Logs:End of Turn 29
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| RL Date: 18 October, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Parties, drinking, eavesdropping, beaches, gifts, no dire discussions at all! |
| Where: All Across Pern |
| When: Last Day of Month 13, Turn 29/Day 1, Month 1, Turn 30 |
| Mentions: Serah/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions |
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| Last day of the Turn! No need for N'rov to make the most of it, not with a morning like this being for /sleeping/, followed by getting Vhaeryth shined up after the previous day's post-feeding wash: not wise to bring a hungry dragon to visit one's family herds, after all. A substantial meal for N'rov later (there's drinking to be doing!), they were off with a sackful of presents and some moderately-hidden smugness, the better to see the family and get out while the going's good, because there are /parties/ ahead. Fort has bonfires to visit, hand in hand with Aishani when she's ready, and that? That's just the beginning. With Aishani's family situation being as it is - more or less a taciturn and grouchy candidate at this point - she's much of the day to spend doing whatever it is she must do to get ready for an event. Presumably, it doesn't take the whole of the day, but with the way she's obsessed with her hair, it might not be a giant shock if it did. But then, there's also all-too-fussy Iesaryth who must be dealt with before she's seen - it's a little impressive that they manage to get anywhere at all. But they /do/, after basic niceties and maybe a drink or two at home before bonfires at Fort, with N'rov, with a wide smile. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it doesn't take her all that long to get a little restless, to talk of going elsewhere - especially where people might be a little tipsy, louder and more loose-lipped. Not that it's /spying/, no. "But why not listen if someone's able to be overheard?" That's rhetorical. "Just a question of where's first," N'rov teases as he steers them through the firelit crowd, all too ready to be tugged away now that he's had one of those tasty cook-your-own pastries and seen just how melty its insides can be... and now that he's shown her off a little, too. "Maybe the 'Reaches last," when the 'powers that be' could be too drunk to be growly! Warming to this idea, "We can make out in the galleries for old times' sake, because of course nobody /else/ is going to want to find a shadowy place where they won't freeze their..." was that one of the younger healers dancing by? "...off. So. Tell us where you want to go, and as long as we're /going/, we're good." Man and dragon: simple pleasures. Off and away! She's certainly done up to show off, though in a concession to chill weather, Shani's forgoing her ridiculously short skirts. If she's disappointed about it, she might not be the only one. She'll also forgo anything potentially /sticky/. For now, while she's still concerned about how she looks. There's a laugh for the suggestion, the galleries, glancing N'rov-wards with bright eyes to ask, "Do you think they'd resent us taking up the shadowy spaces? Or just watch to see how it's done?" Because they're experts at making out, a point she'll prove with a kiss further away from the light and nearer the dragons, the sharp bite of liquor on her lips. "Maybe see how those Igen riders are doing after Rielsath. Then warmer before colder. You two can figure something out." And she doesn't even sound worried about that. That kiss, that talk: his free hand brushes the line of where those skirts should be, and N'rov's voice drops. "Be careful, or I'll take you to Fort's galleries," though by the sound of it, that preposition might not have been the one she'd put into his mind at all. Fort's galleries, with eggs and queen and no doubt gawkers even now. It makes him smile, but also get on getting there with that much more purpose. Igen. Igen with its cold nights where the moons glow overhead. Igen, where a young bronzerider can play attentive companion, cheerful to those he meets and so very easy to talk to: why, he could look harmless. Though then again, he's with her. There's just another laugh, this one lower and warmer for that idea - though Aishani's not in any particular rush either, with the leisure of a girl who knows she's likely to get taken off /somewhere/ by the end of the night. She'll still lean in a moment for the brush of his hand, not too long so they /do/ go, her smile mirroring his. And it's debatable how harmless anyone takes the goldrider for, 'Brieli' and her politely interrogative dragon, but she's on her best behavior. Despite sharp dark eyes and the way she slows to linger around conversations that sound interesting - it's a convenient time for a sip from her drink, to catch N'rov's hand again. It is one drink though, perhaps not wanting to wear out one's welcome. Or start too much talk of her own Weyrwoman. And after all, there are other places to visit, with other drinks. Benden has a hailstorm, poor Weyr, but at least Vhaeryth's easy bespeaking saves them from actually encountering anything that would muss her hair more than wind alone. Down South there's Honshu (light and sparkling and dry) and Ierne (something smoky that might have started out its life as tea, but surreptitiously slunk down a very different path). And, of