pretty good taste."

for Stefan

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