[ It happens in war, she found, there comes a point, the fights go on too long, and it's hard. When the emptiness of death takes on it's choke hold at the throat, but won't quite finish the job. Hard to stay as removed as is needed, after this long. Sometimes it's needed to just push it aside. ]
I'm humbled.
[ presses her lips together in a smile that is anything but. But polite will work for now. Her head tilts. The gun is on the table, and as she sets the bottle down, she places her own down too. Dragging a discarded cup from the side, and it's slow, he can turn away from this at any time. She doesn't have the intention to trap him.
Glances up to him as she pours the wine, for him, then for her. ] I don't think we've ever received such noble patronage. [ It's more than should be poured for decent company. But they're immortal and this is a brothel in the worst slums of london, who had a care for proper. Besides, she does have a goal - it's to not feel her mouth or her lips until she must.
When it's poured - she pushes the cup towards him before reaching for her own. Very deliberately taking the first sip as way of trust. ]
[ It is a sharp gaze that watches her place her gun upon the table, a motion to settle his nerves perhaps? A gesture to assure, prove to whatever doubt that lingers there is nothing to fear. No daggers, no bullets. Standing here is little more than old warriors, immortal souls seeking but a moment of rest.
It is slow way that his shoulders relax that tells of his intention to remain, fingers unhooking from their place behind his back to hang loosely at his sides. ]
Ah, then you must not have noticed my previous visits. [ There is nothing proper about their company, the venue, nor their intents. Neither seem to care much for porperness, such things are better left to others. To noble lords and ladies unaware of the fire about to set the streets alight and the blood about to be spilled. ] I dressed plainer though it never lasted long.
[ With the sip take he watches her face, her throat, satisfied after a moment of nothing he follows suit. Cup raising to be brought to his lips, barely golden liquid coating mouth and throat. ]
[ She keeps her eyes fixed on his as she sips slowly, it's dreadful, but if it's good enough for the people here, she had insisted, it's good enough for her. Enough time apparently that she can stomach the stuff at least.
She props an elbow against the table as she shifts her weight, tall as it is, it's comfortable to simply lean against it. Keeping the cup close to sip idly as she talks. ] Best we keep it way then, shall we? I never knew you were here.
[ simply stated, as much as she's giving. A promise that if they found each other in the morning when they put boots on the ground - she wouldn't know his face. no more than he'd know hers. ]
[ A good thing than they neither of them are looking for something with taste, something to savor with time and noble conversation. No, what they seek is a numbness delivered only by a sharper sort of drink, that burns the throat and settles warmly in the pit of their stomachs.
He observes her quietly as she speaks, leaning slight against the wall behind him, cup held securely in one hand. It is a shame they must stand as enemies, a woman as beautiful and fierce as her - what he would give to treasure such ferocity, such beauty, as it rightly deserves to be.
There is no hesitation in his nod, agreement unspoken. ] I shall endeavor to forget your face come morning, mademoiselle. [ As painful as such a task might be. ] It is the best course of action for us both.
[ Rough, ugly burning taste in her mouth that she licks her lips to chase the edge of it. Her fingers caught on the edge of the cup, and she's intent on taking this one mouthful at a time. Her plans going on so far as that next mouthful.
It's a relief to be in the company of someone who is looking for nothing more than the same. ]
In that case - [ her mouth, clever, brittle little line that twists into a sharp smile. ] the bar is open. [ no one is here, no is coming back. Save Devi, but she had orders already to begin preparation. ] The bar is open. Let's make the forgetting easy.
[ She leans forward the, tiger's shift of shoulders. Holding her cup up to him. ] A toast, to Sir Galahad. [ there is grief thick in her mouth for the words, but it goes no further than that. ]
[ He tilts his head, gaze flicking from her face to the empty bar not far off, and laughs. The bar is open, free for them to plunder with no worry for the consequence. A endless stream of alcohol and the company of a beautiful woman, what more could a man ask for?