course, Monaco. "I'kris is his name," N'rov checks, "the one with the brown who got lucky?" Her clutchmate. He must know this. Both Shani and Iesaryth appreciate the lack of hail, though the former is the only one all that worried about her hair. As long as the gold looks fine, she's really not all that concerned with her rider - though would Aishani ever be an embarrassment in that particular area? Though it's not their first time to any of these places, it is their first time flying across continents for drinks on such an occasion - it has them both in a fine mood, the girl even inclined to be sincerely gracious rather than falsely so (or on another track, just kind of mean.). There's a nod for the question, and she's even more information than that: "Mirinda's brother. He seems nice enough, just... easily flustered. Or pretending to be." Not that she'd make anyone uncomfortable. Never. "Easily flustered, hm? Does she care for his opinions?" Or pretend to! "I wonder who they'd /rather/ have had fly her. I wonder if we'll meet him." N'rov's tall enough that he can swing a glance above a decent portion of the crowd, his tone believably light for those who might attend to that in lieu of words that they might only half-hear. Tall enough, but not so tall that he has to stoop too much to drift a kiss over the tip of her ear. It /is/ a Weyr, after all: not the Holds that, after his family's, he'd avoided on tonight's excursion. "Not that anyone knew." "Hard to say. Or to say what those opinions might be? I'm not sure I got a direct answer to a question." Shani's irritated about that too, so likely exaggerating. And perhaps shouldn't go throwing stones on the issue of question avoidance. "Meet him, or who they'd rather have had?" she has to ask, amused. "I don't know that specifics matter all that much." That kiss is enough to close her eyes now, as flushed as she is from the evening and drink both - but she can still grow a bit pinker, just for him. Even so, quietly, "Maybe someone did, but we're not likely to find out. Not soon, anyway." Not that night, at least. Any incriminating conversations have likely been taken elsewhere at this point in the festivities. So sad. "I suppose not. And if not, we might as well as celebrate in good faith," N'rov decides, with an eye toward Monaco's potables in the offing. Only he still has to add in a lower murmur, "Who knows, maybe he'll be all the influence they'll feel they need. That wouldn't be so bad." No more browns or bronzes sniffing around High Reaches' queens. But that might be too heavy a topic for such a night, so as he angles to get them both towards the drinks, he gets back to teasing, "No direct answers, just imagine." It's easy to do more than nod-and-smile at Monaco these days, easier for brief banter at least: even the bronzerider's better acquainted with them now, although the tipsy man in the walrus mustache and tiered headdress gets a second and third look as he staggers by. A little wry in her quiet, "Just him and me." Because Iesaryth was hatched there at Monaco, and no one seems all that inclined to let the goldrider forget it - certainly not anyone who encounters them both that evening. Everyone is all too happy to emphasize that point. Thankfully, Shani's not all that inclined to be tired of it - though if she rolls her eyes surreptitiously N'rov's way, she might be forgiven. But soon enough she's being steered towards drinks, so all is well enough. "But you might be right." Clearly, Vhaeryth doesn't count. At least, to her. "And yes, imagine that." She arches fine brows his way, though the headdress barely managing to stay upright does distract her from the mission. "I do like to be right," and N'rov's added on a little purposeful smugness to entertain her, as though this could be possibly a surprise instead of anything but. The speed with which they move up in line might be somewhat more of one, however, the goldrider not only recognized but allowed to cut ahead in a testament to that lack of forgetfulness. There are, as the bartender explains, options: sharp herbal spirits or a smooth sweet concoction, spiced to fit together in whatever proportions the lady would like. Or apart, but it seems that the smooth-faced man might be a little disappointed at /that/. N'rov, who's so far discreetly resisted the equally-discreet maneuverings to leave him behind (though it's not impossible that the smiling-eyed woman in lavender might have approached of her own accord, nor that the pair of riders hadn't been put up to their cleared-throat whispers as they're made to wait those few precious minutes longer), stays at Aishani's shoulder, a buffer against accidental or purposeful bumpers in the crowd. Not that he asks for, nor is he yet offered, a drink of his own. "Imagine /that/ too." Whether Aishani is referring to N'rov liking to be right, or N'rov being right in general, she is amused - enough to favor him with one of her more brilliant smiles. It's more than anyone actually from around there gets, which might be part of the issue - difficult to say. Or perhaps not so difficult with those attempts to separate them, even for a few minutes. She's patient, but someone who knows her expressions might see that dark gaze grow a bit sharper, edging towards flinty (especially given the lady in lavender). It would fit with her sense of humor to lean back into her companion when he's providing that