Old Time Romance [Dalton]

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Taking place on Sundary, February 13th. Outside of Pilot Ridge.


Life happened. Life wasn’t always good but it always happened. Clarisse had simply come to expect that bad things happened to good people and just prayed that worse things happened to bad people. That often seemed cynical to the French woman and that was why nothing; repeat: NOTHING would ruin her Valentine’s day. Despite a bit of a hitch in the goings of their relationship, Dalton had agreed to come out with Clarisse for Valentine’s day (or rather, the day before her Valentine’s day) to the Norman Rockwell exhibit she’d suggested before that had unfortunately had to be…er…postponed.

Now just as life could be exceedingly cruel and unwavering odd, Clarisse also firmly believed that life could be good. Really good! Considering that the weather was beautiful -- cool, but beautiful -- and the drive even more so, life was excellent. She stretched discreetly when they arrived at the exhibit, having exited the car with ease after Jake opened the door. She smoothed the skirt of her navy blue dress and shook herself with excitement. “Thank you for coming with me today, Jake. I’m so excited!” She chirped, a smile practically glued immovably to her face.

Going out on a Sunday afternoon in Vermont was a fairly common practice, but Clarisse had been pleasantly surprised to have avoided crowds. It seemed no one wanted to see an art exhibit when they could be out seeing shows, having brunch, or some other Valentine’s day cliché. That left the gallery pleasantly slow, with no throngs of people to have to peek over or shuffle through. No loud tour groups, no school children. Just Clarisse, Jake, and the art.

She threaded her arm shyly through his, looking up at him with a quieter, sweeter smile. The sun winked momentarily off the rose barrette Clarisse had put into her hair. She wore it rather often since Christmas, and now it wasn’t even a gesture of thanks to Jake who had originally given it to her. It was just a part of her morning routine now: brush hair, clip in barrettes, think of Jake, smile.

[Jacob Dalton]

They say that life has its peaks and valleys. To Dalton it felt as if the past twenty years had been a Grand Canyon, until the Christmas party this year. That had started three weeks of bliss, high upon a mountain. Then came the valley of January, through which Clarisse’s tender care had led him safely. Now it seemed as if together they were hiking briskly together towards another peak.

Thanks to Clarisse, both his physical and emotional wounds from the ordeal were quite nearly healed. His harrowing escape had left its scars, but had left him a bit humbler and hopefully wiser. Above all, he had been amazed and humbled by Clarisse’s devotion in coming out to search for him in the storm. Beyond that, her loyalty in the days after was a gift beyond price. If he had been humbled, yet he had also been infinitely reassured.

In the past, he had always sought to make Valentine’s Day and other holidays special: whether true or no, he had always felt rebuffed. But now he was with someone who seemed as eager as he to enjoy the day, and make it memorable.

The drive from Pilot Ridge to Montpelier had been lovely. It was a clear, sunny day in the 60’s, too chilly for putting down the top, but excellent considering the season. And on such occasions, Vermont was truly a picturesque state. They had spent the time admiring the scenery, occasionally reminiscing on similar scenes from each of their pasts: getting to know the little things about each other that sometimes added up to so much.

The veil of the past weeks was lifting: the sun in the sky seemed an appropriate metaphor. Once more Dalton could relax, enjoy the drive, feel the world as safe. The smiling presence of the lady at his side seemed to herald a new chapter on life: a chapter full of hope and promise.

Dalton was quite pleased on their arrival to find the museum parking lot not packed to the gills. Obviously most couples were finding more modern styles of entertainment elsewhere: all the better for both. He pulled in contentedly to a spot fairly close to the building, and was quick to come around and open the door for Clarisse.

“Thank you, my dear, for suggesting this. Rockwell has always inspired a smile or even a laugh for me: I think we shall enjoy this immensely.”

He extended his arm to accept hers, and they strolled up the steps to the museum. At the top he paused for a moment, looking out across the town. He took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spring. New beginnings. About time, wouldn’t you say?”

