happyfalcon | [For Thomas] [Modern AU] Secret Holiday

[For Thomas] [Modern AU] Secret Holiday

Anne was bustling about her apartment, assembling some clothes and getting her travel bags together. They had been planning a trip for some time now, but even so the destination was a surprise still to her. Thomas hadn't told her what the final destination plan was for them. Anne packed her clothes, planning for warm and cool weather. It was a little frustrating, not knowing that to pack exactly, but overall it was exciting.

She had slipped Thomas her key before she'd left the office that day. Anne had followed up on a lead for a story earlier in the day and took the rest of the day as personal time. Then she had come home and began packing.

Anne had a pair of dresses on the bed before her, and she couldn't decide which to take. It was silly to take them both with her. One was black with red patterned flowers, the other white with blue patterned flowers. But she no only had her clothes to pack, but she had jewelry and shoes to pack as well. Oh, it was so hard to pack, not knowing what destination for which they were bound.

But it was so romantic, and she was excited to get ready and going. Of course she had to wait for Thomas. She couldn't wait for him to arrive. Anne had picked up a bottle of wine to celebrate their holiday plans. It had been tricky, planning their getaway without anyone putting two and two together. Anne had vacation time saved up and gave the rest of her tasks to George for the time they'd be gone. She wasn't sure how Thomas had managed to get his time off to match hers, but somehow they'd done it.

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Anne breathed heavily. She knew there was no other way and she would not dispute him. For a long moment she just relaxed against him. She was indeed on the pill, they were probably okay. The chances were smaller than slim.

She smiled at his words and kissed along his jaw. "Mmm, it was," she chuckled. "Glad I suggested it?" Her fingers dragged over his chest, playfully.

Anne nuzzled his jaw and kissed his neck. "It's all right - you lasted long enough, it felt incredible. Just like you said."

"Oh it was you, was it?" Wyatt laughed and held a finger under Anne's chin. "I thought-- that it was you, indeed" he added, deciding to let her have the credit for the suggestion, and most of all, for the satisfaction he now felt.

"You have the best ideas. We just can't use that one too often."

Wyatt gathered Anne's wet hair into a ponytail, carefully smoothing away any loose strands along the sides of her face. It was rather meditative for him. He enjoyed taking the time to touch her.

"The water's getting cooler. And you've made me crave for breakfast."

Anne laughed softly and ran her fingers down his chest. "You wanted me, I said we should go bare," she pointed out. Her lips brushed over his just barely. "And it was so worth it..."

She smiled and nuzzled her nose against his. "But you're right - can't use it too often. Every once in a while though, so long as we're careful."

Anne sighed softly as he played with her hair. It was just as soothing and meditative for her as it was for him. She kissed along his jaw, and smiled when he mentioned breakfast.

"Mmm, I'm rather hungry myself, building up my appetite as you have," she teased. "Shall we be off then?"

Anne slid up, stepping gracefully from the tub and out to the floor, reaching for the nearest towel and starting to dry herself off, smirking at him over her bare shoulder as she dried herself.

With a grin he replied, "We'll be careful and... I'll learn to last longer." Because she didn't have to go without even if he did.

Wyatt pulled off the plug in the tub and joined Anne on the soft bathroom mat to get dry as well. She was about to receive a few carefully placed kisses on her shoulders first but then he set to get himself presentable which meant selecting new clothes, combing hair and trimming his beard. At the hotel's breakfast table no one else save Anne knew he'd just been a caveman.

They were finally out the door much later than the day before but it didn't matter. There was no schedule to follow. Wherever their feet took them, it was the right direction.

"Where in the world are you taking me?" Wyatt shook his head in surprise as suddenly Anne was leading him into very narrow alleyways.

((ooc: Thanks for your PM. Tag when you can, no rush.))

Edited 2017-03-20 01:05 (UTC)

Anne chuckled and playfully tapped her finger to his nose. "Lasting longer comes with practice."