But the laughter fades, falls into a solemn silence. There is no hesitation in the way he pushes himself off the wall, tapping her cup with his own. ] I pray God sees him back safely. [ It is a grief that he shares, thick in the back of his throat, in the depths of his gaze.
Toast made the Frenchman shifts back to throw what remains in his cup down, that burning taste sharp against his tongue, sharper still as it moves down. ]
[ It's choking, that fear, all sorts of tomorrows hang there now, and she is sick of fretting about them. The drink is easier. She mimics, grimace on her face for it, rather choke on this than fate and it's cruel twists. Head going back as she swallows down the rest of the drink. Regrets it almost immediately as it goes down, tipping forward. Leaning into the back of the hand that held the drink as he swallowed down the mouthful. Coughing briefly when she gets it down, sharp inhalation to catch it.
What was that about getting used to this stuff? She clearly hadn't. ] How do they drink this swill?
[ Rasped out through something that might be a laugh. Setting the cup down firmly as she hung her head, shaking it to try and clear her head, before she draws back again to poor another for herself, leaving the bottle close if he wanted one himself. This one she sips a little more carefully. Feeling the burn that she had wanted. ]
[ A subject neither wish to speak on further, it lays too heavily on their hearts, presses the back of their throats. Hope and fear mingling so exquisitely all it can do is hurt, sting like a open wound threatening to fester. He could not be more grateful for the open bar in the face of it all, to make the forgetting easier, to ease the ache set deep in his chest.
A chuckle comes unbidden as she struggles with the strength of their choice drink, far removed from the fancy wines those of higher class enjoy. ]
Easily, I imagine, there is little else for them to drown their sorrows in. [ A brief pause. ] Outside the arms of a beautiful woman, of course.
[ He joins her in refilling his cup, lips quirked up a slight smile. How alien it had become in the last few days, since the sky rained down fire and his heart grew heavy with grief. Ever since that day he has very few reasons to smile, only further reason to grieve.
But not this moment, not now, they aim to forget more than just each others faces this night. ]
[ It didn't exactly get better with each mouthful, just that her tongue deadened to it. What she wants, she is good at - putting away the things that become too much too quickly. Of moving on when she must, to never lingering longer than she needs to. It was how she stayed alive. Sometimes it was not so easily done. Eyes fixed on him in the candle light. Not so well lit as the bright halls that he was no doubt used to, but that was sort of the point of it wasn't it? Comfortably numb. ]
This is the place for both.
[ Flicks her eyes down, hiding the mischief in them and the words, contemplating her drink as she contemplated him. It was not as if he did not come with a reputation. Handsome enough, for it to be fair one at least. Sips a smaller mouthful, glancing up at him again. Not unfair at all why a lady should like such a thing. Especially when he smiled so easy. Something she did not do so often anymore.
Steal his for herself then. ] Never had much interest in drink. Until I found the cold never came out here. [ Another brittle laugh, hidden behind the lip of her cup. ] I fear I was not made for this weather.
[ It would be remiss of him if he did not think he had something of a reputation, the stories undoubtedly spoken of him amongst the circles of both the higher and lower classes. To Lafayette they barely held importance, a beautiful woman was beautiful no matter her standing. She will always be satisfied and smiling upon his departure.