He smiled at Clarisse, knowing she, too, would be thinking of much more than the seasons…

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse halted a bit abruptly at the top of the steps, drawn to a stop by her lead’s pause. He turned before she did, and when she followed suit, her eyes lingered on Dalton’s face rather than on where his gaze led. It was good to see him breathing deep, looking and savoring; to see the thin lines around his eyes crinkle in a gentle smile.

When he turned to her, she was still looking at him, her face breaking into a charmed grin. “Long past it, I’d think.” She replied with an assured nod. “I’m quite tired of the cold.” After a moment, Clarisse gently laid her head on Dalton’s shoulder, choosing to let the gentle moment speak for itself.

She wanted more than anything to remember the moments that were like this. Clarisse tried never to hold on to the parts of the past that were painful, but to learn from them and move on. Cherishing the moments that were calm, tender, and soothing were better. They made for memories full of cool spring breezes and the scent of flowers. Bad times had a habit of burning themselves in anyway, why bother to dwell too hard on that.

Lifting her head, Clarisse regarded her date with curiosity. “Shall we head inside?” She offered, although simply standing at the entrance and watching the clouds go by was looking like just as attractive so far as their options went.

[Jacob Dalton]

It was a beautiful sky: bright blue with white clouds rolling by, glittering in the sun. But when he turned back to Clarisse, the view seemed brighter still. The warmth, acceptance and appreciation reflected in her face seemed to say that the winter of their hearts was passed, and time for spring had come.

Her head on his shoulder was a slight surprise, but a welcome one. He wrapped a gentle arm around her waist and hugged her softly to him, marveling at the perfect fit of arm and the curve of her body. It would seem they were even the perfect height for each other.

As she asked her question, Dalton could see that she would be happy either way. But there would be many bright days ahead, he was certain, and the exhibit was only here for a short time. “Yes, let’s do.”

He led the way in, paying the fee and presenting the tickets to the greeter. Once past the last of the ubiquitous velvet ropes, they were in the rotunda. Under the spacious, airy dome, paintings and presentations had been laid out in a pair of casual circles with a larger display at the center. One could follow the circle around or simply browse as they chose.

Close by, amid a variety of covers for the Saturday Evening Post, Dalton spotted one of his favorites: a whimsical scene of grocer and shopper facing off over a hanging scale, the grocer pulling down on one edge, the shopper pressing up from underneath.

Dalton chuckled and strolled slowly in that direction. So many themes presented themselves to his mind: the scales of justice and balance, the blindness of the amateur deceivers to each other’s ploys, and others. But perhaps thanks to Clarisse, he was able to relax for a moment to let them go, and simply appreciate the droll humor.

“I always did enjoy the whimsy of that one,” he told her: “I can’t really say why this above others, but it simply catches my fancy. What about you? When you think of Rockwell, are there any particular works of his that come to mind as your favorites?”

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse shook herself a bit with excitement, a momentary childish glee breaking her normally understated composure. She quickly calmed though, and thanked him softly for paying the fee. The French woman was rather fond of the easy way the exhibition had been set up, glad to see people both following the path and simply milling about.

She followed next to Dalton, her arm threaded in his, and smiled widely when he steered them to a cover he was particularly fond of. A soft laugh escaped her as she took in the scene, wishing that sometimes life could be so whimsical.

Clarisse blushed slightly when asked to divulge her own favorite. “Actually, I was always quite fond of ‘The Tomboy.’ “ she admitted. If there was anything that didn’t describe Clarisse, it would be Tomboy, but she was fond of it all the same. “I’m sure she’s in here somewhere.” She remarked, looking about herself curiously. The triumphant smirk on the wiry little girls’ face really just reminded her of Yves, her dearest friend. She smiled distantly at the thought of the other woman, now long gone, and chuckled at how similar she and the girl in the painting were. “I used to know a girl quite a bit like she would be, I think.” Clarisse explained, nodding softly. “Pig tails and all!”


[OoC: Apologies for the delay! And the shortness @.@]