hell_in_highheels | [oom: Dinner with captainryan]

The academic in her can be clinical when she wants, but she's not sure this is the time or the place.

"I think that might be a discussion to have over coffee. After dinner?" She gives him a soft smile.

He's silent a moment.

"Of course," he says, smiling slightly. He didn't mean to make her uncomfortable. He should've been paying more attention to her scent.

"Why don't you tell my about who built the Library?" That's something she should enjoy speaking about, right?

Her hand comes to rest on his and her touch is warm. "It's all right, I don't mind talking about it. It's just -- pleasant things first."

His own hand is warmer. Werewolves have a high metabolism.

His eyes drop to her hand, but he's looking back up at her a moment later without having moved. Touch is still one of those things that his instincts fight with his training over.

"Fair enough," he answers. She's only confirmed what he was thinking, though.

She withdraws, her eyes turned down. "As near as we can tell, the Library was built some time in the 42nd century, by the same family that manages the Trust today. They took over four centuries to acquire the majority of the texts within, and the AI continues to process the back log to this day."

Ryan's a hair frustrated. He didn't mean to make her feel chastised, either. He's smiling, isn't he? Wait, did he show his teeth? No, and that wouldn't mean anything to her anyway.

Okay, let's focus on the conversation at hand, shall we?

"The Trust? As in a bank trust?" After his time, obviously.

"Sort of," she continues, meeting his gaze again. "A philanthropic trust, actually. You can imagine that the Acquisitions wing of a Library the size of a planet is quite formidable. It is said they even have all the texts that have yet to be written on record, though how that can possibly be, I don't know."

She could drown in those eyes, she thinks. And then her heart pounds in her throat. Where on earth did that thought come from?

He's trying to ignore it. Really. They just met, they barely know each other, but every time she meets his eyes, there's a rise in that scent and-

She really is quite beautiful, isn't she?

He can focus on this conversation, really. He's had to ignore scents before. Every day, every time he meets a human and their scent gets thrown at him. They smell good.

She smells good and it's not just because she's human.

Conversation, Ryan. It's your turn to speak.

"I suppose if someone has access to a time machine, it'd be quite simple," he says, gathering his thoughts. "Or even just access to this place." Head tilt. "Which you do, so, technically, that's correct, then, isn't it?"

That gets a dry chuckle. "Well, it's not exactly the TARDIS, but I think the question is more whether or not this is the real Milliways, or a representation contained within the AI's data core."

Her eyes get wide and she smiles as she continues, laughing quietly. "I am an archaeologist, not a philosopher. I'm not trained for these sorts of questions."

Ryan arches an amused eyebrow at her. "I'd rather prefer to think that I'm a real being and not just some program run by a computer." That's actually rather creepy, if one thinks about it.

"But philosophers have been asking that sort of question since forever. There really isn't much point fretting over it, I've always thought, since there's really no way to tell."

He should know. He majored in the subject.

She knows when she's in the computer. She knows the world feels a little thinner, a little flatter. The smells aren't as vivid, and she feels like she's touching everything through a veil.

And it's not like that here. He's meeting her gaze again and she can feel her skin grow hot. That didn't happen when Casanova flirted with her, or when she met the historical recordings of her husband. But it's happening here, and she's not sure what she's supposed to do about it.

"Honestly? It feels different here."

He'd be a sorry excuse for an alpha if he didn't meet her gaze. And still her scent's affecting him.

The natural question here is, of course, "Different how?"

He wonders what that's like, to be dead and still have a world to go back to.

She takes a sip of her wine. "Well, when I first awoke in the data core, I knew instantly that I was no longer in my physical form. Everything seemed compressed, somehow. Flat. And here, for the first time in I don't know how long, I feel -- alive again."

Ryan finishes off another rib while she's explaining.

How long has she been dead, anyway? No, he's not going to ask that. "That sounds pleasant," Ryan observes, still ignoring her scent.

"It must be a nice change of pace, at any rate. Would you like the last one?" he asks, gesturing to the rib on the plate.

She shakes her head, smiling. He certainly seems to be relishing dinner, and she thinks that's as good an idea as any.

There's a very nervous rat standing at her elbow, waiting to clear the plates and take their order.

"Shepherd's Pie, please. And you?"

She's about to find out why he only wants her to pay for half his meal.

"Fillet steak, rare, side of potatoes, and a salad in the usual proportions, if you please." Ryan head tilts at the rat, arching one eyebrow. "You can ask Bar if you don't know them."

"Mmmm, steak." She beckons the rat back as it tries to amble off. "Make that two, only size mine appropriately as well."

"I haven't had a good steak in ages."

"Bar's an excellent cook," Ryan says approvingly, hiding a grin. He's a little amused she would think of asking that for her steak.

Then again, she probably ran across something in the Library about it.

He takes a sip of his Guinness, burying his nose in the heady aroma.

River watches him over the tops of her laced fingers, the wine having eased her nerves somewhat. "An elevated metabolism, suited for fuelling a rapid physical transformation, protein and glucose intense, I'd imagine. And as you so eloquently demonstrated when we met, an enhanced sense of smell, and perhaps hearing as well?"

She's been reading a lot. And even as she lays it out, her scent does not change.

Ryan nearly snorts into his beer.

"Ah, yes. I suppose putting that a bit more eloquently would have been in my favour," he admits, a hint of sheepishness about him.

"That sounds about right."

"I'm sorry, Richard. I'm horrible at small talk." Her smile is also rather sheepish.

Ryan shakes his head. "I don't mind if you don't," he says wryly.

"However, I reserve the right to change my mind should we touch on something I'd rather not discuss. With no hard feelings, of course."

That should eliminate the chastised scent for the evening, right?

"Of course, oh absolutely." She sighs. "It's been so long since I've talked with someone who wasn't a construct. I feel a bit out of my league."

"I didn't think I was that challenging to talk to," Ryan remarks mildly.

He's smirking a bit, though he's trying to hide it behind a sip of his beer.

Her eyes open wide as she grins. He can see her irises darken and her pupils widen. "Let's stay away from politics and religion, just to be safe," she teases.

[oom: Dinner with captainryan]

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