[no shade very enjoyable oversight by both cee and darras
To wit--]
I love it. I love you, come to think of it. And you're in luck, 'cos I do happen to have Riftwatch colors that I can fly. Your spontaneity won't be wasted.
They know enough. I couldn't find a way to tell them I was named vice-admiral of Riftwatch, and, as vice-admiral, was going t'be signing us up to work with Riftwatch, and living in the Gallows without also mentioning you.
[The background noise has changed throughout that response, from exterior (open air, voices in the distance, the sift of the ocean against the ship and the snapping of the sails) to interior, further limited by the sound of the cabin door closing.]
A little, [ she admits, but she sounds more like she's rolling her eyes at herself than anything. ] I assumed you might have to tell them something to explain it.
[ Her background noise is minimal, the occasional voice or clop of hooves loud enough to sneak, muffled, through a window. ]
Now they might understand you turning down other women in port. I don't hate that.
Oh, now, I always got out of that easily enough. After a certain hour of the night, no one's paying any mind to anyone but themselves and whatever they've found as their amusement. And that's the perfect time to leave the tavern.
Though I admit, this way's a bit more straightforward. Involves less walking through alleyways.
Mmm. [ The tone of this sound in the back of her throat hasn't forgotten that for a number of years he did not always get out of that, but is willing to otherwise let it go. ]
Cleaner boots. How far out are you? Should I make plans for dinner?
Well, now, would we be eating at the surprise location that'll be revealed to me once I'm ashore? 'Cos if so, I'd have to say in. As for baths, I could stand one, but I'm not horrible. Yet.
Alright. In then, at the surprise location that remains a complete and total mystery.
There are a few places nearby I like. I can put in an order on my way to meet you so we don't have to suffer my cooking. Are you in the mood for anything in specific?
Not fish. Squid or shellfish, something of that sort, that'd be fine, but no fish. Nothing dried. Hot food, lots of flavor and spices--not the sort that covers up how there's no taste to what's underneath, but proper spice, all the way through--do they have that in Herencia?
[ She meets him outside the tavern when he arrives, stepping up from behind to slip her arm through his and turn their steps down the road. The Harp & Harpoon is a bit on the rowdy side for her taste, just a convenient landmark, she explains.
The day is grey and blustery and growing greyer by the minute as the sun sets, but what little light there is Hercinia's whitewashed buildings reflect, glowing softly in the dusk. The city spreads up steep hillsides, but the streets she leads them down wind more gently upwards, and into a neighborhood just alongside the noise and grime of the port--bustling more quietly and cleanly. A covered basket is collected from a small restaurant with a pretty view and an older woman who smiles at Yseult with recognition. Another block or two upwards, and she stops in front of a neatly whitewashed building several stories tall, flowers spilling out of groundfloor window boxes.
She passes off the basket and brings out a set of keys, flashing Darras a quick little smile as she shoulders open the heavy wooden door to reveal a sturdy wooden staircase. ]
[Darras, having taken a step back to look up at the building, taking in its face, is still within range to take the basket from her when she offers it--and to smile back, when he catches sight of her smile.]
Is that a warning or a challenge?
[He's much as when he's come home to the cottage fresh from the sea, smelling of salt and damp, less trimmed in his hair and his beard--but the same underneath it all, especially in the little glint that his smile makes.]
Both? Neither? It's only three flights. I'm sure you're up to it.
[ She pockets the keys and throws the lock again behind him before leading the way up the stairs, past the doors to three other quiet flats before they reach the one that must be hers. There's nothing to mark it out, no name or number, just a plain brush mat in front of the door on which she wipes her feet.
Lamp light spills out as she opens it, toeing off her boots and nudging them against the wall before stepping aside to let him follow. Inside is the same pristine white as the exterior, the ceilings higher than those on the lower floors and gently arched. She leads him right into the main room, a small kitchen where she indicates he can set down the basket. She slips out of her coat, and holds out a hand for his. ]
I'll hang these up. Do I need to say make yourself at home?
