[ She steels herself, twisted, at little to face him where he has her caught. A little miffed maybe, because - he shouldn't be right. She hates letting him be right, but - ]
I'm certain, I don't like cabernet that much - [ His mouth cuts her off and this time she does squeal, her face cringing away from him, at the feeling of it. ( doesn't think, that she wouldn't be like this, so jumpy, so brittle, so overworked by little things if she just let anyone else near her, anymore but - that like everything else, is something she never thinks about ). ]
Byerly.
[ but she's waiting to hear whatever he might say. ]
[ he has no business knowing her so well as he leans into her and she instinctively catches him. though it's more that her limbs wrap greedily, offering him the corners of herself to fit into. The shawl slipping down her shoulders as she leans with him. ]
Haven't I told you to stop that? You will have me arrested for treason one day.
[ She had not had more than one son, she had refused to let herself be bound again, and she had loved with all too much of herself. Nothing any member of the Vor would forgive her for. ]
Letting Vorrutyers get ideas must be chief among them.
[ His teasing, leering imitation of dissolution is spoiled when she drives her fingers into a ticklish spot. He jerks, wriggles, and gives a little yelp of surprise. ]
[ She lets out a peel of laughter, head going back to keep poking at him. No letting up even slightly for his dignity's sake, fingers quick and clever against him until she's firmly won. Because this is easy, and it's good and it costs her nothing but a way to let the snap of blistering rage into something that he wraps up easily no matter how she might blister his palms for doing so, lets him press her into something that can be held down so she doesn't have to do it herself. ]
[ He knows what he's doing, of course. She wins - drives him back, him jerking and barking with every precise poke of her fingers - but he's satisfied in her victory, because a bit of her rage is cooled. When he retreats into his corner of the groundcar, panting and holding up his hands in unconditional surrender, his smile is genuinely pleased. ]
I yield! I yield. I surrender and confess my crimes. Clemency, I beg clemency.
[ She settles back into hers. Leaning against the car door, breathless with her laughter her hand cupping against her mouth to keep try and smother the last of it. ] As you should.
[ She hums, laughs, and then shuts her eye coming up with the worst punishments she could possibly come up with. Absolutely wicked, she's sure, worthy of his bloodied ancestors. Lakshmi the Wicked, that could be her name. Tormentor of Vorrutyers. ]
[ It's the sort of ridiculous shoe a lady must where she's a good foot shorter than half the men in the room and needs to get them to meet her in the eye. Or vaguely contemplate stabbing one of them in the neck.
Once it's free, she wriggles her toes where they're caught in her stockings. Her leg arched to stretch out briefly in a content noise of finally letting herself unwind. That party far enough behind them now that she didn't care if someone was following the car, even, and was finding all sorts of new gossip. ]
Oh yes. Definitely. Like you deserve. [ Her eyes slip shut with a content smile. ] Not that I am enjoying it, of course, justice isn't enjoyed. I'm far too impartial for that.
[ He immediately gets to it, pressing his thumbs into the arches of her feet. He has good strong hands, sensitive and attentive, hands that somehow express all the warmth that he doesn't ever allow his words or his deeds to show. His foot-rubs are magical, and his head and hand massages - absolutely phenomenal, even as he keeps complaining: ]
I'm a good honest man, having to endure this kangaroo court. You ought to have been born during the Time of Isolation and ruled as some wicked empress...
[ She makes the most guiltless, happy little grunt of a moan when his fingers sink into the aching her feet. Before she bites it off, doesn't need the drive getting any more ideas as her her teeth sink into her lip. It takes the pressure off them immediately, because he is good at it and he is good at what he does and he knows it. Practised on all those Vor ladies and lords he seduces, no doubt, and there for her to reap the benefit of. What a greedy, selfish woman she was. ]
Oh yes. I would have a lover a day and kill them by night - [ Her brow is furrowed just that little in the utter concentration of how good that feels. That, like that spike of her volatile rage, takes no less than all of herself. ] - like mad old Empress, oh, whatever her name was.
[ He frowns in thought, trying to remember. His fingers don't hesitate or falter or even slow, even as he's distracted by trying to remember his history lessons. ]
I think it was Alexandra. She was only a second cousin of my family, so we never did spend much time remembering her. In any case. Your lovers would thank you with your dying breath, my good lady.