As Thomas prepared himself for the day, Anne dried her hair and let it fall in its natural dark waves, only securing a portion of it at the back of her head to keep it from falling forward into her eyes. Then she set about doing her makeup and rubbing lotion into her skin before choosing her own clothes for the day. This time she chose black denim jeans, a red top with lacey shoulders and black ankle boots.

The hotel breakfast offering was nice, but nothing compared to her favorite bakery. But they couldn't possibly eat there every day, it was far too rich. Besides, there were other places to see in Paris.

When they were through with breakfast, Anne led Thomas through the city, and to a small book shop she knew of. There was only a small sign identifying it, but it was renowned for its rare offerings. Anne smiled over her shoulder to him as she led him inside. "This was another favorite place of mine - nice and quiet, it's almost like a library."

In some ways it didn't matter what Anne wore since she always looked great in Wyatt's eyes, but it was still interesting for him to watch her put her looks together. She made it seem so effortless. This time he didn't try to match her color combination too closely, although his black slacks and a white shirt with light grey pinstripes didn't clash with what she had chosen, either.

Stepping inside the book shop, Wyatt had to tease Anne a little bit. "Am I going to meet another Dubois family? Are you famous here as well?"

He was thinking of the elderly couple at Anne's favourite patisserie and how warmly they had greeted her, and him.

That didn't happen, however. The young man behind the counter did greet them of course but he didn't recognize Anne any more than he did Wyatt. But he was possibly a new employer who had never met Anne.

"Looks promising," he smiled, eyeing the shop's offerings. It was so nice that they both shared a love of books so that Wyatt didn't have to feel bad for neglecting her while he went through the poetry section.

((ooc: Yesterday I saw a street musician who was performing Passenger's 'Let Her Go'. Had to give him a coin for reminding me of our love doves here.))

Anne smiled as she stepped through the many shelves. "No Dubois family here. The book shopkeepers tend to keep to themselves. Whenever I would come here, I would bury my nose in a book and hide amongst the shelves for hours."

She looked amongst the titles and found a book that caught her eye. Anne flipped through the pages and came upon a particular poem that made her smile. Knowing Thomas would hear her, she recited it aloud:

"I loved you first: but afterwards your love
Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.
Which owes the other most? my love was long,
And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;
I loved and guessed at you, you construed me
And loved me for what might or might not be –
Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine;’
With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done,
For one is both and both are one in love:
Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’
Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one."

Anne looked lovingly at the page and smiled, dragging her fingers over the lines of words, before closing the book and holding it close to her heart.

((ooc: Awwww! That's so sweet!))

Edited 2017-03-25 22:06 (UTC)

I loved you first. Really? Wyatt wasn't so sure of that.

Anne had chosen a poem with an effective first line to make him lift his head from the book he'd been reading and to begin listening her instead. For all his knowledge of poetry, this was one he didn't know beforehand, and at first he was ready to protest its message. But there was a surprise in store for him. After the beginning, the poem shifted from the false comparisons to describe true love as something else.

Wyatt would have been content to stop the time just to keep Anne's expression forever. And likewise he was unable to move or say anything for a moment. Then he stepped closer and kissed her.

"That was spot on, my love. It was beautiful. Whose was it? Show me. I should know, I suppose but I can't put my finger on it right now."

((ooc: That poem was pretty sweet too.))

Edited 2017-03-27 01:21 (UTC)

She had read the poem more as a general expression of love, rather than a literal depiction. When he fell silent and she stole his attention from the book he was looking at, Anne smiled - triumphant.

When he approached and kissed her, she tilted her head up a bit to kiss him back. She held the book up, out of his sight and smiled.

"I've stumped you, have I?" She teased. "I'm tempted to make you guess. Perhaps you will be rewarded if you manage to guess correctly." Anne's eyes flashed playfully.

((ooc: Thanks! It definitely stood out as I was looking for options lol))

Anne still had a thing or two to learn about Wyatt if she thought he'd ever consider poems in general terms. They were all about him and her and the actual moment he lived in - even the poems he hadn't written, only read or heard. There was nothing haphazard about words.