buffer - as if she's noticed none of this - and be sure to order two drinks from the helpful bartender, even leaving the choices to his superior knowledge. Though there's another quiet note for N'rov, tone edgy, "This is getting old." Certainly N'rov seems charmed by that smile, proximity not having waned the effect of such things, and if there's a touch of knowingness in those gray eyes for someone who knows /him/ well... that's not for everyone else around them, now is it. "One of each," is what he tells the bartender, his hand comfortingly on his own companion's hip as she leans in, and gives the man a by-golly-he's-lucky smile of his own. "We'll share on the fly." Which will mean kissing, as he explains to Aishani in a murmur that's also an answer, one more brightly audible than hers. And if she'll take one glass for now, he'll take the other, and hunt down a place to do just that. There must be somewhere, around here, that's not out in the open. Somewhere, where people will care about themselves instead of /them/. And if she's in a hurry... well, there's always taking them like shots. It's one of those things that anyone other than the two of them would be hard-pressed to notice; the way the goldrider's frame loses some of that tension that's settled around her as N'rov's hand rests at her hip; how sharp looks soften that easily. Content to let the 'tender figure out what's meant by sharing - or overhear, as the case may be - Aishani just laughs, as close to giggling as she'll allow herself. She's harmless too, right? Just a little too into her bronzerider, by the way she's quick enough to lead the way /out/ once drinks are in hand. And what sort of spy would she be if she hadn't found a few places to hide out in and around Monaco over her time here - the beaches are likely well-traveled, but there's spots hacked out of the jungle for chairs and tables here and there, though even moonlight can't help find some things, especially after drinking... "I could have sworn there was a hammock. Somewhere." Not that they'd do well with that and glasses both, but. That reaction, and better, that she doesn't seem to have to think about it, they meet with an appreciation that N'rov may never have the words for. Vhaeryth's still too distant, too, to let it ripple through him and into Iesaryth. But if a few of the people they encounter notice a sort of lightness to the way he moves, the way he makes sure to stay to the edge of the path so she won't have to deal with that uncertain ground (/more/ uncertain, at least: it's Monaco), maybe she'll notice some of it too, and remember. "Tell you what," he suggests, slowing, pausing. "Let's lighten our load." He can sip from the sweetness, offer it to her, take sharpness back and like it. Iesaryth might still be a little distant herself anyway - not from her rider, but perhaps unsurprisingly, from Vhaeryth. Though that's even fading into the forgotten past, less likely to pique her unless Aishani remembers. And that's not something she's like to remember tonight, not with N'rov being so kind to keep her from tripping, and thus messing with her silver gown. Or her face, should he be less understanding about such things than she was. It doesn't take much more than his slowed steps and suggestion to stop, to sip from her drink and trade it off, though she'll point out with feigned petulance, "You made this sound more fun inside." She's not rushing to drink even so, looking at him over the glass, one brow arched. "Well, yes." N'rov's smiling as he leans in, glass or no glass, to kiss her... on that lifted brow. /Then/ he can sip, looking at her over his own with considerable intent... and yet /again/ he pauses, teasing, inviting like suspiciously well-behaved arm candy. Well? Is she going to taste? Even without a hammock? The way she's looking at him makes holding that drink, that /glass/, a good thing - though it's difficult to tell if Shani wants to toss it away to /hit/ him or throw herself /at/ him. She hasn't been much about violence, at least, so far. There's a measured sip before she'll lean in slowly herself, unable to stop smiling, or keep the light from dark eyes. The fingers of her free hand drift into his curls before her lips touch, just at the corner of his mouth, to start. She's not moving away either, not now that it's dark and quiet and she's this close. When did they walk off the path? Aunties' tales always say to stay on the path, but there they are, under the trees. There could be wild things out there. N'rov doesn't seem to care anything about that just now, just smirks at his lover and lets himself be devoured. That corner-kiss, it's a start. He kisses her back, for balance, and then again, to tip the balance the other way. "You keep this up," he doesn't so much stop as pause to say, "you won't get your present until tomorrow, you know." Blame Aishani for that detour, maybe - she did seem intent on finding a /specific/ spot, but now that they're away from the path and in the shadows of the trees, that's good enough for her. And if there's something out there stalking them both, they'll likely hear it, right? With no path underfoot to break glass, she'll chance sacrificing it and the alcohol both, because every party requires a spilled drink. Distracted enough to start winding herself around him with another, proper kiss, it takes a beat or two for that to sink in; another few for her to