Logs:Cheats
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| RL Date: 6 June, 2014 |
| Who: Oliwer, Tayte |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Oliwer and Tayte love jerks. This requires alcohol. |
| Where: Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 12, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Tahvra/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Angst, sex. After Hraedhyth's flight, and Oliwer's discovery, and Tayte's sighting. |
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| Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr The peculiar shape of this room suggests that it was unintentionally expanded, cement holding the ceiling together towards the peculiarly shaped alcove build into the back corner. It's larger than most personal quarters as a result, and though the uneven walls mean nothing sits flush, there's plenty of room for more than the usual amount of furniture. The larger lobe of the lopsided kidney shape that the room has might be considered a studio room. A large bed is tucked into the roundest part of the alcove, though there's a gap behind where the straight headboard does not meet the wall. It's piled high with furs and pillows. In this curve there's also a wardrobe, a dresser, and nightstands. Hooks extending from the ceiling over the dresser have been rigged with two layered chain-link that holds a number of bottles of alcohol of different varieties. The highest drawer in the dresser which is bizarrely the largest locks with a key. Opposite it, closer to the door, is a hearth that's had a throw rug and loveseat set in front of it, along with a few low tables. A set of shelves and a small desk sit opposite the curve of the smaller end of the room. Around the curve and into the little lobe, one finds a great change. There's color everywhere instead of the muted things in the front half. Scarves and streamers hang from little hooks installed in the ceiling, their lengths varying, and a crib is set up in the middle with two small boxes that have toys poking out of their not-quite-shut lids. There's a tall table stocked with all the tools a mother needs (well, those that are safe to be at toddler height) and a small dresser and wardrobe. The furniture is all hand-me-downs but in decent enough condition to make the occupants comfortable. For some, the passions of a gold flight bring tears of joy or ecstasy. For others, there's another kind of tears. For Tayte who'd come to surprise her betrothed with a poorly timed visit from Vintner, it's the latter. She waited for him in the bowl, wrapped up in her travelling cloak to ward against the weather. How he hadn't seen her when she saw him-- had he? Wouldn't that make it worse? All the more reason to cry if he had seen her and still gone off with that woman? There's only one answer for these kinds of tears: alcohol, and a lot of it. Fortunately, since Tayte had every intention of coming back to the Weyr and has only technically been "borrowed" and since her daughter is the daughter of the until-so-very-recently acting Weyrleader, her room has stayed hers. And it's outside that room on the ground where she now sits, bottle in hand. There aren't tears now, just evidence that they once were in the redness of her eyes and the white-knuckled grip on the bottle's neck. It isn't even the good strong stuff, just some strong stuff. But sitting alone on the cold stone floor of a corridor with a bottle of booze in hand is as good a way as any of waving the misery flag. It's a long, long walk from the bathing pools to the craft complex when your thoughts are full not only of your weyrmate with someone who is decidedly not you, but also with the unfamiliar heat left in the wake of the senior queen's flight. Since he's not sure where else to go or what else to do, Oliwer ends up on his way to the room he spends so little time at these days when he finds Tayte on the floor with her bottle. Even on any other day, the healer probably wouldn't just walk by. But he might not just stop and stare at her for the few moments that he does before actually asking, "Are... are you okay?" She's pretty obviously not, but Oliwer doesn't know how to approach the subject any other way. It probably wouldn't matter of Oliwer were someone else right now. With the way Tayte looks up at him, and almost immediately opens her mouth, she would probably tell anyone who happened by and asked, "No. My weyrmate is an asshole. Weyrmate-to-be. Ex-weyrmate. Ex-weyrmate-to-be." She gets hung up on just what H'vier is supposed to be to her now because, well, it's confusing. Especially not having yelled at him yet. Clearly she's had enough alcohol to keep any kind of sensor from inhibiting her speech, and is making use of whatever Vintner voodoo allows her not to slur her speech at this point, "Why are dragonriders such assholes?" Now, H'vier is of course representative of all riders. Though some could argue that her experiences with K'del and Jo haven't left her with anything better to say about them in regard to romantic entanglements. The healer frowns with raw, open sympathy overwhelming his whole expression. He hasn't been drinking, so his response is still somewhat