And his smiles come easy, true, but difficult it is for them to reach his eyes proper, for them to be so bright as were when Malory still lived. They will return to that state some day, of course, given time to live and heal. For now they are just this, easy yet not wholly meant - her influence perhaps, or the swill they partake in so eagerly. It matters not. ]
No man is, mademoiselle, save for the English. [ He sniffs, bringing his cup to his lips once more. ] We can only do what little we are able to stave off the chill. [ A smile, sharp and mischievous. The drink, he thinks, it must be the drink. ]
[ Makes it easier. and no she doesn't drink often. For her to be knocking it back so hard and fast like they are now. Very soon, she'll feel it trickle it's way down into her fingers. But for now she sets her chin in the palm of her free hand, nail tapping absently. Watching him, not as close as she might if he were looking to make a point. More just - being pleasant, receptive, giving him the respect of paying attention to him when he speaks. That's all. Her smile hooked the one side, quick with it when she wants to be. ]
So I am learning. [ something from when she'd first came - ] The rain is not quite so polite in my homeland. But it at least leaves. [ Flicks her fingers as if she might just command this miserableness to simply disperse from around them. ] is it the same in France? I never quite stayed long enough to get a measure of it. [ What was she doing in France? Who knows. Nothing he needed to know about, in any case. ]
[ What was she doing in France? He has to wonder, something to ponder another time when he is not to remember her face. For now it isn't to be thought upon, fingers curling tighter around his up and he stands that little bit taller. ]
It is just as miserable in France? God, no. She does not rain nearly as much, her winters do not linger through spring and summer. [ A man of the world, a man of two revolutions, but a Frenchman at heart. Always and forever. ] She is kissed by the sun and perfumed by the smell of fresh flowers.
[ He misses the sun, he realizes then, the warmth of it. Shining days are never quite as warm as they should be in England, the threat of rain always standing off to the edge of the sky. ]
[ Her eyebrows go up, as he talks, tilting her smile down into her lips as she presses them against her fingers. It's good to see someone with the same sentiment. ]
I heard the sun in the south is something to be seen. [ From artists and poets at least. They trickle through these doors more than almost anyone else. Forever in love with someone woman they cannot have. ] I never thought to miss summer, but I miss feeling at least somewhat dry, having the warmth on my skin. [ Granted if she spent her time in more noble houses perhaps she would not feel that way. But here? In the muck and the dirt, it feels sunk into her skin -- and especially now. Seems fitting to so much misery, maybe.
Another mouthful, another grimace for it and her head tilts, tips. ] Listen to us, anyone would think we were homesick.
[ He laughs, low and a little hollow, cup rising to drain more of his drink. Another mouthful to fill in those empty spaces, another to warm his weary bones.
Could he deny it? No, not in the slightest. Just by the sound of them they sound like the forlorn, torn and denied that which brought them both such joy. The warmth of home. ]
What a pair we must make.
[ A knight and the rebel queen, commiserating together on such a miserable night. ]
What of your home, mademoiselle? Tell me of the suns of India. I would know of their beauty.
[ This is a child's game, pretending they are other than what they are but -- no this is exactly what they are. So the game is that, if the world had been fair, if the world had been kind, if it had been right. If the truth had anything to do with it, they might never have to forget each other. But as it stands, there was no going back now. ]
No one said eternity made men clever. [ sharp little dig for as much him as her, but it's kindly meant. ] It could not be more different to here, or France, or any of the countries this side of the continent. [ Tips her cup, watching the almost gone amber liquid catch the light. Could be sun glittering for all their present dreaming, and suddenly the drink is stomachable, a fair price to pay for drinking light. ] It will build and build with heat, until it's cloying in the back of your throat, there is no relief at night either that way. Summers are generous that way. [ The cup is set down, she leans forward with her hand to where he lingers and ghosts the space between them, a drawn up line, to his pulse. ] Sometimes you think you can feel it in your blood itself, it settles itself into each breath. Then just when you think you can take no more of it - it breaks. Then it will storm, for hours the rain will pour down in torrents before just as suddenly, it is gone. It goes like this for all of summer.
[ Her hand withdraws, eyes on him. Warm, warm, warm, with the summers she speaks of. ] It is not forgiving, rather the heat can be maddening at times.
[ A game, a truly foolish game but it is what it is and he knows the truth of it. Let them play, he thinks, for this moment before the world remembers how to breathe, before the foundations around them groan their last before collapsing. He is allowed that much, is he not? To have to stand testament to a friend's sure to be death. See him punished for this if that is what must happen, he will bare it will no complaint - but allow him this opportunity to breathe, to exist beyond the gorget that adorns his neck.
