[ well, he's more or less entirely what she expected.
perhaps even a little worse. everything he owns reeks of expense and a silver spoon background, down to the woody cologne he wore the first time they met. this doesn't bother elena; he's paying for most of this, with both his money and his ego. you don't always get far in this job on limited budgets, and no matter her verve and unshakeable determination, there's always an executive somewhere that doesn't buy it. rafe would be impressive, she thought, if he kept his mouth shut. his clothes and gear are top quality, expensive, but understated. neutral, few brand names, a limited colour palette masquerading as a sense of fashion. not that she knows anything about that, herself. she dresses for utility, and nothing else. who cares if it's got sweat stains and holes along the hem if it's comfortable, mobile and still in one piece?
but he opens his mouth. a lot.
smarmy doesn't quite cover it, because his confidence is almost as fervent as elena's determination. sometimes she can't tell if it's so genuine that it still toes the line without crossing into arrogance, but then he flashes her a smirk and she knows it does. she doesn't hate him. not yet. she can't even say for certain she even dislikes him, if only because he had something, on camera. he commands something. even if her eyes are becoming more than a little too accustomed to rolling aggressively, anywhere up to fifty times a day.
still, she can't quite read him. he doesn't exactly hide much of himself, per se, but it's enough for elena to put up her own barrier, just in case. and god knows, she doesn't trust him, but she's curious. they have a habit of observing each other; she wonders if he thinks the same about her.
the site is quieter now, the day's filming winding down and the sun dipping down towards the horizon, casting longer shadows and amber tones along the columns. the crew is packing the equipment back into the vans, without any rush, satisfied by their progress. elena and rafe hang back, elena to take some photos for herself, and rafe &emdash; she doesn't know what he's still doing here. the sun catches occasionally on the face of his watch, casting a dancing oval across the stone, distracting her.
there's a temptation to capture him in a photograph, illuminated by the evening light, staring out at the dusty landscape around them. hair still perfectly slicked back, not a thread out of place, a picture of modernity contrastes against this ancient place. elena doesn't give in to the temptation, and lowers the camera instead. ]
At the risk of jinxing us, this is going pretty smoothly so far. [ without looking at him, speaking mostly to break the ethereal quiet as elena goes back through the pictures she's taken. ] We might even get ahead of schedule at this rate.
[ testing the waters, wanting his opinion without directly asking for it. she likes to make statements instead, to see his reactions. ]
LAAAAAAUGHS
perhaps even a little worse. everything he owns reeks of expense and a silver spoon background, down to the woody cologne he wore the first time they met. this doesn't bother elena; he's paying for most of this, with both his money and his ego. you don't always get far in this job on limited budgets, and no matter her verve and unshakeable determination, there's always an executive somewhere that doesn't buy it. rafe would be impressive, she thought, if he kept his mouth shut. his clothes and gear are top quality, expensive, but understated. neutral, few brand names, a limited colour palette masquerading as a sense of fashion. not that she knows anything about that, herself. she dresses for utility, and nothing else. who cares if it's got sweat stains and holes along the hem if it's comfortable, mobile and still in one piece?
but he opens his mouth. a lot.
smarmy doesn't quite cover it, because his confidence is almost as fervent as elena's determination. sometimes she can't tell if it's so genuine that it still toes the line without crossing into arrogance, but then he flashes her a smirk and she knows it does. she doesn't hate him. not yet. she can't even say for certain she even dislikes him, if only because he had something, on camera. he commands something. even if her eyes are becoming more than a little too accustomed to rolling aggressively, anywhere up to fifty times a day.
still, she can't quite read him. he doesn't exactly hide much of himself, per se, but it's enough for elena to put up her own barrier, just in case. and god knows, she doesn't trust him, but she's curious. they have a habit of observing each other; she wonders if he thinks the same about her.
the site is quieter now, the day's filming winding down and the sun dipping down towards the horizon, casting longer shadows and amber tones along the columns. the crew is packing the equipment back into the vans, without any rush, satisfied by their progress. elena and rafe hang back, elena to take some photos for herself, and rafe &emdash; she doesn't know what he's still doing here. the sun catches occasionally on the face of his watch, casting a dancing oval across the stone, distracting her.
there's a temptation to capture him in a photograph, illuminated by the evening light, staring out at the dusty landscape around them. hair still perfectly slicked back, not a thread out of place, a picture of modernity contrastes against this ancient place. elena doesn't give in to the temptation, and lowers the camera instead. ]
At the risk of jinxing us, this is going pretty smoothly so far. [ without looking at him, speaking mostly to break the ethereal quiet as elena goes back through the pictures she's taken. ] We might even get ahead of schedule at this rate.
[ testing the waters, wanting his opinion without directly asking for it. she likes to make statements instead, to see his reactions. ]