The ring is burning a hole in Elsa's pocket.
The nice thing about making her own clothes is that all her outfits have pockets in which to burn holes. The other nice thing is that, after an age of indecision and wavering, she's managed to pick a ring she thinks — hopes — Jessica will like. She's not sure it'll much matter in the moment; it seems to her that, when a proposal occurs, any ring will do. After the initial excitement passes, though, she wants one that's going to make Jessica happy.
So she's nervous. Which, really, seems kind of ridiculous, or at least she tells herself it is. They've been together for four years. It's really high time one of them proposed, because, at this point, it's inevitable that they intend to be together for good and, anyway, she was catching herself thinking about it way too often not to do something about it. Daydreaming about marriage is fine, but why only dream about it? Fantasies are pleasant, but, she imagines, not nearly as good as the real thing.
And, God, but she loves her. It makes her heart flutter, thinking about doing this, thinking about what she might say, thinking about forever. And maybe a place like this doesn't allow for forevers, but that's all the more reason to take their chances while they have them.
So the ring. In her pocket. Elsa is all nerves as they head out. It's not too often that they get a chance for a date, between their jobs (official and unofficial both). She intends to take advantage of this one — a quiet night where, hopefully, no crimes will be taking place. There's no particular occasion, but it feels right, just seizing a moment for themselves. On one hand, she's pretty certain of Jessica's answer, certain that they're both in this for good, but on the other, isn't there always the tiniest chance of something going wrong? An emergency?
A no.
No. They love each other. They want this. It's not like there's never been hints or talk of a lifetime together. Nothing to worry about.
But she's Elsa and she worries anyway.
After dinner, she leads the way out to the beach, to the cove where she once built a castle. She likes to come out here sometimes to play and practice, enjoying the privacy of a spot where people rarely intrude.
"Should I build something?" she asks, smiling in spite of her nerves, and waving a flurry of snow through the air, light as mist.
The nice thing about making her own clothes is that all her outfits have pockets in which to burn holes. The other nice thing is that, after an age of indecision and wavering, she's managed to pick a ring she thinks — hopes — Jessica will like. She's not sure it'll much matter in the moment; it seems to her that, when a proposal occurs, any ring will do. After the initial excitement passes, though, she wants one that's going to make Jessica happy.
So she's nervous. Which, really, seems kind of ridiculous, or at least she tells herself it is. They've been together for four years. It's really high time one of them proposed, because, at this point, it's inevitable that they intend to be together for good and, anyway, she was catching herself thinking about it way too often not to do something about it. Daydreaming about marriage is fine, but why only dream about it? Fantasies are pleasant, but, she imagines, not nearly as good as the real thing.
And, God, but she loves her. It makes her heart flutter, thinking about doing this, thinking about what she might say, thinking about forever. And maybe a place like this doesn't allow for forevers, but that's all the more reason to take their chances while they have them.
So the ring. In her pocket. Elsa is all nerves as they head out. It's not too often that they get a chance for a date, between their jobs (official and unofficial both). She intends to take advantage of this one — a quiet night where, hopefully, no crimes will be taking place. There's no particular occasion, but it feels right, just seizing a moment for themselves. On one hand, she's pretty certain of Jessica's answer, certain that they're both in this for good, but on the other, isn't there always the tiniest chance of something going wrong? An emergency?
A no.
No. They love each other. They want this. It's not like there's never been hints or talk of a lifetime together. Nothing to worry about.
But she's Elsa and she worries anyway.
After dinner, she leads the way out to the beach, to the cove where she once built a castle. She likes to come out here sometimes to play and practice, enjoying the privacy of a spot where people rarely intrude.
"Should I build something?" she asks, smiling in spite of her nerves, and waving a flurry of snow through the air, light as mist.