The man to stand in place of the knight.
He listens close, attention caught firmly between those slender fingers. It is a grand picture she weaves, unrelenting heat pressed down hard upon it's people. Imitating suddenly, perhaps, by her fingers drawing line up his pulse. ( A terrible man thinks himself in danger, counts the opportunity and watches it slip by. ) Warm, truly warm, summers to break the unwary and the weak. No wonder she stands so strong, burns so bright. ]
Much like it's queen. [ A smile hooked to one side, jest and compliment all in one. ] It sounds like paradise compared to the piercing cold of England.
[ She can't quite dignify that with an answer straight away - flattering is part of the course of royalty especially, for it to mean very much to her. She snatches her drink up again, draining it dry before she takes up the bottle again to fill her cup, and as she speaks tips it a little to ask if he wanted more himself.
She might not be completely immune to it, as she pretends most of the time. It's ridiculous, but that's the point. Watching him again, carefully. ]
It feels like it some times. Then I remember how my clothes would stick to me at times, I wanted nothing but to throw myself into the rain for some relief, and I do have to wonder who has the right of it. [ But she misses it all the same, doesn't need to say it. That much is plain. ] And you, Marquis, is it true all frenchmen are so charming, or are you particularly gifted?
[ He flatters as easily as he breathes - the ways of courts, nobility, and royals ingrained deep in his bones. He has a lifetime of placating them, speaking the right words at the right moments in the right ways. Not to say he does not mean what he says, no no, Lafayette does not speak empty words - especially not around a woman such as she. ]
Perhaps this damn English rain has some use after all. [ He would not have thought earlier this evening he would be sitting in a bar alone with the rebel queen doing his best not to picture cloths slick against her skin. It makes him thankful for her question, dragging him swift from his thoughts. ]
Not all of my countrymen can be as charming as I, but some come close. No, mademoiselle, I am unique amongst my fellows. [ As, morbidly, he still has his head. ]
[ Here she is, pouring him out the last of this bottle. Comfortable in his company, bemused with him as far as she'd admit. Maybe otherwise, but she's always slow to it. Things are hard won from her at the best of times. Just maybe not quite so after she's finished this glass however. See how she felt about him then. ]
That you are. [ her eyes crinkle with the smile, the bottle set down empty and she shakes her head. She means, she studies her enemies carefully, seen him from the other end of the gun to know how good his shot is - she means he's nothing she finds hard to look at. ] A man of many skills I hear told often enough. [ Crinkles, imaging him, as someone else maybe. The blackwater stripped them of much, most especially the people they were before. ] It must be useful.
[ The swill does it's work well, spreading through his veins like a slow but fierce fire. Perhaps it is what makes this easier - no, he cannot say he has not admired the woman on reputation alone and meeting her in person... well, rumors of her beauty have not done her enough justice. Nevertheless she holds more from him than most enemies should, respect and admiration.
He holds up his cup, motioning towards her with eyebrows raised. ] As are you. [ Unique, not hard to look upon, more pleasant company than he dares to admit. ] Oui, I am as expertly skilled off the battlefield as I am on.
[ It's the heat she described, settling in her throat, working its way against her cheeks, her lips. Leant in to talk with him so easily. True, she never saw them so much as an enemy as something simply in her way, at worst fools of their own pride. She never thought very much one what they are like as people in this regard - and with him, it's easy. Likeable, and he tries to be of course - but this comfortable in another way. A mutuality to missing, that she feels understood in. ]
We are not exactly... usual company. [ Her lips press together, that numbness is coming up comfortably again. Content and warm. Her teeth catch against her bottom lip, pressing in sharp on words decorum would say otherwise about. She's all predator, because she always has been just different. Slow, encroaching. She measures too often, too carefully. Even like this when there's heat crawling up her spine. ] Careful, Marquis, I might ask what kind of woman you think I am. [ The girls that had worked here, told her how he talked. ]
[ He laughs again, short, drink joining his lips to swallow even more of the amber liquid. Both burning and numbness mixing together as time progresses. ]
I think you are not a woman to be trifled with, a desert rose that is as beautiful as she is dangerous. [ Honeyed words wholly meant, slipping from his lips as effortless as if he were to simply breathe. ] A woman not so easily charmed by flattery and suggestion.
