It does take her a moment to really process it, because even in the first second, she thinks she misheard. Then she thinks maybe he misspoke, because dear lord this is not what he had expected him to say, so much so that there's a slight barrier to her even understanding correctly.
But then he goes on, and it's like her face, which is usually very expressive, freezes in place. It's hung, in suspense, before she can decide what to believe and what not to, as all the scary things about werewolves start slowly fading in.
She doesn't say anything right away when he's done, and that's the first Derek would be able to smell it. That trace of fear. She's scared — not of him perse, but of an uncertain future, because Felicity's imagination has always been too broad for her own good. But along with that fear is a certain stubborn disbelief that the guy in front of her could do any of those things she's imagined for herself.
She takes a sip of her tea, completely aware that it's been a good few seconds now since she's spoken, and she holds up a finger before he can say anything more.
"Just- let me- process that for a little bit."
It's the subtle little details in his body language really, like the fact that he's leaning back, that do help, even if she can't recognize it consciously.
Honestly, maybe he's just like Remus. And- and Remus was a Gryffindor. It's really too bad that she was too old to watch Twilight. Otherwise her image of werewolves would be gorgeous beefy young men. Ahem.
When she's finally ready to talk, her fingers curl unconsciously around her mug, seeking out its familiar warmth.
no subject
It does take her a moment to really process it, because even in the first second, she thinks she misheard. Then she thinks maybe he misspoke, because dear lord this is not what he had expected him to say, so much so that there's a slight barrier to her even understanding correctly.
But then he goes on, and it's like her face, which is usually very expressive, freezes in place. It's hung, in suspense, before she can decide what to believe and what not to, as all the scary things about werewolves start slowly fading in.
She doesn't say anything right away when he's done, and that's the first Derek would be able to smell it. That trace of fear. She's scared — not of him perse, but of an uncertain future, because Felicity's imagination has always been too broad for her own good. But along with that fear is a certain stubborn disbelief that the guy in front of her could do any of those things she's imagined for herself.
She takes a sip of her tea, completely aware that it's been a good few seconds now since she's spoken, and she holds up a finger before he can say anything more.
"Just- let me- process that for a little bit."
It's the subtle little details in his body language really, like the fact that he's leaning back, that do help, even if she can't recognize it consciously.
Honestly, maybe he's just like Remus. And- and Remus was a Gryffindor. It's really too bad that she was too old to watch Twilight. Otherwise her image of werewolves would be gorgeous beefy young men. Ahem.
When she's finally ready to talk, her fingers curl unconsciously around her mug, seeking out its familiar warmth.
"What does it mean, exactly, to be a werewolf?"