He had to smile at her teasing. He was taller, he probably could have taken the book from her. But where was the fun it that? He wanted to play along, and make her want to give the book to him.

"Well, I do need my reward..." Wyatt grinned and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of Anne's jeans, thus keeping her a hostage.

"I know it's not Shakespeare," he whispered into her left ear. Of course not Shakespeare! He was stating the obvious. "And I know it's not Byron," he whispered into her other ear.

After kissing the tip of her nose next, Wyatt pursed his lips. "Hmm, it was more structured than free-form, so I'm fairly certain we're not talking about a modern poet. Was it written by a woman?"

((ooc: According to Wikipedia, Rossetti was influenced by Italian poet Petrarch, just like Wyatt was.))

This was why he was the poet, and she was the editor. This was why she loved him; or at least, it was one of the reasons. He had such a depth, a depth one might not assume, looking at him and taking him at face value. In a way, it was a depth reserved just for her, and Anne loved that.

Anne chuckled as he hooked his thumbs through her belt loops. She smiled over her shoulder and clutched the book protectively.

"I will tell you it's a modern poet," Anne replied. "But the gender of the poet, I can't say - that'd give you too many hints, now wouldn't it?"

Anne glanced up and brushed her lips over his jaw. "I'm sure you can tell the difference between the writing of a man and the writing of a woman."

((ooc: Oooh, how about that! I like it!))

Wyatt wrinkled his nose. "Modern? Really? I have a hard time believing that... unless your definition of modern is different from mine. He, or she, clearly likes to fiddle with verse forms the way I do."

His style owed a lot to Renaissance writers and even though it was looked down upon by some, he had managed to carve a niche for himself in the literary scene, anonymous though he was. So far Anne was still the only one who knew the real person behind the poems. Wyatt had never regretted telling her the truth. Having a confidant to talk to had made his life better.

"Should it be so easy to know the difference? If I recall, the Brontë sisters fooled everyone believe they were men, not women when they started writing."

Wyatt shook his head before pulling Anne closer to kiss her and to give him more thinking time.

"Let's say the writer is a woman... No but is it one of them? One of the Brontës? I know you said modern but maybe you were just tricking me. After all there is a vibe of a Victorian lady in the lines."

Anne pressed her lips together - he'd caught her in a lie. Well, more of a test than a lie. How well did he know his poets, she wondered sometimes. This proved indeed that he knew his poetry backwards and forwards, she was impressed.

"Perhaps you have me there," she giggled. "But you're indeed right. I'd say that much has earned you a clue."

She tilted her head up to kiss him back. Slowly she pulled back, her eyes focused on his lips, and his chin for a moment. "It is not one of the Brontës. And you are on the right track indeed with your assessment of a Victorian lady. I will tell you that much."

Anne gave a quick kiss to his lips, and against his chin. "Any guesses, my dearest?"

"Excusez-moi, s'il vous plaît." An amused voice of a customer called for an attention. The person in question wanted to pass Anne and Wyatt in order to get to the other end of the bookshop. There was only so little room between shelves and they had blocked the way. Wyatt apologized, in French, and stepped aside, gesturing Anne to follow him.

"Now, where were we? Oh right, I was just about to guess... um, like this." He pressed a kiss to the side of Anne's neck. But then he straightened up and stopped fooling around.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, love, but guessing is all I can do. I don't think I've ever read that particular poem, though maybe I should have. So unless she's very obscure, she's probably either Elizabeth Barrett Browning or Christina Rossetti or Mary Coleridge."

Wyatt raised his eyebrows, waiting for Anne to tell her the real author of that poem.

Anne blushed and she too apologized to the other customer as she followed Thomas out of the way. When he playfully cornered her and kissed her neck, Anne laughed softly and grinned up at him.

"Ah, my intelligent poet, you're wiser than you know," Anne kissed him playfully before leaning back a bit. "Rossetti was the poet in question this time."

Anne smiled and dragged her fingers over his chest. "I suppose that means you've earned a reward, no?"