controlled even if the heat of uncertain anger colors his words. "I don't think-- No. I need to think that it's not their fault. That it's not on purpose." But it's something he's having a lot of difficulty thinking right now because Tayte's words echo his thoughs. "Are you-- Is this your room? Do you want some company?" He probably means this innocently enough, admittedly. There's a drunk woman on the ground. That can't be a safe place for her. "Oh, no. This time, it's his fault. A turn and a half of just us except flights and he throws it all away." Oliwer can believe what he wants about his situation, the one Tayte is too drunk to presently be aware of, but would be obvious enough to her otherwise, but H'vier? He's on the hook for this one. The rest of his words though have Tayte setting the bottle aside (it's mostly empty anyway at this point) and starting to struggle up from the ground. It wouldn't be such a struggle if her traveling cloak weren't so very large, "Shells," is the swear as she grasps onto Oliwer's offered hand and the other tugs the clasp at her neck so she can rise unencumbered. Of course, that means she's cloakless. The plan had been to wait in Havi's weyr for him. Where this kind of (relative lack of) dress would be not only acceptable, but encouraged second only to the lack of any kind of dress. Tayte doesn't even seem to realize, of course, as she rises, already saying. "Yes," to the company, "But you'll have to help me find my key. I can't remember where I tucked it away." She probably means this innocently, but there's only so many options as she spreads her arms out away from her body, presumably so he can find her key. The hand is offered, yes, but the only reason it's probably not withdrawn immediately when Tayte's cloak falls away is because she's still holding onto it. Oliwer's gaze drops unconsciously to look at her rather visible body beneath the lacy patterns. He stares for several long moments before his gaze abruptly jerks away to look anywhere else, to give her some semblance of privacy. But that doesn't seem to be what she wants and the healer is a little slow to pick up on what she does want. "Right. I'm not sure I'm..." Comfortable with this. Except he doesn't say that last bit. Instead he glances at the door, then at Tayte again, and then does the search for her key. It's to get her into her room safely, that's all. Oliwer probably comes off as non-threatening. Even if he didn't, it might not make much of a difference. It's once he starts searching for her key that she seems to remember, "Oh, perfect," and, "Sorry, I was going to surprise him." That doesn't mean she shifts away from his hands though. Actually, she lets him go on some moments until, "It might be in a pocket in my cloak." Which would seem to make the most sense. Oops. Tayte bends to snag it up, and the bottle while she's at it, but she can't look for the key and hold the cloak and the bottle all at once so the bottle is thrust into Oliwer's hands and she's searching the material for the elusive pocket. Once found, she does, indeed find the key and starts to fumble with it in the lock. Only, she can't really get it, so after a moment, she's trying to trade key for bottle, perhaps confident that Oliwer can get it. "You're Oliwer, right? The healer?" So at least she's not so drunk that she can't place a face (but then, this is a special skill of bartenders the world over). No doubt a certain shade of red before Tayte suggests the key might not even be on her person, Oliwer is much happier to accept the bottle in place of frisking the barely-covered vintner. "I'm sure he would have been very surprised," he offers awkwardly as he watches her fumble with the key and tries not to actually look at the rest of her. "Right. Oliwer. I... don't think I know your name? Sorry." He even looks apologetic. Names might be a skill for some healers, but he's not one of them. "Well, yes, he would have been. Since apparently he needed to go off with that woman after the flight. This-" The blonde moves one hand to indicate the outfit. "Would've been normal for surprises." Often, anyway. "Tayte. Vintner. I've been back at the Hall some months now but I had my daughter here in the infirmary last turnover." So he probably saw her in recovery, if not for the event. And it's not like she was the only month thirteen or one new mother in the Weyr, and she definitely did not look as hot as this, so it's no wonder he doesn't remember any passing encounter. Tayte leans against the wall, waiting for the door to be opened. In the meantime, she swallows down some more of the booze. "Ah. Right," he says like that must click some hint of recognition. Even if it actually doesn't. But Oliwer has her name now and he does, in fact, manage to get the door open after a moment of fiddling with the unfamiliar lock. "Here we are," he says as he opens the door, pushes it out of the way and stands aside for Tayte to enter her room uninhibited. But once she's inside, he stands uncertainly in the doorway, like he's not entirely sure about this company thing anymore. "Do you have more?" he asks, gesturing briefly toward that bottle of hers. "I don't mean to impose, but I don't have anything