x. status -> closed for @thephoebeyates
x. location -> blue harbor public library
Rory’s been watching Annie eye the book in her hand, glance upward, eye the book in her hand again, glance upward again, then rinse and repeat for approximately five minutes now. Truthfully, he’s been less curious about what she’s been up to than amused, though that changes the second it seems like she’s about to leave the vicinity and, in turn, his sight. He makes his way quietly over to where she’s been standing in the aisle filled with children’s books and leans downward, whispering in her ear, “Whatcha doin’?”
Annie jumps a little, turning over to quickly look at her father. She gives him a halfhearted glare, but it’s quickly replaced by a curious expression when she turns her attention back to the direction she’s been glancing at before. Rory follows her line of sight — a couple of aisles over, it seems, there’s a young woman leafing through a book in her hands. If he were to look closer, he may think she looks slightly familiar — but he’s got more pressing matters, with a six-year-old in front of him. He looks back down at Annie and raises an eyebrow. “You know her?” he asks, and Annie shakes her head.
“She looks like a princess,” she whispers at Rory, eyes wide. “Can she come eat lunch with us?”
Rory blinks. “Monkey, you don’t invite strangers to lunch with you because you think they look like royalty.”
“Says — well, Ireland, probably,” he mutters, which earns him a confused look from Annie. “I’ve got to start teaching you European history.”
She raises the book in her hands further upward, so that it may grace Rory’s eyesight instead of her face. The cover depicts a brunette princess in a white dress, surrounded by flowers and unicorns and something that looks like floating shit to Rory, but must be some other mythical creature he does not know the name of. “She looks like this princess,” she insists, as if this should be enough of an explanation for Rory to give into her request. “Dad.”
“Annie,” he quips back in the same tone. “Kiddo, she’ll probably say no.”
Annie shrugs. “Fine,” she accepts this possibility like a trooper, and for a second all Rory sees is Eliza, pushing him to expand his social circle beyond anything he’d ever had before. Most of his friends back in Scotland had been hers first — she was never afraid of social interaction, the same way he’s been. Of rejection. Of anything. And it seems like, somehow, this has managed to be more a genetic trait than a learned one, if Annie’s eagerness to delve into the fiery depths of socializing is anything to go by.
Before Rory can come up with another excuse as to why this is a terrible idea, Annie’s already turned on her heel, marching through the aisles. They leave the children’s section behind quickly, and Annie stops as soon as she reaches the young woman. She stares up at her, mouth agape, and Rory realizes she’s lost her ability to say words the way a starstruck fan might before a favored rockstar. He steps up and intervenes before it gets weird.
“Hi,” he greets the young woman, then narrows his eyes slightly. “Oh, I know you, don’t I?” He points at her, as if this’ll help the memory come quicker. “Happy Tails. Guinea pigs,” he finishes, a little lamely. “Er, sorry to bother, but,” he gestures downward to Annie, who is still staring at Phoebe up in awe, clutching her book like a lifeline. “This is Annie,” he introduces her. “She usually has more to say by now, but she—”
“Are you her?” Annie blurts an interruption, practically shoving the book in her hands toward the woman. “Are you the princess?” Her voice is a whisper and filled with anticipatory awe, and all Rory can do is scratch at his jaw awkwardly.