consider. "How much will I care? How much will /you/ care?" And that's more important than the former, enough for her to draw back. A little. If there were such a stalker, and if they were not to hear it, why, it's not as though they're plotting treason beneath jungle and moons and stars. Not vocally, perhaps even not at all. "It," N'rov says once he's become slightly less distracted in his turn, "is not particularly edible." Although something about the speculation /does/ make him smile. "If anyone were to steal within my weyr, I doubt that they would steal it, though I suppose one never knows." He's only barely held onto the rest of his drink, and now he downs it, lets the little glass go plonk and roll, roll, roll down towards the path the way they're not themselves doing. It doesn't clink against hers, but perhaps they'll more readily survive un-cracked that way, and it's not as though he's paying attention to it at all. Rather, he's looking at the way Aishani looks in the leaves-filtered moonlight. and his smile has taken on a curious quality. "Do you believe in that moment, between one Turn and the next, where what we do will decide all the rest? If you do, we can do that, Shani, absolutely. If not, well," and here that smile's quirked up, "the rest of the night can revolve around us instead of the other way around." No treason, not tonight anyway. And sometimes, not at all. Right now, Aishani's finding it difficult to think straight, much less plot - maybe it's the drinking, though maybe it's just that smile of his. With arms around his neck, fingers still playing with dark curls as that drink is downed; the other glass left to the mercies of the party gods, "Well, now you're just talking too much." As if he's ruined everything, but that fades as she looks up at him, at the shift to his smile, and something's caught her breath. When she's able to speak; "When you put it that way..." A kiss first, to taste the last of whatever glass he'd wound up with - or maybe just because the moment demands it - then, "I think I do. Believe that." If she's not moving away just yet, it's hardly unusual - it's never an easy thing for her to do. That last glass, it's bitter to begin with, but shouldn't her kiss makes it sweet? If it's a Monaco ploy, it's a good one. N'rov, though: he widens his eyes at Shani, moves his mouth like he's /trying/ to talk but his lips just won't open anymore. She's cursed him! Cursed! No more talking too much, not until he can talk at all. But... look, another kiss: that helps. And then another, to make sure it sticks. Eventually, though, and not entirely teasingly, "I don't suppose you know when that moment would be. So we don't wind up walking and then there it is, catching us. Or waiting. It's hard to tell. Though really, when I think about it, neither is too bad." Aishani looks like the one who's been cursed, just eyeing N'rov as he mimes his total inability to speak. She's all strained patience and weariness, and not a bit of it is serious. Kisses do help, though - even if they are distracting for a time, as she's not inclined to leave it to one or two, not when the night seems, at this moment, like it might stretch out forever. But when she's pulled back, she'll lean back too, trying to catch a look at the moons and the sky from beneath the leaves, like that'll help. "I imagine someone could tell you. Or that you could figure it out, were you /that/ interested," she notes, gaze still seeking the stars. "Or maybe it's entirely up to you. We could just decide when we're in the new Turn, and there it'll be. No catching or waiting, so perhaps that's too simple." "Now that, I like." See above: the world revolving around them. "Hold still." N'rov's kneeling then, the better to see about those shoes of hers if she permits, and then to lift her dress's hem into her hand. He grins up at her before tackling his own. "Want to try the water? We can stay in the shallows, if you like. I could even try to promise not to push you in," but especially at this vantage, with her ankles right /there/, it must be tempting. "Oh! All right." Shani's a little surprised by deciding /right now/, and maybe a little dizzy from looking /up/, then suddenly /down/ - at N'rov, at her shoes? She's not very good at holding still, but she's good enough not to laugh so much that she'll fall over him while he slips them off. But she is /laughing/. "Try to promise," she echoes, taking the hem of her dress up, tying it in a knot that she might regret in the morning. "Not comforting, not when there's cold to go home to." She's going, though - she'll even take her very own shoes, unless he has a particular interest. Those tickly fingers that like to glide up her ankle, do they help with the dizziness any? "I promise to try," N'rov says agreeably. "To promise." His boots take longer to deal with, socks, rolling up pant legs and all that, but then he's still got a free hand to hold hers and edge, laughing, across the hard-packed trail and onto the softer sand and /then/ into the warm, salty water and its wavelets that wash up to greet them. After a little while, it's even enough to bring Vhaeryth down to meet them too... and not just from the anticipation of soon going /home/. Just now, this is good. They don't help with a lot of things, those fingers, but there's still time to get back to that, now that everyone's barefoot and headed for the beach. Aishani's