to drink in my room anymore. I could use one." "You, my friend," a finger waggles as drunkenly as Tayte in Oliwer's direction after hanging her cloak neatly on its hook next to the door, "have come to the right kind of crafter." Then her hand collects a fistful of the healer's tunic and she pulls him inside, closing the door behind them. "Make yourself at home," the tall blonde invites as she moves towards her booze dresser. Apparently booze take priority over, say, clothes. It can't help matters that she has to lean up and over the stomach-height dresser to fish for the hidden spare key before crouching to fiddle with the lock. After a few moments she manages it and tugs the heavy drawer open. "Something strong and fantastic alright by you?" She's already pulling the bottle and reaching for the opener, so it probably doesn't much matter what he says. Right, he'll just let her drag him inside. If he glances back at the door as though pondering escape, she's probably too drunk to notice. But he does want a drink of his own and going back to his own quarters without one is only likely to prove unwise, so Oliwer does as she says and finds somewhere to sit down, unbuttoning the topmost of his buttons. Is it hot in here? Surely not for Tayte, save perhaps for the alcohol she's been drinking. It's difficult not to look at her. Even for a man of his preference, she's undeniably attractive. Especially with all that lust floating around in the air. "Sounds perfect." Once the bottle is opened, Tayte heads back toward the healer on the loveseat, flopping down beside him and taking a swig from the open bottle before offering it toward him. Maybe she's forgotten entirely about clothes at this point. Only, she shivers. There's no fire in this hearth, so long the room has stood empty, so once the bottle is handed off, she rises and moves toward it, to crouch and start building one there. Oliwer accepts the bottle, hesitates for a moment due to the lack of anything to drink it out of besides the bottle, then takes a drink anyway. Once Tayte is getting back up and he realizes what she's doing, though, the healer is quick to set aside the alcohol and follow her. A hand touches her shoulder as he says, "Let me, yeah? Do you have anything to change into?" Tayte's hand lingers on the piece of wood she's about to add to the neatly forming will-be-fire as she turns to look up at Oliwer, but it's the better part of wisdom to let him, and she must know that. Plus, she has to glance down at herself to remind herself how she's attired. "Oh. Right." So she leaves the healer to the fire and moves across the room to the wardrobe, undoing all the buttons that she would have made H'vier get (probably with his teeth just to prolong the anticipation). The lace overdress comes free and she carefully hangs it in the wardrobe, examining the few things that she left on hangers here. Apparently none of them strike her fancy, so she simply snags a silky black robe that only hangs to mid-thigh, not even bothering to complete the tie on the belt before she's wandering back toward that alcohol bottle. "Rough night for you?" She asks once she's settling, one leg folded demurely over the other on the loveseat and taking another few sips from the bottle. Once the fire is going and Oliwer turns back, he doesn't seem quite sure whether Tayte's change of wardrobe is much more appropriate. But he doesn't comment on it as he returns to the loveseat, sitting as far on the other side as he can manage, both feet on the floor as though making himself less comfortable will be somehow helpful. "Something like that. My, uh, my weyrmate is enjoying the company of someone else as well." He frowns, staring at the fire for a few moments before turning his attention to the bottle Tayte has, clearing his throat and gesturing in silent request. Look, at least this robe isn't see-through. Even if it is a lot shorter. The blonde reaches up and pulls carefully placed sticks from her hair, letting her tresses fall from their careful arrangement atop her head. Then a toast to the forgotten and ill-used," the vintner declares as she lofts the bottle to take a long gulp before passing it over to the healer. Then Tayte's shifting and her long legs are settling across Oliwer's lap. It's really not reasonable to ask her to stretch out any other way on the seat-made-for-a-cozy-two. "Have you been with her long?" Presumably, his weyrmate. Oliwer lifts the bottle to acknowledge her toast before taking a good long drink of his own. The legs that end up across his lap are glanced at but otherwise ignored. Deliberately so. Ignore the flush of his cheeks. It's probably the alcohol. Tayte's question is followed by an awkward silence, though possibly only awkward for him. "Awhile, yes. Not sure long is the right word for it. Not as long as you and yours." At least not judging by how long she'd said they'd been exclusive. And since he's seemed to decide by now not to let the woman falsely believe his weyrmate is female, he adds, "He didn't even chase. Couldn't have." "Oh, well, that figures." Tayte's not looking at Oliwer in a way that suggests his preference is obvious, but rather the comment is explained, "Only a man." Then