And he tells me, as I lay there, reclining on his ornately carved couch...he tells me were I not involved with...so very many others...and he'd met me before he was so involved...he might have proposed.
And now my brain is overanalyzing the question. The question that, to be fair, was never precisely asked.
I've told myself, over and over, were I ever to accept anyone's proposal, it would be the neko lad. If for reasons of endurance, if nothing else, and that being his--putting up with me for so long. But, lying in the lap of this gentleman, feeling his hands stroking my hair, it did make me wonder.
Compatibility, yes. Love, affection, friendship, perfectly fine. Sense of humor, wit, charm, these things are valued. For me, liking how someone argues is very nearly essential--because I'm enough of a volatile personality, I will argue, and if I don't like how my partner retorts, there's no chance, no hope.
Past all these, for all that I'm a frighteningly visual person, comes liking the physical appearance. It's true that the eyes of love paint the person more perfectly, but more than that, intelligence, wit, sense of humor--these things are more important to me than what they look like. What they look like is changeable--I know what I look like is changeable--so how can I expect to fall in love with pretty eyes and quirking lips?
Though good hips. Good gods. Good hips are very nearly essential. Is that shallow?
But anyway...the point is...is it worthy of me to accept someone's proposal simply because they've been there? If I don't want to accept, I mean. Seems sort of...door-prize-ish. "You've been here the longest, you get to take me home."
Leaving aside the fact it would be to my home. Were it the neko lad, anyway.
Maybe it's just me, you know. Maybe I'm not meant to marry here. I do have so very many conditions I'm placing on such a state. I mean, said marriage partner must be willing to accept what I do for a living, which many cannot; accept other loves being in my life, which many cannot; accept that at times, I come with full fur and prominent canines, or twitching whiskers and perking ears, or eight legs, or drained-bloodless pale skin and glowing eyes....and very many can't accept that...plus, I've already picked out my wedding dress.
Just in case.
And it's black.
Which seems to be the final nail in the bridal coffin, frankly.
It made me think, is all. Now? I'm tired of thinking.
Now if the Consort to the Queen would just stop poking me...