[ There are fresh flowers in a small blue glass vase at the center of a table only big enough for two, situated beneath windows that must look out onto the sea when it's not dark and foggy. There's a fire flickering in the hearth on the far wall and she's left a book about Orlesian history sitting on the low, soft couch beside it. More books line the shelves set into the wall above. ]
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I was attempting to be spontaneous. You see now why I don't.
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To wit--]
I love it. I love you, come to think of it. And you're in luck, 'cos I do happen to have Riftwatch colors that I can fly. Your spontaneity won't be wasted.
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Good. Let me know when you arrive. We can meet at the Harp & Harpoon, it's a tavern on Sail Street a few blocks north of the harbor.
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[ In the meantime, ]
Does your crew know about me, now?
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[The background noise has changed throughout that response, from exterior (open air, voices in the distance, the sift of the ocean against the ship and the snapping of the sails) to interior, further limited by the sound of the cabin door closing.]
D'you hate that?
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[ Her background noise is minimal, the occasional voice or clop of hooves loud enough to sneak, muffled, through a window. ]
Now they might understand you turning down other women in port. I don't hate that.
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Though I admit, this way's a bit more straightforward. Involves less walking through alleyways.
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Cleaner boots. How far out are you? Should I make plans for dinner?
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We'll make Hercinia before nightfall if the wind holds. Too late for dinner?
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Not at all. Would you rather eat in or out? How badly do you need a bath?
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There are a few places nearby I like. I can put in an order on my way to meet you so we don't have to suffer my cooking. Are you in the mood for anything in specific?
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Not fish. Squid or shellfish, something of that sort, that'd be fine, but no fish. Nothing dried. Hot food, lots of flavor and spices--not the sort that covers up how there's no taste to what's underneath, but proper spice, all the way through--do they have that in Herencia?
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Yes, we can do that. It sounds good on such a dreary evening, though I am fond of the fish.
I need to run a few errands before you arrive. I'll see you in an hour or two?
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[He's very pleased to have made her laugh, though--a sort of reward of its own.]
I'll be there, aye. Enjoy your errands.
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[ She meets him outside the tavern when he arrives, stepping up from behind to slip her arm through his and turn their steps down the road. The Harp & Harpoon is a bit on the rowdy side for her taste, just a convenient landmark, she explains.
The day is grey and blustery and growing greyer by the minute as the sun sets, but what little light there is Hercinia's whitewashed buildings reflect, glowing softly in the dusk. The city spreads up steep hillsides, but the streets she leads them down wind more gently upwards, and into a neighborhood just alongside the noise and grime of the port--bustling more quietly and cleanly. A covered basket is collected from a small restaurant with a pretty view and an older woman who smiles at Yseult with recognition. Another block or two upwards, and she stops in front of a neatly whitewashed building several stories tall, flowers spilling out of groundfloor window boxes.
She passes off the basket and brings out a set of keys, flashing Darras a quick little smile as she shoulders open the heavy wooden door to reveal a sturdy wooden staircase. ]
I'm at the top.
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Is that a warning or a challenge?
[He's much as when he's come home to the cottage fresh from the sea, smelling of salt and damp, less trimmed in his hair and his beard--but the same underneath it all, especially in the little glint that his smile makes.]
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[ She pockets the keys and throws the lock again behind him before leading the way up the stairs, past the doors to three other quiet flats before they reach the one that must be hers. There's nothing to mark it out, no name or number, just a plain brush mat in front of the door on which she wipes her feet.
Lamp light spills out as she opens it, toeing off her boots and nudging them against the wall before stepping aside to let him follow. Inside is the same pristine white as the exterior, the ceilings higher than those on the lower floors and gently arched. She leads him right into the main room, a small kitchen where she indicates he can set down the basket. She slips out of her coat, and holds out a hand for his. ]
I'll hang these up. Do I need to say make yourself at home?
[ There are fresh flowers in a small blue glass vase at the center of a table only big enough for two, situated beneath windows that must look out onto the sea when it's not dark and foggy. There's a fire flickering in the hearth on the far wall and she's left a book about Orlesian history sitting on the low, soft couch beside it. More books line the shelves set into the wall above. ]
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