to the healer with a pretty blush of her own, "I didn't mean to suggest that it's something you would--" And then she shakes her head. "That's just going to dig me deeper," she recognizes before slouching down against the arm of the loveseat, which brings her thighs up onto the man's lap; it's a little like the classic 'ready for the mindhealer' position with some notable differences. "I just meant that I'm mad at him." It's said with conviction if not heat; the alcohol must have served to cool it for the moment. "At them. At anyone who would hurt someone who not only loves them but is committed to them. You don't see us running off with just whomever just because there's lust in the air." Nevermind the way her robe is slipping farther and farther toward her hips as she relates this with the animation of her hands in the air. So many legs. Oliwer keeps his gaze fixed quite steadily on the hearth, any glances toward Tayte while she's talking quickly jerked back to the fire. "It's okay," he assures her of anything she might inadvertently suggest about him. "We are generally sort of awful, aren't we." Men, that is. "Maybe that's why I've never felt like a very good one." While, really, that's sort of complimentary of himself, Oliwer sounds self-deprecating as he says it. "I don't know if I can even blame him. He likes women well enough, you see, and that's just not something I can be for him. I'm not sure it's fair of me to be upset that he'd want to be with one." The woman is happy enough to sigh what must be agreement for the general awfulness of man, but then she needs to look at him suspiciously. Not for the probably-an-actual-compliment, but for the rest. Her legs slide off his lap, and suddenly Tayte is sitting up and scooching up close to Oliwer so she can lean into his space and give him a good hard look with narrowed eyes and wrinkled nose. "Are you supposed to be exclusive?" Oliwer goes a little tense as Tayte sits up and scoots closer but her question is enough to distract him from that for the moment. His mouth opens, probably to say something along the same lines as he's been saying. But her intense, narrowed eyes have him looking down at his lap as he says, "I thought so." "Then you can and will blame him. How hard is it to keep one dick in ones own trousers for a night for crying out loud!" Tayte is a little loud, but only just for a moment, half rising up onto her knees before slumping back down, only this time right next to him. "And why do they get to have all the fun anyway?" This is her next demand of the air. "Why should we have to sit around drinking and crying about it?" Not that there seems to be any tears just now. Just self-righteous indignation. Still tense! But Oliwer works on that with another gulp from the bottle as Tayte settles in next to him. Then another before sort of offering it back to the blonde. "I've never had much problem--" He pauses, frowning to himself before continuing, "I'm not exactly the fun sort. Maybe that's why he's..." Oliwer doesn't finish the thought but glances at Tayte looking not unlike a kicked puppy. He's really not good at this righteous indignation thing. "No such thing!" Tayte declares of 'not being the fun sort. She stands abruptly. The bottle is left to Oliwer, which is probably for the best, as he might need it as the vintner starts pacing in front of him, her robe falling open. "Let's do something fun!" Poor Oli probably could regret stopping in the corridor right about now. "We could catch a ride to Ista and go skinny dipping! Or to Benden and go dancing! Or-- I don't know. Something!" She stops and twists to face Oli, hands going to her hips and giving him an eyeful of the front of her. "What do you think?" The healer is very obviously trying to not look at Tayte and her open robe. He's looking over there instead and when he does glance her way, it's very directly at her face and really trying not to drift lower. This shouldn't be so difficult! "I just got off of my shift before--" That stuff happened that brought him here. "Running off on an adventure probably isn't in my immediate future." That and he might not agree to skinny dipping or dancing anyway. "If you want to have the same fun your weyrmate is having, why don't you go find someone to have fun with? You're beautiful. I'm sure you could take your pick of any riders milling about." Tayte's disappointment is momentary. No adventuring, woe. But then there's that other idea that keeps fun as a possibility. The idea coming to her can be seen on her face, just before a salacious smile curls her lips. "What about my pick of healers?" After all, a rider would require her to leave her room and they're already here! So convenient! There isn't time for him to answer before Tayte is gliding down onto her knees on the rug before him, her hands curling fingers around his and starting to travel north. Wait, what? What just happened? Oliwer dons a sort of deer-in-headlights expression with Tayte on her knees and her hands on his thighs. He leans back like that will help give him some space, but since he's on a loveseat, it doesn't give him much. "Your pick of--" Right. Healers. That's him. "I don't-- Uh." Oli looks up at the