Proof that Vorrutyer's aren't always responsible, I suppose.
[ There's another happy noise when he digs into a sore point. Feeling someone crack back into place. No doubt where a horse had stood on her foot recently. ]
Would they? [ she laughs, then sobers a little. ] Perhaps I should find one, then. I suppose it has been long enough. [ What was good form for a widow? One year? Or was it two? She couldn't quite remember. She knew she would be expected to look for one, in enough time. Just wasn't good form for a woman as young as she was to be left alone. Or so they would say. ]
[ He smiles down at her feet, face not betraying a hint of the unnameable emotion that rises up in him. What is that? Grief for her slaughtered idiot husband? Fear for her and her reputation? Who can tell. ]
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Well? You're the only judge of that. Was it a cabernet?
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No.
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[ He smacks his lips - and then goes for her hand again. ]
Here, I need another taste -
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Byerly.
[ but she's waiting to hear whatever he might say. ]
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Sorry for the offense against your honor, ma reine. Merlot, always merlot.
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Haven't I told you to stop that? You will have me arrested for treason one day.
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Why - what treason will you have committed?
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[ She had not had more than one son, she had refused to let herself be bound again, and she had loved with all too much of herself. Nothing any member of the Vor would forgive her for. ]
Letting Vorrutyers get ideas must be chief among them.
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[ He grins into her hair. ]
Only perverted ones. Don't you know that?
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Then not throwing you out of the car at a high speed must surely be it. Spare the good men and women your corruptions.
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[ His teasing, leering imitation of dissolution is spoiled when she drives her fingers into a ticklish spot. He jerks, wriggles, and gives a little yelp of surprise. ]
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I yield! I yield. I surrender and confess my crimes. Clemency, I beg clemency.
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[ Catching his breath - ]
What penance must I pay, lady?
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You can take these shoes off me, first of all.
[ Definitely the best place to start. ]
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[ He sighs mournfully as he bends over to grasp her ankle and set it in her lap. Delicately, gently, he works the shoe off. ]
And - egads - shall you force me to rub your feet, too?
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Once it's free, she wriggles her toes where they're caught in her stockings. Her leg arched to stretch out briefly in a content noise of finally letting herself unwind. That party far enough behind them now that she didn't care if someone was following the car, even, and was finding all sorts of new gossip. ]
Oh yes. Definitely. Like you deserve. [ Her eyes slip shut with a content smile. ] Not that I am enjoying it, of course, justice isn't enjoyed. I'm far too impartial for that.
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[ He immediately gets to it, pressing his thumbs into the arches of her feet. He has good strong hands, sensitive and attentive, hands that somehow express all the warmth that he doesn't ever allow his words or his deeds to show. His foot-rubs are magical, and his head and hand massages - absolutely phenomenal, even as he keeps complaining: ]
I'm a good honest man, having to endure this kangaroo court. You ought to have been born during the Time of Isolation and ruled as some wicked empress...
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Oh yes. I would have a lover a day and kill them by night - [ Her brow is furrowed just that little in the utter concentration of how good that feels. That, like that spike of her volatile rage, takes no less than all of herself. ] - like mad old Empress, oh, whatever her name was.
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[ He frowns in thought, trying to remember. His fingers don't hesitate or falter or even slow, even as he's distracted by trying to remember his history lessons. ]
I think it was Alexandra. She was only a second cousin of my family, so we never did spend much time remembering her. In any case. Your lovers would thank you with your dying breath, my good lady.
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[ There's another happy noise when he digs into a sore point. Feeling someone crack back into place. No doubt where a horse had stood on her foot recently. ]
Would they? [ she laughs, then sobers a little. ] Perhaps I should find one, then. I suppose it has been long enough. [ What was good form for a widow? One year? Or was it two? She couldn't quite remember. She knew she would be expected to look for one, in enough time. Just wasn't good form for a woman as young as she was to be left alone. Or so they would say. ]
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[ He smiles down at her feet, face not betraying a hint of the unnameable emotion that rises up in him. What is that? Grief for her slaughtered idiot husband? Fear for her and her reputation? Who can tell. ]
Would you like a list of suggestions?
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Go on then.
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