sylviedevereux | sorry seems to be the hardest word [Open]

She spends the entire flight wringing her hands. As soon as the plane took off she regretted her decision and wished she was anywhere but strapped into her seat heading towards the United States. She's never been to the USA, and on some level, that's exciting, she supposes, but on the main level, oh mon dieu, what am I doing? Four years ago, she said that she was done with this, with him, with everything that kept tying her down to that mess of a life. She said that she was done, but here she is, flying straight into the eye of the storm.

She comes armed with more books on the occult than she thought she'd ever be able to find. Her local librarian had thought she was losing it a little with how many books she had gathered, but she had to know everything she could before she faced him again. Once, he had told her what he was, and despite the love and the gorgeous life they had shared, the whole idea had stricken icy fear down her spine. She had thought she couldn't get tangled up in that mess again; she had wondered, briefly, if he had been one of them, sent to find her.

In her rational mind, Sylvie knows it was all a gut reaction, that two years of trusting Shea Cooper with everything she had should have taught her better than to doubt him at a second's notice. She'll regret making that decision until the day she dies, and this is some kind of atonement for it, like she can forgive herself for throwing away her happy ending if she just sees him one more time.

The plane touches down and she's in a cab heading for Siren Cove before she's really ready for it, and then the cottage she'd organised online is staring her in the face and this is real. She gives herself long enough to unlock the door and put her bags down before she grabs her handbag and heads straight back out the front door. If she's going to deal with this, the first thing she needs to go and find is a bottle of wine, and maybe by tomorrow she'll have steeled herself to track him down.

ooc: hi, this is sylvie. quick intro post for her before I have to hiatus :( catch her around town, or maybe be her neighbour?

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She can't help but notice the hesitation in his voice when he says husband, and she smiles. "Relax, I'm French." She figures that explains enough. She's not one to judge, especially with the way she can feel the affection in his words as he talks about him. She doesn't want to hold Joel up more than he wants to be, but she's enjoying talking to him. It's relaxing after she's tied herself in knots for days trying to work out what to say when she got here.

She'd made the decision to come to Siren Cove a month ago, and it had taken a few weeks of deep breathing and frantic packing to be able to get here. Now that she is, there's something comforting about standing in jeans and a sweater in a grocery aisle chatting to a man who seems more welcoming than she had expected from a small town.

"That's great. Any chance he knows of a good music store?" She doesn't have the money to reacquire her possessions, but it might be nice to go and find a place, to run her fingers over the instruments and feel like she's home again. Maybe they'll even let her play in the store. She hasn't touched a piano in years; since her own was sold, she hasn't been able to summon the money or the courage to buy a new one. She still has her keyboard, the small one Shea had bought her when she was in one of her lower moods. She's carried it with her here, and it means the world to her because he bought it, because he knew exactly what she needed, but she still longs for the real thing again.

Joel laughs a little, an embarrassed huff of air more than anything, but her comment puts him at ease all the same. She doesn't seem to care that he's married to a man and Joel wonders if it's Spencer's doing, but it seems to be easier and easier lately to please him, because that's all it really takes for him to think he likes Sylvie. She seems kind and there's a part of Joel that really likes the idea of having someone else around who can speak French. He gets so little practice as it is.

"Oh, there are a few," he says, his pleasure growing a little when she mentions a music store. "I don't think either of us are experts when it comes to instruments, but there's one by my bookstore, just a few doors down. I don't play anything, though, so my advice would limited to where to buy records." His collection is only partly moved to Spencer's and it's already a little ridiculous, but he can't help it. Most of what he's bought is still stored in the apartment above his store.

She grins, pleased to know that there's at least somewhere in this town that she can get her fix. She's itching to get her hands on some records, even, something to play while she crawls into a hole at home after Shea inevitably tells her to get out of his life. She never used to be this maudlin, she muses, and quickly shoves it to the back of her mind.

"Records are good, too," she says, eager to meet someone who seems to share her enjoyment, even if he doesn't play. "I play piano, mostly. It's been a while, though."

"There are a lot of musically inclined people in this town," Joel says, not entirely sure how else to discuss sirens without revealing what they are. For the most part, the sirens he knows don't make much of a secret about the things they can do, but he still doesn't feel comfortable talking about it without their explicit permission. "There's a music festival every summer, it's... well, it's probably the only social gathering I go to," he admits with a faint grin.

He's never done well in crowds, but he'll always brave the world for that one. Music has been such a big part of his life for such a long time that it can pull him out of his shell better than almost anything else. "I'm sure you'll be able to find a place to play," he says. "I wish I could help more with that, but I'm more of a listener."

sorry seems to be the hardest word [Open]

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