ceiling, swallowing visibly, probably trying to form the words he's having trouble saying. Or maybe he just doesn't know what he's trying to say. Tayte's hands don't slow or course-correct. If Oliwer is the wherry in front of the dragon's open maw, he's about to get eaten. Well, not eaten, but... Her hands are very soon on the laces of his pants and she's smiling flirtatiously up at him. "It'll be fun," she proposes the idea with certainty. Her hands do seem to know what they're doing if that helps make any decisions easier for Oliwer. For such a simple little word, one might think saying no would be a lot easier than it seems to be for Oliwer right now. It doesn't help that he wants to be touched, even if it's by someone who might not usually get the sort of reaction out of him that she's getting now. And even if he can't bring himself to say anything one way or another, his body is quite happy to agree with her idea without his input. Silence and physical encouragement is enough for Tayte and soon she is engaged in making something of that reaction. Is it really so different? At least with this part? She doesn't let him finish then and there, of course. Maybe she knows the likelihood of getting anything for herself if she does. Oliwer may have claimed not to be a very good man as being a man goes, but he still is one, and one of an unlikely persuasion to be in such a situation to begin with. She rises smoothly from her knees and reaches for his hands, meaning to pull him to standing, too. Then is a moment for her to be tentative as she tilts her head down to try to kiss him. This is even less different considering his head is still tilted back like looking at her might be a bad idea. Or it could just be because it feels good and that's where his head would be anyway by now. Oliwer does finally look at her when she stops, though, silent protest on his face. That start and stop might be the main reason he follows her pull to his feet, but her kiss only meets still lips at first, his eyes open uncertainly. After a moment he closes them, then after another moment he lifts a hand to the side of her head and kisses her back. Maybe Tayte expected that hesitancy, or maybe she's too drunk to notice. Either way, she's not impatient about it or shying away in the moment he doesn't respond. Once he's responding, her free hand is lifting, and moving along his jaw and down his neck. She lets the kissing go on a while, during which time her decidedly female form is pressed tightly against the healer, before parting their lips and tugging on the one hand she still holds to try to lead him to her bed. Oliwer's hands don't go roaming anywhere over that female form even if he is kissing her. Other than the hand that slides down to her neck, he's sort of making as little contact as possible without actively attempting to do so. And it would probably be a lot more awkward if either of them were with it enough to notice, especially with her pressed against him and him leaning unconsciously away. All that, though, still doesn't keep him from following her when she shifts away and tugs him along. This is going to be a very confusing memory. A little more roaming would probably suit Tayte better, but she'll take what she can get. He's here, she's here, that'll do. The blonde pushes the healer back onto the bed and makes with pulling his pants down, if not off. Off is too much work, down is sufficient. She shucks her robe as she climbs on top. She'll likely not even make Oliwer do his share of the work, but before any of that actually happens, she has to ask, softly, "Tell me you want to do this?" It's sort of an unfair question at this point, what with how things got started and haven't gotten finished yet, but... she has to ask. "Yes," is the response Tayte gets almost immediately. It's earnest despite a lingering uncertainty that might just be his usual insecurity. Oliwer still seems to be having some difficulty actually looking at Tayte's body, but that could just as well be the fact that he's a chaste, holdbred man and this is definitely not an examination room in any professional context. "I do. I want this. You." He even looks her in the eyes when he says that, though he'd probably say yes to just about anything right this moment, and his hands move to feel their way up her thighs. It makes her smile, to hear that. Maybe that's why she and H'vier are so well matched: they both like being wanted and they're good at wanting each other (if not good at loving or being especially loyal). "Okay!" Easy as that and she's reaching down to slip him inside her. Then the real fun begins. Even drunk, Tayte is thoughtful and generous, and, you know, hot. And once they're done the first time, Tayte panting and sweating, but smiling (and almost certainly slowly sobering up), the blonde slides to the side, looking down at him, thoughtful, perhaps a little expectant of some reaction, any reaction. The fact that Tayte isn't his usual choice of partner might actually help contribute to him lasting a bit longer than he's managed in similar circumstances with his weyrmate. It definitely gives her plenty of time to get what she wants, though after a certain point, his usual preferences don't