hand is tight around his, fingers lacing together as they pick their way down the trail, leave glasses to be found or not. She has to pause to dig her toes into the cool sand as soon as they get to it, closing her eyes with the pleasure of it - easy enough with him that she can without thinking about it. The water makes less of an impression, for all she's happy to wade into it, kick sprays his way, not thinking about the dress just now either. Iesaryth has always liked this beach, this ocean - so she's not far from it or from them; nor displeased with Vhaeryth's appearance. It's good with her as well, right now, but when is anything all that bad in Iesaryth's world? And if N'rov's downward glance notes /his/ poor pants, well, then he's just looking back up with a grin that turns into laughing, splashing back with easy scoops of his free hand. What a world it is, Iesaryth's, without even any dunking. Sometime they'll fly back without N'rov's, at least, saying goodbye, sometime they'll get back to the cold lands and the cold weyr that they'll have to warm themselves, sometime they'll get to presents and even more moments or both. But now, it's time to play. Who'd remember goodbyes anyway? Most might just assume it happened in the blur of the night, filled with lots of greetings and farewells and people and food and /drinks/. It's a blur even such a short time later - but it's not like /any/ keen senses were dulled or distracted well before Monaco. Though Aishani was complaining about being potentially wet and cold, it's not like wet clothes were meant to stay on that long anyway, and it's not as if getting warm is an issue. At least, if she has anything to do with it. But a bit later, well before the pleasant buzz is edging into headache territory, while she's warm and contented and has had a moment or two to think about something other than /him/, "I didn't get you anything. I'm awful. I should have asked Azaylia." Why the other junior figures into gifts, who knows. "I've got what I need," N'rov says with distinct satisfaction, even as he helps her rather possessively into one of his more well-worn and thus well-softened shirts... and then his hands pause on her shoulders with his wince. At least he can laugh about it, and then he resumes, lifting her hair out of the collar and leaning to kiss her neck before letting it slide down. "Sorry. Anyway, stay put, don't slide back down. I've been looking forward to this." Though there /does/ get to be an odd note in his voice, right at the end there, like he's actually trying to hide something. From her. Aishani's not even offended, not with the way he's touching her, not while she's wrapping that shirt around her with her own possessiveness - one that only lingers in her gaze as she'll reluctantly let him move away. The kiss helps, even as it makes her shiver. So soon. With a soft laugh, "I know what you meant. Which is lucky for you." That odd note arches fine brows, more than words - but she doesn't question just yet. She'll wait. But still: "I don't know that I'm good at gifts." Being considerate, thinking of others... maybe not her thing. N'rov's retreat involves some less-pleasing shivers of his own, and if Aishani wishes, he certainly can't stop her entertaining herself by watching him hunt around the lower portion of the weyr. Still, he's got one of /his/ nightshirts on by the time he comes back up, though it's not nice and warm yet, and there's something he's got stuffed under his arm in yet another. Unless he's planning on giving her a not so gently used (but clean!) shirt? "Just be good at holding out your hands and shutting your eyes." And then he'll grin, but only once (or /if/) it seems like she's not peeking. "I'm not good at that either," Shani sighs, and he might remember that - how much she hated closing her eyes on /anyone/. It's easier now, what with the sleeping beside him, and she's still curious enough about what he has with him that she might not have even looked while he was searching around below, in the dim light. For all her protests, she /is/ being good, and she eyes N'rov with a look that hovers between amused and completely infatuated before doing as she's told. And not peeking, either. He leans enough to block whatever it is from the light, just in case, even if it's just an excuse to briefly touch foreheads for that look of hers. What N'rov places into her hands, though, it's...sort of wooly, in a mostly-innocuous sort of way. It's not light enough to solely be a clump of ovine fuzz, and certainly it isn't smelly like that (mostly). Perhaps she might pick out that it's a piece of knitting, stretched over something softly bulgy over something /else/ solidly rectangular but not very heavy. Once she gets to look, it'll prove to be a... a serviceable hat that will turn out to be brown in brighter light but black in the dimness. Because Aishani needs another hat? A very unexciting hat? Or no, maybe it's 'Brieli' sho needs one, for as this is untangled, the bulginess proves to be long wooly locks falling from just inside the hat's brim, as though the wearer really did have hair down to the small of her back. "An ovine that got away from the sharing for a few Turns," N'rov murmurs once it seems as though she's looking, his hands poised to catch the hat's /other/ contents should she let them slip. "He was famous! There was a Gather, and parcels of his fleece to bid