[ Not that he is attempting to charm her, no, he would not dare. Would he? The warmth makes him reckless, more so than normal, entertaining idle thoughts of baiting a tiger with slabs of meat. Dangerous thoughts to be true, belonging to a man of younger years. Yet they sit nevertheless, a small prickle on the edge of his thoughts. ]
[ It appeals - as a woman, if not a queen. A queen would never be turned by such things, and she never had - after all, she had been married as soon as it had been time. Her mind taken up by ruling, and then all that came afterwards. She expects something decent from him after all, flattering her, and yes, yes any other time, she would raise her eyebrow at him, shift her shoulders into something clearly dismissive for what she never had much time for. But they're not here for any other time, so if just this once, she gives into the pleased feeling that settles in her belly. Right now she is as he describes her, no more, no less, and he is no more than the honey on his tongue.
An old bad habit, that when she had decided she wanted something, that she became fixed on it. It had no lessened in the years, the matter now is more what she intends about it. ]
Better than my poets. [ Not charmed easily, and yes, yes never to be trifled with except when she lets someone do so. Her terms, her battlefields, twisting them to suit her. ] I suppose if that's true - I need not warn you of thorns. [ Since he'd worked that all by himself already. ] I would hate for you to slice yourself on them. [ Soft, as she hangs the warning in front of him, like a promise more than a threat. He will, of course he will. ]
[ He leans upon the table with a laugh upon his lips, he might trip directly into her claws now and he would not entirely mind. The drink as seeped deep into his veins, his bones, brought a numbness to the world outside of the brothel.
And Lafayette, ah, he shares her old habit in a way; not one to give up a pursuit once began. ]
I do not fear thorns, mademoiselle. [ Reckless, truly, he will see himself bleed if he continues he knows. ] There is no pleasure without a little pain.
[ But it's a little too quick this way. Watching him like she's considering something this time. Comes to a choice and decides on it, and pushes her body up quickly. Pushing her fingers against the bench top to straighten herself. She pulls back, turning quick on her heel, as she heads towards the bar itself. Air thick with all sorts of things between them now, especially the warmth of liquor - and that might just be what this is. Chasing a forgotten summer in the bottom of a glass, or in company. ] I believe I promised you your fill of drink.
[ She doesn't look at what she snatches in her quick fingers. Turning to lean against the bar with it held in her hand, elbows propped up to support her weight. It'll do her for the time being, whatever it is. There's no table between them, now, and as she leans, picture of being at her own leisure, she beckons him closer to choose - or whatever else he decides to do with the inviting curl of her fingers, inviting him closer. ] So what will you have?
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no subject
I'm humbled.
[ presses her lips together in a smile that is anything but. But polite will work for now. Her head tilts. The gun is on the table, and as she sets the bottle down, she places her own down too. Dragging a discarded cup from the side, and it's slow, he can turn away from this at any time. She doesn't have the intention to trap him.
Glances up to him as she pours the wine, for him, then for her. ] I don't think we've ever received such noble patronage. [ It's more than should be poured for decent company. But they're immortal and this is a brothel in the worst slums of london, who had a care for proper. Besides, she does have a goal - it's to not feel her mouth or her lips until she must.
