She's a very good cook. And kind enough to lend me her dishes.
[ Yseult collects a few of the bowls and platters--more colorfully painted than Yseult's own simple matching stoneware--and carries them over to the low table in front of the couch, markedly warmer than the far side of the room where the real table sits by the windows. She sets them down and returns to collect a bottle of wine and two glasses before taking a seat. ]
You'll have to come back when the weather's better. It's lovely most of the year. We can eat on her terrace and then have drinks on my roof.
[ While he pours the wine, she makes him a plate. Slices of grilled meat and spiced meatballs on a skewer, chunks of charred vegetables, beans stewed in a rich tomato sauce, greens and rice, tangy cheese. She exchanges it for the wine, and then settles in beside him with her own, shoulder to shoulder. ]
I'm glad. I've always liked it. It's large enough to feel lost in, but relatively clean and quiet for a city of its size. And this has been home for a long time.
[ She's quiet a moment, eating, and then after a sip of wine pauses, head cocked. There's nothing there but the rain on the windows. ]
Isn't it nice not to hear anyone rowing nextdoor or coming up the hall to ask questions?
[The hand with his wine glass is attached to the arm that he puts around her shoulder, all very fluid and without spilling a drop. They're a natural fit, sat like this. The plate of food he safely transfers to the space just beside him for now. As hungry as he'd said--as hungry as he is--this is preferable, for the moment.]
I find the sound of rowing comforting. Like a lullaby. Don't tell me you don't feel the same about endless questions. 'Scoutmaster, scoutmaster, what do we do next?
[He bears the nudge with good grace--tips his head back as he grins, so he avoids her eyes.]
Oh, what. You won't give me sympathy? Really? Not in my hour of need?
[If there is a little fear at the thought--that he will be somewhere long enough that people will be expecting things of him--well, it's a small feeling. Barely anything to be noticed.]
[ Bold of him to assume Riftwatch members will wait for experience before demanding answers. She squints at the ceiling and makes a considering noise. ] I suppose I could commiserate.
[ She rests her head back against his arm and tilts it to smile up at him. After a moment, catching the tiniest sense of something, she reaches up to brush knuckles against his chin, thumb scuffing softly through his beard. ] Tired?
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[ Yseult collects a few of the bowls and platters--more colorfully painted than Yseult's own simple matching stoneware--and carries them over to the low table in front of the couch, markedly warmer than the far side of the room where the real table sits by the windows. She sets them down and returns to collect a bottle of wine and two glasses before taking a seat. ]
You'll have to come back when the weather's better. It's lovely most of the year. We can eat on her terrace and then have drinks on my roof.
no subject
Sounds perfect. It's a good middle ground, this. Between Kirkwall and home. A city, but different enough. I like it.
[He hands her the first glass, then sets to pouring himself the second.]
no subject
I'm glad. I've always liked it. It's large enough to feel lost in, but relatively clean and quiet for a city of its size. And this has been home for a long time.
[ She's quiet a moment, eating, and then after a sip of wine pauses, head cocked. There's nothing there but the rain on the windows. ]
Isn't it nice not to hear anyone rowing nextdoor or coming up the hall to ask questions?
no subject
I find the sound of rowing comforting. Like a lullaby. Don't tell me you don't feel the same about endless questions. 'Scoutmaster, scoutmaster, what do we do next?
no subject
Be careful, one day you might get the same, Vice-Admiral. And then where will you look for sympathy?
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Oh, what. You won't give me sympathy? Really? Not in my hour of need?
[If there is a little fear at the thought--that he will be somewhere long enough that people will be expecting things of him--well, it's a small feeling. Barely anything to be noticed.]
no subject
[ She rests her head back against his arm and tilts it to smile up at him. After a moment, catching the tiniest sense of something, she reaches up to brush knuckles against his chin, thumb scuffing softly through his beard. ] Tired?