This wasn't to say that Riza hadn't found a place for herself. She had. Painstakingly. There were enough equivalencies when she looked hard enough that ultimately she could blend in amongst the strangers. But as she had presented herself to register for the country's military, she had been pulled aside by the recruiter.
I know you don't belong here. His words hadn't overtly been a threat, but the malicious twist of his lips and the way he'd cornered her suggested it was. He pressed into her space as he spoke, smelling like smoke and nicotine on his breath: I can keep your secret, if you help us.
So she agreed.
Riza Hawkeye wasn't a coward, but she was practical. Being ousted as a stranger from another world didn't suit her need to fly below the radar, and she hadn't imagined that what she was agreeing to could be any worse than what she had already endured in her home.
Which was why, all things being equal, the gold wedding band and simple engagement ring that now were expected on her left hand at all times had been such a surprise. It wasn't the man himself--Roland was nice enough. Polite. Genial. Ambitious. Thus far he'd tried to win her over and she'd avoided his affections. She remained at arms length, uncomfortable sharing such close quarters with a freshly minted husband she hardly knew.
Unlocking the door, she balanced the groceries in one arm as she maneuvered her way inside. Hearing no milling around inside was a relief, suggesting that she might still have time alone before Roland got in. Before returning to the bag she'd carried in she locked the door behind her--a habit she hadn't been able to shake. She began to unload the things she'd bought as an orange tabby cat weaved through her ankles, purring ferociously.
"Hello to you too," Riza murmured quietly as she scratched the cat's head. "Will you sit and enjoy the quiet with me for a bit after I've unloaded the groceries?"
Maybe Roland hadn't noticed, but his wife tended to stay up far later than he did. Riza was already uncomfortable with the premise of sharing a bed and even more so with the vulnerability required by it. Most nights she joins him and reads, waiting until he's asleep before even considering settling herself. Even nights when she lies beside him she finds herself staring aimlessly at the door long after the lights are turned out. She's never been a good sleeper.
But today, she headed upstairs early. She'd been unusually tense cooking dinner, nearly burning herself at the stove. At the table, she'd been silent instead of politely querying about Roland's day. And immediately after dinner she'd excused herself upstairs, citing feeling under the weather.
By the time Roland follows, she'll be sound asleep, tightly wound up in the blankets and curled on her side facing away from the door. All of it's unusual, and it doesn't get better as the night goes on. It's not late in the night that she's murmuring in her sleep, vague sounds of discontent at first and strings of nonsense out of context. There's strings of been ordered not to die, and this isn't for the good of your comrades, and ultimately devolving to murmurs of pain. If Roland had managed to fall asleep with her restlessness and hadn't already intervened, the muffled shout begging for it to stop, please! is probably loud enough to wake him.
After the revelation of the couple's respective truths, it seemed as though Riza and Roland were courting one another once again--now without the pretense of an arranged marriage. It's here that the privately affectionate Roland is able to bear witness to his wife's true nature: Riza was quietly devoted and attentive, and her acts of affection were understated and meaningful. For his part, Roland was more than enjoying his wife's flush whenever they shared a kiss. He kept it to himself, but he still found it adorable.
A shift in daily household routines accompanied this. Dinner was comfortably amicable, and while Riza had always prepared coffee for her husband she now sat with him each day before he left for the office. It was one such morning when she sat across him with coffee in one hand and chin in the other, concern writ over her brow.
"You don't look well."
His mind wandering to the busy workday before him, Roland waved a hand in dismissal of her concern. "I'm fine, Ri. Just run down—we've been swamped with Thomson out the last few days."
Her expression shifted, frowning. “Yes, because he’s had influenza. Didn’t you say he worked sick for part of the day before going home?”
Pushing away from his seat and slipping his blazer on, Roland ignores the concern. He’d already made the decision to pay no mind to the headache and fatigue clouding his thoughts; Riza expressing anxieties only proved that he was either a bad liar or sicker than he thought. As neither option could be true, he needed just to convince her long enough to allow him out the door. “I told you, I’m fine. Just a little cold, at the most.”