on, so what could I do." There's a lot to take in, after that touch of foreheads makes her smile and she's able to open her eyes - there's the knitting and wool and whatever else is inside, and Aishani takes time to untangle it all carefully, brows knit with bemusement. At first. Long fingers twist the wooly faux-hair as she looks down at all of it, eyes widening. "Famous," she repeats, dubious even now - but that's not the important thing, the /important/ thing is: "Do you think I'd look that different?" Not that she can try it on now, nor is it really the time. With a flash of a smile for N'rov, faintly amazed, she's quick to lean in for a kiss, even before she gets to what's inside. "That's kind of brilliant, you know." Said just seriously enough that she means it, but lightly enough that he can agree besides. N'rov initially reserves comment, though there's also that tell-tale smirk. Not that silence can last. Especially now that, with her reaction, he's relieved. "Not that it feels the same," he opines gravely, "but if you decide it looks similar, maybe you can practice swishing, and if it looks different... well, I don't know if you really want to impersonate someone, but why not?" If it entertains her, though, that's the main thing, the other uses a not-unhelpful excuse. Then he nudges: the rest. Go with the rest. Inside, the rectangular item turns out to be a block of wood that's not as heavy as it would at first look, or rather it's a block of /woods/: dark, light, and red, fine-grained and not, irregular rectangles pieced together and polished with a subtly green-smelling wax to make it even more satiny. It's flat enough to perhaps seem like an especially decorative trivet, larger than the size of her hand and a little over three fingers thick. There are no visible hinges, and shaking it doesn't open anything. (Of course it can open, these things do, but one would need to know the secret... or be prepared to destroy it.) This time, N'rov lets her look... but he's still leaning forward a little, waiting. With a glance, an arch of brows, "You never know." Aishani's already impersonating someone, sometimes it seems like several someones - but not here, at the very least, not with him or hers or his. But she'll set it all aside in favor of the box... if that is indeed what it is. Turning it over and around in her hands, her fingers run over the surface and along the seams of the different wood, maybe trying to sort it all out on her own. Fascinated, she breathes, "To hide something." It's as if she hasn't noticed she's spoken; it's still moving in her hands. Looking up at him, there's a lot in her expression that she might not be able to put into words - gratitude, some little awe for the gift, or perhaps more for the /understanding/. "I-- I love it. You. Show me?" Her fingers are reluctant to let it go, but knowing is better. It catches him in a half-laugh, and he shakes his head, like sometimes he forgets. Like, sometimes, he has the luxury of forgetting. "I was thinking that," N'rov agrees. "It... someone could take it, or break it, but you'd know." If his smile's more quirky than smirky, if there's more that he /could/ say... "Here," he accedes, and receives it back from her, taking it slowly at first and even he, who's practiced, gets it wrong at first. The second time, though, it's a matter of tilting one way to loosen some hidden mechanism, pushing at one of those little blocks, tilting it again and... it's a little complicated, but not so much that it can't be done in a hurry. Afterward, when it's her turn, his hands stay about hers until she gets it. "If you wanted, you could pad rocks so they wouldn't shift, for the weight." Sometimes, Aishani might try to forget, when she's with him. It's certainly /easier/. And it seems to make her happier, presents aside - but that might not be considered a valid argument. "But they'd have to find it. Then think it opens at all." Not that it took her that long to figure it out, but you'd have to be looking. Her dark gaze is as quick and sharp as ever, watching as his hands manage to open it - and not even making some smart comment about getting it wrong. Taking it back, finally offering up a wide, lovely smile, "Thought of everything. That makes sense. Depending..." What she does with it. Though it's hard for her to tear brown eyes from grey, hands from his, she does want to try it out. And hopefully not take too long about opening it on her own, either. "Plain sight is good. Stick a mug on it." Suddenly N'rov's got a grin of his own. "You know, you could always put a slip of hide in it: 'Got here first.'" And the best part, maybe the very best part beyond her smile, is seeing her /get it/ too. "Better than away in my desk, I suppose." There's a laugh for his suggestion. And she /does/ get it, if slowly and carefully the first few times. She might be reluctant to put it aside, but there has to be sleep eventually. Even if the way she kisses him afterward might move sleep down the priority list. And before Aishani goes the next day, she'll even tell N'rov where she's going to put it, even if he /can/ open it. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:End of Turn 29"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Sat, 20 Oct 2012 01:34:51 GMT.
So sappy I could pour it over my hotcakes. -3- (Honestly though, super cute!)
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