much seem to matter anymore. It's not until it's over, with Tayte beside him as he catches his breath and his brain starts stirring back into motion, that Oliwer is looking a little uncertain and dazed. "Fuck." It's hard to tell if that's a compliment or a curse and unfortunately Tayte doesn't know him well enough to realize how unusual it is for him to use that kind of language. The blonde's smile vanishes in favor of a thoughtful look of her own. "So you do or you don't want to do that again in a little while?" Oliwer at least has the decency to look apologetic as he says, "I'm not sure I can." And it might not only be because he needs a little longer than a little while these days for a second round. Plus it's a lot easier to say something like no now that he's had some sort of satisfaction. Tayte tries not to look a little hurt and is only partially successful as she draws up into a sitting position and shrugs, trying for an easy, "Okay," before moving to rise from the bed. And go where? She doesn't seem to know. "Tayte," Oliwer says as she moves to sit and then rise from the bed, reaching out as though to stop her as he sits up, too. "Wait. It's not... It's-- I've never been with a woman before. It's not you. You were great." He catches her wrist once she's standing. There's a long moment of silence. The reason for it becomes clear as Tayte finally draws breath and it's shaky. She does dare turn back, her hands rising to wipe the tears away from her face. To her credit, she's pulling it back together quickly. "No, I know. I mean, I didn't know, but now I do. It's fine. Really." Only it's really not. Man, Oliwer doesn't know how to deal with this sort of thing. He can barely manage he and G'laer's limited range of feelings. The healer just looks at her for a few moments before he's shifting toward the edge of the bed and rising as he pulls his pants back up. "What's wrong, then? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." He doesn't actually seem sure what he shouldn't have done. Maybe come into her room at all? "Oh, nothing." But as with most times when tearful women answer thusly, it's really something. At least this woman gets on with saying what it is without further prompting. Tayte sits hard on the bed, hands gripping the edge on either side of her thighs. "It's just-- how could I have been so stupid as to think he could love me forever when I can't even entice you more than once?" Nevermind that H'vier is a little more inclined toward her than Oliwer is given to be. Tears slip from her eyes, but at least they're silent. Now that he's all tucked away and slightly more comfortable with himself, Oliwer sits down next to Tayte and, if she lets him, wraps an arm around her shoulders to draw her closer, to try comforting her. "Enticing a man like me just once is a major accomplishment, dearheart. And just because he might stray once in a while doesn't mean he doesn't love you. It just means he's an idiot. Mine won't even tell me he loves me. Even though I know he feels it. I mean, I think he feels it. I don't know." He's getting off topic. They're supposed to be talking about how dumb H'vier is. "I hate men," but she probably doesn't mean him since she's turning her face into his shoulder and letting slip a few sobs. It's obvious that Tayte is trying not to lose it. Her hating men might even be as much for Oliwer as for herself. "I need more booze." And she's pulling out of the healer's arm to find the bottle that was abandoned by the loveseat. It's probably fortunate for Tayte that H'vier can't see her just now because sobbing interrupted by booze guzzling is not a pretty picture. Oliwer wouldn't really argue with that sentiment right now even if it did apply to him. He probably assumes it does and he doesn't seem to feel particularly spectacular for his part in Tayte's obvious pain. The healer doesn't stop her from going to fetch the booze, but he does watch her. "I can stay here. If you want." He doesn't mention that he doesn't have a proper bed in his own quarters. That might not come out quite right at the moment. It's many moments before Tayte can formulate an answer for him. Once she can, though, she moves back over to him and offers the bottle. "Stay." It's invitation, not command. "Snuggle, or don't. There's no one else coming to warm my bed." And Faranth knows she 'a going to need to sleep this one off a while. Now, she'll crouch to collect her robe and undergarments. Now, she'll move over to the wardrobe to put things where they belong. The dirties go into the basket at the bottom, the robe gets hung up and she sets about removing her top, only it's hard when drunk. "Would you mind?" She asks of Oli before sweeping her hair to one side. "Thanks. Whatever you're comfortable with." Apparently now that his uncomfortable lust for the woman has been satisfied, it's a lot easier for Oliwer to be himself. Which is to say, generally helpful and considerate. "Sure," he offers before he's shifting to help her with her top, careful with the buttons like any self-respecting healer would be. For himself, though, he'll probably avoid drinking anything else. Safest that way. |
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