If Anne wanted to call him intelligent, Wyatt wasn't going to disagree, even if he hadn't known who the poet was. All he had done was presented a list of possible authors from the appropriate time period.

"I am wise. I'm with you, aren't I?," he chuckled and cocked his head to the side. "Rossetti, hmm? We'll take that book and read it to each other tonight."

Wyatt glanced down at Anne's hand over his chest. It made him smile. It was such a loving little gesture that always gave him a warm feeling.

"If you say so, my dear." He took her hand and brought it up to his lips for a quick kiss.

He could at least guess the name, which was more than Anne could ever have done. She loved seeing him flaunt his writing prowess, proving how there were few, if any, equal to him. Anne had insisted on multiple occasions to her father that Thomas was under-utilized and how much more he could do, but her father wouldn't hear it - it wasn't his idea, after all.

But that wasn't so bad - it meant Thomas was all for her, after all.

When he suggested they buy the book and peruse its pages further, Anne smiled broadly. She had chosen the book on a whim, and it was slowly becoming a staple for them. Anne watched as he kissed her hand, so delicately - so knight-like. She smiled playfully before lacing her fingers with his.

"I'll craft some manner of prize for you," the question was when she would choose to present it.

Wyatt himself was quite happy with his work arrangements at the Boleyn paper. He wasn't opposed to changes, but the way things were, he now had the time and freedom to pursue other interests as well. If changes were to be made, he at least didn't wish to be so in demand, or in such an important role, that it would have been impossible to arrange holidays like this.

"Very well, I look forward to it. But you don't have to come up with anything, you know. Now, can I see it?"

He reached for the book that Anne had been hiding from him so far.

"The Poetical Works of Christina Georgina Rossetti," he read from the burgundi coloured cover. "Pretty. Good find. Shall we be off then?"

((ooc: I'm sick, blah, so might not tag for a few days.))

Anne smiled and let him take the book from her. She smirked as he looked over the cover and examined the contents. "I know I don't have to, but I'm going to - because I want to."

Anne hooked her arm with his and smiled as she tugged him towards the register and exit.

"Yes, let's pay for our find and be on the way. Perhaps you'd indulge me with some original poetry of your own at a nice cafe?" She tilted her head.

"O miserable sorrow withouten cure! The lady demands a poem," Wyatt exclaimed dramatically. "If it please thee lo to have me thus suffer..." He couldn't help but tease her.

With Anne tucked to his side, Wyatt found the required euros from his wallet to purchase the book. After saying goodbye to the secluded little treasure trove of literature, they made their way to an equally picturesque cafe with a couple of seats outside.

"So my love, what would you like to hear?" he asked, extending his hand across the table to hold her hand. "Something sweet and sappy? Painful? Something so new that I don't remember half of it?"

((ooc: 'O miserable sorrow' is here: http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/Archive/Wyatt10.htm#anchor028 ))

Anne laughed at his teasing, but all the same gave him a playful glare. When the cashier rang out the book, Anne took the bag with their purchase into her own hand to carry it.

"Oh sure, I torture you so," she teased him back as they left the shop. "Perhaps I should relieve you of the suffering I subject you to."

She stuck her tongue out playfully at him to show that she was kidding. When they made their way to the cafe, Anne settled into a chair and glanced briefly at the menu before Thomas spoke again. She smiled and laced her fingers with his, squeezing gently. "Hmmm...painful would not suit such a lovely day. Something new, perhaps? But something sweet, all the same."

"Yeah, I'm not up to anything sad or painful, either, even if it is hard to find a poem of mine that doesn't deal with those subjects," he chuckled, also taking a look at the menu and deciding in his mind that he'd be having a grilled panini with a small beer.

"But I've been working on something that I'd be happy to have your opinion on. I have a few stanzas ready and so many more ideas left that it'll be a long poem I'm sure. It kind of started to form in my head when I visited Allington a couple of weeks ago. I just love it there in early summer and wanted to put that down in writing."

The waiter came to take their orders which was good timing because then Wyatt could recite the poem without interruptions. Anne was about to find out that he had indeed taken inspiration from Kentish countryside. It was a love poem and it had a slightly sad undertone like all his poems but the references to nature made it quite light-hearted.