When it's poured - she pushes the cup towards him before reaching for her own. Very deliberately taking the first sip as way of trust. ]
no subject
It is slow way that his shoulders relax that tells of his intention to remain, fingers unhooking from their place behind his back to hang loosely at his sides. ]
Ah, then you must not have noticed my previous visits. [ There is nothing proper about their company, the venue, nor their intents. Neither seem to care much for porperness, such things are better left to others. To noble lords and ladies unaware of the fire about to set the streets alight and the blood about to be spilled. ] I dressed plainer though it never lasted long.
[ With the sip take he watches her face, her throat, satisfied after a moment of nothing he follows suit. Cup raising to be brought to his lips, barely golden liquid coating mouth and throat. ]
no subject
She props an elbow against the table as she shifts her weight, tall as it is, it's comfortable to simply lean against it. Keeping the cup close to sip idly as she talks. ] Best we keep it way then, shall we? I never knew you were here.
[ simply stated, as much as she's giving. A promise that if they found each other in the morning when they put boots on the ground - she wouldn't know his face. no more than he'd know hers. ]
no subject
He observes her quietly as she speaks, leaning slight against the wall behind him, cup held securely in one hand. It is a shame they must stand as enemies, a woman as beautiful and fierce as her - what he would give to treasure such ferocity, such beauty, as it rightly deserves to be.
There is no hesitation in his nod, agreement unspoken. ] I shall endeavor to forget your face come morning, mademoiselle. [ As painful as such a task might be. ] It is the best course of action for us both.
no subject
It's a relief to be in the company of someone who is looking for nothing more than the same. ]
In that case - [ her mouth, clever, brittle little line that twists into a sharp smile. ] the bar is open. [ no one is here, no is coming back. Save Devi, but she had orders already to begin preparation. ] The bar is open. Let's make the forgetting easy.
[ She leans forward the, tiger's shift of shoulders. Holding her cup up to him. ] A toast, to Sir Galahad. [ there is grief thick in her mouth for the words, but it goes no further than that. ]
no subject
But the laughter fades, falls into a solemn silence. There is no hesitation in the way he pushes himself off the wall, tapping her cup with his own. ] I pray God sees him back safely. [ It is a grief that he shares, thick in the back of his throat, in the depths of his gaze.
Toast made the Frenchman shifts back to throw what remains in his cup down, that burning taste sharp against his tongue, sharper still as it moves down. ]
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What was that about getting used to this stuff? She clearly hadn't. ] How do they drink this swill?
[ Rasped out through something that might be a laugh. Setting the cup down firmly as she hung her head, shaking it to try and clear her head, before she draws back again to poor another for herself, leaving the bottle close if he wanted one himself. This one she sips a little more carefully. Feeling the burn that she had wanted. ]
no subject
A chuckle comes unbidden as she struggles with the strength of their choice drink, far removed from the fancy wines those of higher class enjoy. ]
Easily, I imagine, there is little else for them to drown their sorrows in. [ A brief pause. ] Outside the arms of a beautiful woman, of course.
[ He joins her in refilling his cup, lips quirked up a slight smile. How alien it had become in the last few days, since the sky rained down fire and his heart grew heavy with grief. Ever since that day he has very few reasons to smile, only further reason to grieve.
But not this moment, not now, they aim to forget more than just each others faces this night. ]
no subject
This is the place for both.
[ Flicks her eyes down, hiding the mischief in them and the words, contemplating her drink as she contemplated him. It was not as if he did not come with a reputation. Handsome enough, for it to be fair one at least. Sips a smaller mouthful, glancing up at him again. Not unfair at all why a lady should like such a thing. Especially when he smiled so easy. Something she did not do so often anymore.
Steal his for herself then. ] Never had much interest in drink. Until I found the cold never came out here. [ Another brittle laugh, hidden behind the lip of her cup. ] I fear I was not made for this weather.
no subject
[ It would be remiss of him if he did not think he had something of a reputation, the stories undoubtedly spoken of him amongst the circles of both the higher and lower classes. To Lafayette they barely held importance, a beautiful woman was beautiful no matter her standing. She will always be satisfied and smiling upon his departure.
