((This thread is for any thoughts and/or significant encounters between Trixie and Keaton. Trixie, feel free to post anything here.))
Keaton had not come to the Inn looking for love. In fact, he had not even come looking for friendship, or for the place in this city that he had made for himself. He had come looking for another place to soak in, do whatever kind of good he had, and pick up and leave before he could do any harm.
Hindsight. What good had he done, and what harm?
He had helped bring Goroth down. He had forged strong friendships that had brought, and continued to bring, joy to all parties involved. He brought music to this city, gave a job to a hurt and disappointed young woman, and would carefully select his studio employees on the basis of who needed the jobs the most badly. He had made a great sum of money, and had given much of it away.
And the harm...?
...
Be honest with yourself, Keaton.
Three women had fallen for him. One he let himself fall for and let her fall for him, too; he knew it would not work, that he would not be able to give enough and that she would only end up hurt, but hurt she still was when he let her know that their love could not be. Another, he was too reckless to see how she felt for him; it remained to be seen what could be done for her... maybe it was best to leave her to her healing, for fear of bringing any more harm to her.
But the third was far from any bad thing, or, as far as he could tell, any harm done at all.
Trixie McAllister snoozed on the other side of his bed as he sat on the opposite edge, arms crossed over his lap. She had just about passed out in the inn, and so, both of them sleepy, he had taken her here to his apartment to rest, much closer and much safer than her home in the West End. It was five in the morning now. He had slept for an hour, and some stirring of hers had roused him from his sleep, and now here he was. Thinking about her when she was only a few feet away.
The moment Keaton the Fox had laid eyes on Trixie McAllister, punk rocker, drummer, and - assassin? - he knew he wouldn't be able to help falling for her. With others in the past, it had been... different. Someone to fool around with, a decent talker and good lover to while away some nights with. But Trixie wasn't that way at all. He took things slow and took them seriously, because he knew entering into this, for him, was a very fragile, delicate thing...
He had taken this opportunity at all because, in his gut, he knew it could be such a very good thing. And way deep down, though he didn't quite know it yet, there was a little yearning and a content warmth, happy to duck its head out of sight for now. He had trusted himself to fall for Trixie, but to do so slowly and carefully... because it felt so right. And fallen for her he had.
5:05. With a softly breathed sigh, he turned over onto the bed to spoon her, and enjoyed just a little sliver of that feeling, like a guilty man's portion of a chocolate cake, as he went back to sleep.
Keaton had not come to the Inn looking for love. In fact, he had not even come looking for friendship, or for the place in this city that he had made for himself. He had come looking for another place to soak in, do whatever kind of good he had, and pick up and leave before he could do any harm.
Hindsight. What good had he done, and what harm?
He had helped bring Goroth down. He had forged strong friendships that had brought, and continued to bring, joy to all parties involved. He brought music to this city, gave a job to a hurt and disappointed young woman, and would carefully select his studio employees on the basis of who needed the jobs the most badly. He had made a great sum of money, and had given much of it away.
And the harm...?
...
Be honest with yourself, Keaton.
Three women had fallen for him. One he let himself fall for and let her fall for him, too; he knew it would not work, that he would not be able to give enough and that she would only end up hurt, but hurt she still was when he let her know that their love could not be. Another, he was too reckless to see how she felt for him; it remained to be seen what could be done for her... maybe it was best to leave her to her healing, for fear of bringing any more harm to her.
But the third was far from any bad thing, or, as far as he could tell, any harm done at all.
Trixie McAllister snoozed on the other side of his bed as he sat on the opposite edge, arms crossed over his lap. She had just about passed out in the inn, and so, both of them sleepy, he had taken her here to his apartment to rest, much closer and much safer than her home in the West End. It was five in the morning now. He had slept for an hour, and some stirring of hers had roused him from his sleep, and now here he was. Thinking about her when she was only a few feet away.
The moment Keaton the Fox had laid eyes on Trixie McAllister, punk rocker, drummer, and - assassin? - he knew he wouldn't be able to help falling for her. With others in the past, it had been... different. Someone to fool around with, a decent talker and good lover to while away some nights with. But Trixie wasn't that way at all. He took things slow and took them seriously, because he knew entering into this, for him, was a very fragile, delicate thing...
He had taken this opportunity at all because, in his gut, he knew it could be such a very good thing. And way deep down, though he didn't quite know it yet, there was a little yearning and a content warmth, happy to duck its head out of sight for now. He had trusted himself to fall for Trixie, but to do so slowly and carefully... because it felt so right. And fallen for her he had.
5:05. With a softly breathed sigh, he turned over onto the bed to spoon her, and enjoyed just a little sliver of that feeling, like a guilty man's portion of a chocolate cake, as he went back to sleep.