"My house shall be the greenwood tree,
A tuft of brakes my bed.
And this my life I lead
As one that from his joy doth flee
And all for your love, my dear.

And when the deer draw to the green,
Makes me think on a roe:
How I have seen ye go
Above the fairest, fairest be seen!
And all for your love, my dear.

The running streams shall be my drink.
Acorns shall be my food.
Naught else shall do me good
But on your beauty for to think
And all for your love, my dear."

Wyatt took a pause. The order of the stanzas was not yet set in stone in his head. It wasn't a problem but it meant he needed a moment to remember how to continue.

"But where I see in any coast
Two turtles sit and play,
Rejoicing all the day,
Alas, I think, this have I lost
And all for your love, my dear."

He still held onto Anne's hand when he finished with the poem.

"...that's what I have so far."

((ooc: I'm sending you a PM about this poem but please note here: order of the stanzas is deliberately mixed up. I wanted to convey the idea that he hasn't decided how it's going to be in the end.))

Anne laughed and shook her head. "Plenty of your poems deal with vivid imagery and loving bliss!" She pointed out. She started to respond again, but the waiter appeared. Anne ordered her choices: strawberry wine with an assortment of melon and berries and a salad with walnuts and brie with a raspberry vinaigrette.

But she was far more interested to hear his poem. When the waiter left, Anne smiled and turned her full attention to Thomas. "I'm anxious indeed - I haven't seen Allington in so long, I'd love to see it as it is now. But I want to hear about it through your words."

She fell silent when he recited it for her, and she tilted her head a bit as he spoke. Anne smiled and squeezed his hand when he finished.

"It's wonderful, Thomas," She took his hand in both of hers and brushed her lips over his knuckles. "If I understand it correctly - the speaker laments giving up these things, these wonderful things, for the love of his desired lady?"

Sometimes it was hard for her to grasp the more subtle nuances of Thomas' poetry. It was so mature and intellectual that she often had to pay very close attention to each and every word in order to understand its full meaning.

((ooc: Got it! And I think I found a link to the full poem, I PMed it back to you))

((ooc: I have to improvise as I'm not sure how to interpret that poem and Wyatt won't tell me :) I could be way off.)

Wyatt bit his lower lip. He knew his poems weren't always easy due to the archaic language he loved to use. He appreciated Anne for trying to decipher them although what he really wanted was for her to feel them. If she did that, she couldn't go wrong.

"Thank you. As I said it's not finished. I can still develop it in this way or that way. I can take a direction that would please you. I mean... well, my initial thought was that the person speaking the lines has been banished to the countryside for loving a woman he isn't supposed to love. He finds comfort in nature, watching the animals and living plainly, and remembering his lady."

The waiter brought their food and drinks, a feast quite different from acorns and spring water.

"And he willingly suffers the separation period for he knows that in time the woman will be his again. Maybe then he has to let go some of the things he cherished before but he accepts it. All for her love."

((ooc: That's the beauty of poetry: Interpretation is fluid :) ))

It was challenging at times, but Anne loved the language he used for his poetry. It spoke back to the old days of good, proper poetry. It paid homage to the original poets. She needed a bit more time to figure it out sometimes. But all the same, she would have it no other way.

"I think it could use some rearranging, perhaps. But overall I like it!" She assured him. When he explained the poem, she squeezed his hand in hers and smiled.

The waiter returned before she could respond, so Anne waited a brief moment until they had their relative privacy once again.

"It's beautiful, sad in a way, but beautiful," she smiled. "That nature distracts him, gives him something else to focus on. But nothing compares to his lady, deep down."

His last sentence had her biting her lower lip. In many ways, this poem spoke to their relationship. Had he done that on purpose, she wondered. She chose not to comment on that, lest she make him uncomfortable. Instead she lifted her drink and held it aloft in toast.

"To you, my Poet. And to the beauty your words capture so flawlessly as no photograph or painting ever could," she smiled.

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