Conceding a cold would hopefully allay his wife’s concerns, though the stern expression he received suggested she was in no way convinced. “Come home early if you start feeling worse.”
“Promise.” To prove his point, he ensured he stopped to tousle her freshly-washed hair before bending to press a quick kiss to her cheek as he now did each morning. He’s out the door before she can protest any further.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
This wasn't to say that Riza hadn't found a place for herself. She had. Painstakingly. There were enough equivalencies when she looked hard enough that ultimately she could blend in amongst the strangers. But as she had presented herself to register for the country's military, she had been pulled aside by the recruiter.
I know you don't belong here. His words hadn't overtly been a threat, but the malicious twist of his lips and the way he'd cornered her suggested it was. He pressed into her space as he spoke, smelling like smoke and nicotine on his breath: I can keep your secret, if you help us.
So she agreed.
Riza Hawkeye wasn't a coward, but she was practical. Being ousted as a stranger from another world didn't suit her need to fly below the radar, and she hadn't imagined that what she was agreeing to could be any worse than what she had already endured in her home.
Which was why, all things being equal, the gold wedding band and simple engagement ring that now were expected on her left hand at all times had been such a surprise. It wasn't the man himself--Roland was nice enough. Polite. Genial. Ambitious. Thus far he'd tried to win her over and she'd avoided his affections. She remained at arms length, uncomfortable sharing such close quarters with a freshly minted husband she hardly knew.
Unlocking the door, she balanced the groceries in one arm as she maneuvered her way inside. Hearing no milling around inside was a relief, suggesting that she might still have time alone before Roland got in. Before returning to the bag she'd carried in she locked the door behind her--a habit she hadn't been able to shake. She began to unload the things she'd bought as an orange tabby cat weaved through her ankles, purring ferociously.
"Hello to you too," Riza murmured quietly as she scratched the cat's head. "Will you sit and enjoy the quiet with me for a bit after I've unloaded the groceries?"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
This icon because she is holding Hayate
Forcing the "plot" like woah
But today, she headed upstairs early. She'd been unusually tense cooking dinner, nearly burning herself at the stove. At the table, she'd been silent instead of politely querying about Roland's day. And immediately after dinner she'd excused herself upstairs, citing feeling under the weather.
By the time Roland follows, she'll be sound asleep, tightly wound up in the blankets and curled on her side facing away from the door. All of it's unusual, and it doesn't get better as the night goes on. It's not late in the night that she's murmuring in her sleep, vague sounds of discontent at first and strings of nonsense out of context. There's strings of been ordered not to die, and this isn't for the good of your comrades, and ultimately devolving to murmurs of pain. If Roland had managed to fall asleep with her restlessness and hadn't already intervened, the muffled shout begging for it to stop, please! is probably loud enough to wake him.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
I have a thing for you and it is Not a Tag
A shift in daily household routines accompanied this. Dinner was comfortably amicable, and while Riza had always prepared coffee for her husband she now sat with him each day before he left for the office. It was one such morning when she sat across him with coffee in one hand and chin in the other, concern writ over her brow.
"You don't look well."
His mind wandering to the busy workday before him, Roland waved a hand in dismissal of her concern. "I'm fine, Ri. Just run down—we've been swamped with Thomson out the last few days."
Her expression shifted, frowning. “Yes, because he’s had influenza. Didn’t you say he worked sick for part of the day before going home?”
Pushing away from his seat and slipping his blazer on, Roland ignores the concern. He’d already made the decision to pay no mind to the headache and fatigue clouding his thoughts; Riza expressing anxieties only proved that he was either a bad liar or sicker than he thought. As neither option could be true, he needed just to convince her long enough to allow him out the door. “I told you, I’m fine. Just a little cold, at the most.”
Conceding a cold would hopefully allay his wife’s concerns, though the stern expression he received suggested she was in no way convinced. “Come home early if you start feeling worse.”
“Promise.” To prove his point, he ensured he stopped to tousle her freshly-washed hair before bending to press a quick kiss to her cheek as he now did each morning. He’s out the door before she can protest any further.
surprise it's a drabble in progress
LOOK THERE'S MORE I actually have known where I've wanted this to go *for ages*