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Jane in real life doesn't quite match up with the Jane in your head. She's softer, prettier, quieter in person; you're tempted to use words like demure or charming. Then you catch her eye, and think you can practically hear all the gears and cogs in her brain whirring away. Jane's as sharp as a tack, you remind yourself. Perhaps the word you're looking for shouldn't be shy, but rather waiting.
Roxy hangs off of Jane's shoulders and talks for her—for all of you, really. Dirk swallows hard as she reaches out to wreck his careful hairstyle, and as for yourself—as much as you hate to admit it, you're a bit overwhelmed by all these moving, thinking beings in your personal space. You'd always imagined this meeting to be a bit different. The level of slapdash heroism is spot-on, but perhaps not after kissing your best bro's decapitated head? It's a bit much for a fellow to take in. Jane's got the right of it, you think, watching and waiting. You'd do well well to follow her example.
She's always been pretty, you think, but the high-definition of real life certainly does wonders. Jane finally turns to you and raises a self-conscious eyebrow, and only then do you realize that you've been staring.
--
You and Dirk take first watch that evening, allowing the girls to get some well-needed rest. You chatter on for a while before you realize, “Oh, blast, they're trying to sleep, aren't they? I'll be mister zipperlips. Sorry, Dirk.”
He shrugs. “You could just try to keep it down, instead.”
“Still,” you continue, “what a day it's been. I can't wait to start adventuring, all of us together! Just think of it. What a time we'll have!”
“We'd get more done quickly if we split into teams of two,” he replies, pointedly sotto voce. You wince, realizing, and he waves a dismissive hand before you can apologize again.
“I suppose you're right,” you say in a stage whisper. He snorts, amused, and you don't notice how his shoulders relax minutely. “But we could stay together for a day or two, at least? A few hours' kept company is hardly a proper hello.”
Dirk nods, and you grin at him.
“You've been awfully quiet, Strider. Cat got your tongue?”
His eyebrows crease. “Just trying to plan some things out,” he says.
You turn away and look at the girls sleeping on the other side of the fire. You'd alchemized sleeping bags for the four of you to get the “true adventuring experience.” Jane's head at this distance is visible as a dark tangle, dimly gleaming with reflected firelight.
“Jane's quite a looker, isn't she?” you murmur, a bemused half-smile pulling at your mouth. You miss the sharp look Dirk gives you.
“She doesn't seem blue enough for your usual standards,” he says. His voice is carefully neutral; you don't catch that, either.
Your hands stretch above your head, working the day's tension from your neck and shoulders. “Well, her pesterchat color is blue,” you reply. “She's a lady with discerning and excellent taste, at the least.”
“Mm.”
“Roxy's not half bad, either,” you say, giving him a friendly nudge in the ribs.
“Yeah,” he says, “but she's not my type.”
You lapse into silence, staring at Jane. Her glasses are folded beside her sleeping bag, and you can see the easy rise and fall of the blanket as she breathes. Her movements are neat, her thoughts well-ordered and tidy. There's a lot to her, you think. All of your friends are temples whose treasures you can't wait to unearth, but perhaps you should try to get to know Jane first—that perspicacious and lively girl. She's never been the type to rough it, has she? You remember her going camping with her father once or twice, but she can't have the survival skills that the rest of you have. She could use a good guide, someone to show her the ropes.
“Maybe I'll team up with Jane,” you murmur, and then stand before Dirk can say anything. “I'll go scout the perimeter. The defenseless damsels are left in your capable hands, Strider!”
He's still for a moment before his expression smooths out and he nods. “Be careful,” he says.
“I laugh in the face of danger!”
“I really recommend that you don't.”
With a wink and a last wave over your shoulder, you wander off into the dark, twirling a pistol around one finger and whistling.
You promise yourself to talk more with Jane tomorrow. You thought she might have been glancing at you a bit throughout the day, too; but perhaps it was because you were looking at her? She's just so pretty—her cheeks dimple when she laughs, and you couldn't help yourself.
“Sweet dreams,” you murmur with a crooked smile, though no one is close enough to hear you. You can't wait for morning.