Work Text:
Rex’s eyes lit up as he spotted the carriage-still waiting, its dappled mare shifting her weight as passengers stepped down. He didn’t speak right away, instead watching the scene unfold. Only then did he turn to Paisley, his breath hitched with excitement. “Can we?”
Paisley stiffened, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Was he joking? He had to be. Her gaze darted toward the carriage, toward the massive creature tethered to it-waiting, expectant. She swallowed, as if forcing down the absurdity.
“You cannot be serious,” she said, utterly appalled at what he was suggesting. “Why would anyone willingly endure something so archaic? We have actual vehicles, you know-the kind that don’t rely on animals.”
"I’ve always wanted to ride one, Pais. There’s something magical about slowing down-letting the world pass by instead of racing through it."
“You’re romanticizing an inefficient relic of the past. Should we start churning our own butter next? Write letters by candlelight?” she questioned, eyeing the ancient mode of transportation with clear skepticism.
Rex chuckled and shook his head. “Paisley, it’s not about efficiency-it’s about the experience! You can’t measure magic with horsepower,” he said.
She stared at Rex, incredulity written across her face. He swiftly folded his hands together and dropped to one knee in front of her. Rex gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, tilting his head just enough to look ridiculous-just enough to make her sigh. He even clasped his hands in exaggerated pleading, exaggerating his charm until it bordered on ridiculous. And the worst part? It worked. It always worked.
She rolled her eyes, the word 'No' poised at the tip of her tongue.
“Please, Pais?” he asked again with real sincerity in his voice. She could tell- as ridiculous as it was- that this was something he truly wanted.
Paisley folded her arms tighter, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her sleeves. The horse snorted, shifting in place, and she found herself glaring at it-as if the beast itself were responsible for Rex’s absurd request.
She took a slow, measured breath, ready-desperate, even-to deny him again. But then she caught the light in his eyes, unwavering, hopeful. Against all reason, against the very fiber of her pragmatic nature, her resolve wavered.
Her shoulders sagged.
“Fine,” she muttered at last, her cheeks dusted a faint rose.
Rex sprang to his feet, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. Instead of the victory cheer Paisley expected, he gingerly took her hand and led her toward the carriage.
The first thing she notices is the scent-leather, aged and softened by time, mingling with the musk of the horse, thick and earthy. There’s a faint note of hay beneath it all, a whisper of warmth and dust clinging to the evening air.
The next thing Paisley notices is the sheer size of the beast up close. Its ears twitch and it cranes its long neck in order to sniff in her direction curiously.
Without meaning to, she grips Rex’s arm a little tighter-but if he noticed, he said nothing, which somehow made her even more uneasy.
He pays-something she wouldn’t normally allow-and helps her into the coach with an unexpected air of seriousness.
Paisley clutches the railing so tightly her fingertips throb in an attempt to fortify herself before the carriage even begins to move. Her breath comes uneven. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath, stealing a glance at Rex-who, annoyingly, looks entirely at ease.
The carriage lurched forward, jolting Paisley with a sudden sway. She stiffened, bracing against the railing, her breath caught in her throat. The first few moments rattled her-every jolt, every creak of wheels on pavement a stark reminder that she was, indeed, trapped inside this ridiculous contraption. And yet-slowly, the motions grew predictable. The rocking less jarring, the rhythm less intrusive. And something shifted.
At first she hardly noticed the bustling streets or the lively jazz spilling from Satchmo’s nearby. But as the driver wound the duo from busy lane to quiet glistening street, Paisley started to absent-mindedly explore the city.
The carriage rolled past glowing shopfronts, where neon signs buzzed faintly above handwritten chalk menus, where sleek glass doors stood beside brick archways worn by time. A trumpet’s melody curled through the streets-bold, brassy notes swelling, then breaking against the murmur of the city. A distant voice called out, laughter folding into the hum of conversation before vanishing into the night.
Slowly, cautiously, she loosened her grip.
She leaned forward, the city unfolding before her in slow, deliberate beauty. At first, she simply observed-the soft glow of lamplight, the intricate details in the stonework. But as the carriage wound through quiet streets, her gaze softened. She let herself absorb it, let herself feel it. A shift, gentle yet undeniable.
The horse snorted-a sudden, sharp sound that cut through her reverie. Paisley startled, fingers twitching against the fabric of her coat. She turned, ready to snap at Rex, but then-he laughed.
Paisley shoots him a sharp look, ready to object, but the words falter when she sees the quiet joy softening his features as he watches her.
Paisley pulled her jacket tighter, the night air threading through the fabric like restless fingers. It carried the scent of damp stone, distant perfume, and the lingering warmth of a city that refused to sleep.
Her fingers loosen their grip on her jacket. She leans forward, hesitant at first-then curious.
The carriage drifted into the older district, where lamplight flickered uncertainly, bending around jagged spires and half-hidden gargoyles. Shadows clung to the architecture like old whispers, stretching and curling with the rhythm of the night.The city murmured, soft and low, its secrets wrapped in the hush of lantern glow-stories Paisley had never thought to listen to before. But tonight, they breathed.
Rex watched her in silence. He could have spoken-could have teased her about this shift, about how she had softened, about how she was finally seeing the magic in the absurd thing he had begged for. But he didn’t. He let the moment belong to her first. And only when the carriage turned down a quiet, lantern-lit street did his grin emerge-smaller than before, quieter. Knowing.
When she was fairly certain Rex wasn’t looking her way anymore, she let the thought settle-a quiet, unspoken admission. Her fingers brushed against the railing, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. And then, with the faintest smile of her own, she let the thought linger-unexpected, foreign, but not unwelcome.
Maybe old-fashioned things weren’t so bad after all.
Maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to believe that.
BONUS SCENE:
Paisley hesitated, the sugar cube balanced between her fingertips. Bree’s dark eyes watched her, ears twitching, nostrils flaring with quiet interest.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone. Rex, of course, was grinning like an idiot.
“It’s just a sugar cube, Pais,” he teased. “She’s not going to judge you.”
Paisley narrowed her eyes but turned back to Bree, extending her hand slowly. The mare sniffed, warm breath tickling Paisley’s palm before her lips parted, whiskers brushing against her skin as she delicately plucked the treat.
Paisley stiffened, prepared for something unpleasant, but-nothing. No slobber. No chomping. Just a quiet, gentle gesture.
Her fingers lingered in the space where Bree had been, the moment still settling.
“…Huh,” she murmured.
Rex’s grin widened. “You’re hopeless.”
She huffed, but-this time-she didn’t argue.