And his smiles come easy, true, but difficult it is for them to reach his eyes proper, for them to be so bright as were when Malory still lived. They will return to that state some day, of course, given time to live and heal. For now they are just this, easy yet not wholly meant - her influence perhaps, or the swill they partake in so eagerly. It matters not. ]
No man is, mademoiselle, save for the English. [ He sniffs, bringing his cup to his lips once more. ] We can only do what little we are able to stave off the chill. [ A smile, sharp and mischievous. The drink, he thinks, it must be the drink. ]
no subject
So I am learning. [ something from when she'd first came - ] The rain is not quite so polite in my homeland. But it at least leaves. [ Flicks her fingers as if she might just command this miserableness to simply disperse from around them. ] is it the same in France? I never quite stayed long enough to get a measure of it. [ What was she doing in France? Who knows. Nothing he needed to know about, in any case. ]
no subject
It is just as miserable in France? God, no. She does not rain nearly as much, her winters do not linger through spring and summer. [ A man of the world, a man of two revolutions, but a Frenchman at heart. Always and forever. ] She is kissed by the sun and perfumed by the smell of fresh flowers.
[ He misses the sun, he realizes then, the warmth of it. Shining days are never quite as warm as they should be in England, the threat of rain always standing off to the edge of the sky. ]
no subject
I heard the sun in the south is something to be seen. [ From artists and poets at least. They trickle through these doors more than almost anyone else. Forever in love with someone woman they cannot have. ] I never thought to miss summer, but I miss feeling at least somewhat dry, having the warmth on my skin. [ Granted if she spent her time in more noble houses perhaps she would not feel that way. But here? In the muck and the dirt, it feels sunk into her skin -- and especially now. Seems fitting to so much misery, maybe.
Another mouthful, another grimace for it and her head tilts, tips. ] Listen to us, anyone would think we were homesick.
no subject
Could he deny it? No, not in the slightest. Just by the sound of them they sound like the forlorn, torn and denied that which brought them both such joy. The warmth of home. ]
What a pair we must make.
[ A knight and the rebel queen, commiserating together on such a miserable night. ]
What of your home, mademoiselle? Tell me of the suns of India. I would know of their beauty.
no subject
No one said eternity made men clever. [ sharp little dig for as much him as her, but it's kindly meant. ] It could not be more different to here, or France, or any of the countries this side of the continent. [ Tips her cup, watching the almost gone amber liquid catch the light. Could be sun glittering for all their present dreaming, and suddenly the drink is stomachable, a fair price to pay for drinking light. ] It will build and build with heat, until it's cloying in the back of your throat, there is no relief at night either that way. Summers are generous that way. [ The cup is set down, she leans forward with her hand to where he lingers and ghosts the space between them, a drawn up line, to his pulse. ] Sometimes you think you can feel it in your blood itself, it settles itself into each breath. Then just when you think you can take no more of it - it breaks. Then it will storm, for hours the rain will pour down in torrents before just as suddenly, it is gone. It goes like this for all of summer.
[ Her hand withdraws, eyes on him. Warm, warm, warm, with the summers she speaks of. ] It is not forgiving, rather the heat can be maddening at times.
no subject
The man to stand in place of the knight.
He listens close, attention caught firmly between those slender fingers. It is a grand picture she weaves, unrelenting heat pressed down hard upon it's people. Imitating suddenly, perhaps, by her fingers drawing line up his pulse. ( A terrible man thinks himself in danger, counts the opportunity and watches it slip by. ) Warm, truly warm, summers to break the unwary and the weak. No wonder she stands so strong, burns so bright. ]
Much like it's queen. [ A smile hooked to one side, jest and compliment all in one. ] It sounds like paradise compared to the piercing cold of England.
no subject
She might not be completely immune to it, as she pretends most of the time. It's ridiculous, but that's the point. Watching him again, carefully. ]
It feels like it some times. Then I remember how my clothes would stick to me at times, I wanted nothing but to throw myself into the rain for some relief, and I do have to wonder who has the right of it. [ But she misses it all the same, doesn't need to say it. That much is plain. ] And you, Marquis, is it true all frenchmen are so charming, or are you particularly gifted?
