Flutter

Flutter: Dix-Sept (1)

She wasn't disgusted by him.

 She didn't hate him.

Quinton kept replaying Nora's words over and over in his head. In fact, if he closed his eyes he could recall the exact way she said it. Quinton remembered the way her voice trembled and her hesitation. In fact, Quinton could pick up on all the little nuances of her speech. For example, Quinton knew that she couldn't say variety for her life and instead said va-air-ety. Nora rolled her R's a certain way and acquired a lisps whenever overly excited. 

 Quinton. however, is a man of letters. His father gave him extensive lessons in English, Latin, Spanish and French, excepting nothing but perfection. Quinton remembered the days of his youth sitting at a cold desk, practicing cursive. He'd meticulously curl his S's and U's. Quinton's father would survey his handwriting daily (at  noon in the office).  If Quinton's work wasn't up to par, he'd be given his father's infamous sneer and be berated for sloppy handy work. Quinton would have to do the work over.  It didn't end with the cursive. Quinton wrote essays, interpreted poetry, recited soliloquies and dramatic monologues, and had to do it to the specifications of his father.

"Enunciate." Sir Reeves would say, as a young Quinton stood in front of him, back straight as a rod (for posture is important). Sir Reeves did not appreciate a lazy tongue or lazy shoulders. "Communication is not just what you say, but how you say it, and what you look like while speaking."

 That's what his father would tell him when Quinton recited Shakespeare. 

Everything is about first impressions after all.

Yes, Quinton is a man of letters.

So, when he had first seen Nora standing there with her wind whipped hair, bare feet, and dirt smudges, he was aghast. Quinton was not a happy man.

Nora was not what Quinton had expected as a mate. Being a busy man, Quinton didn't have much time to to fantasize about love, mates, and other such frivolities. However, knowing that he always wanted to sire children, a mate was a part of the picture. Quinton always presumed that he would find his mate-to-be at a gala someday, not in some cornfield.

Though, Quinton no longer had qualms about where he found Nora or what she looked like when he had first seen here. Thinking back to the day actually made him smile. From the get go Nora had been her whimsical self - silly and sassy - and never apologizing for it.  Quinton had never met a woman who was ever truly herself around him. Charlene was quick to mold herself to suit Quinton's tastes. The constant but- kissing wore thin and that's just one of the reasons his dalliance with Charlene got the boot.

Nora told him no, argued with him, angered him (far too many times), and drove Quinton up the wall.  Yet, Quinton always found himself coming back down to Earth for more. 

"Quinton have you heard a word I've said?" Blaine exclaimed.

Quinton shook his head and focused on the wolf that sat across from him.

"I seem to have drifted off. What was that you just said?"

"Quinton, I can come back later at a better time, when you're less distracted."

"Nonsense. I'm fine."

Blaine harrumphed.

"You've been zoning in and out this whole while. What's gotten into you, anyways?"

"Blaine, give it a rest. I'm my old self."

"Please, Quinton. I've known you for years now. You haven't been your old self since a certain brown haired female waltzed into Gillans."