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Perhaps this damn English rain has some use after all. [ He would not have thought earlier this evening he would be sitting in a bar alone with the rebel queen doing his best not to picture cloths slick against her skin. It makes him thankful for her question, dragging him swift from his thoughts. ]
Not all of my countrymen can be as charming as I, but some come close. No, mademoiselle, I am unique amongst my fellows. [ As, morbidly, he still has his head. ]
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That you are. [ her eyes crinkle with the smile, the bottle set down empty and she shakes her head. She means, she studies her enemies carefully, seen him from the other end of the gun to know how good his shot is - she means he's nothing she finds hard to look at. ] A man of many skills I hear told often enough. [ Crinkles, imaging him, as someone else maybe. The blackwater stripped them of much, most especially the people they were before. ] It must be useful.
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He holds up his cup, motioning towards her with eyebrows raised. ] As are you. [ Unique, not hard to look upon, more pleasant company than he dares to admit. ] Oui, I am as expertly skilled off the battlefield as I am on.
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We are not exactly... usual company. [ Her lips press together, that numbness is coming up comfortably again. Content and warm. Her teeth catch against her bottom lip, pressing in sharp on words decorum would say otherwise about. She's all predator, because she always has been just different. Slow, encroaching. She measures too often, too carefully. Even like this when there's heat crawling up her spine. ] Careful, Marquis, I might ask what kind of woman you think I am. [ The girls that had worked here, told her how he talked. ]
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I think you are not a woman to be trifled with, a desert rose that is as beautiful as she is dangerous. [ Honeyed words wholly meant, slipping from his lips as effortless as if he were to simply breathe. ] A woman not so easily charmed by flattery and suggestion.
[ Not that he is attempting to charm her, no, he would not dare. Would he? The warmth makes him reckless, more so than normal, entertaining idle thoughts of baiting a tiger with slabs of meat. Dangerous thoughts to be true, belonging to a man of younger years. Yet they sit nevertheless, a small prickle on the edge of his thoughts. ]
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An old bad habit, that when she had decided she wanted something, that she became fixed on it. It had no lessened in the years, the matter now is more what she intends about it. ]
Better than my poets. [ Not charmed easily, and yes, yes never to be trifled with except when she lets someone do so. Her terms, her battlefields, twisting them to suit her. ] I suppose if that's true - I need not warn you of thorns. [ Since he'd worked that all by himself already. ] I would hate for you to slice yourself on them. [ Soft, as she hangs the warning in front of him, like a promise more than a threat. He will, of course he will. ]
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And Lafayette, ah, he shares her old habit in a way; not one to give up a pursuit once began. ]
I do not fear thorns, mademoiselle. [ Reckless, truly, he will see himself bleed if he continues he knows. ] There is no pleasure without a little pain.
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[ But it's a little too quick this way. Watching him like she's considering something this time. Comes to a choice and decides on it, and pushes her body up quickly. Pushing her fingers against the bench top to straighten herself. She pulls back, turning quick on her heel, as she heads towards the bar itself. Air thick with all sorts of things between them now, especially the warmth of liquor - and that might just be what this is. Chasing a forgotten summer in the bottom of a glass, or in company. ] I believe I promised you your fill of drink.
[ She doesn't look at what she snatches in her quick fingers. Turning to lean against the bar with it held in her hand, elbows propped up to support her weight. It'll do her for the time being, whatever it is. There's no table between them, now, and as she leans, picture of being at her own leisure, she beckons him closer to choose - or whatever else he decides to do with the inviting curl of her fingers, inviting him closer. ] So what will you have?
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