[ and just like that her carefully pretty picture is ruined when she snatches up and flicks him, a scandalized word for that. Still messy, still too open. ]
I do not think you are the least bit afraid of me.
[ He plays her too well, for that. She's sure. Half way through being seduced by his teasing as much as his sharpness. Little defense against either, and quickly moved over. She doesn't want him to realise it, not yet, it would not be fair to her. ]
Aren't you supposed to be giving me another drink?
I am not - [ But the fit of laughter she bursts into says otherwise when he says don't fight anyone.
Which is fine, until he is gone, and she is a Vor woman sitting at a bar. Quite happily drunk to herself, fiddling with the necklace at her throat in contemplation of her surroundings. Or, not so much to herself, as it turns out when there ends up a drink in front of her, from some other gentleman across the bar and - she mistakes it, as she sips it - Byerly must have sent it, as she goes about sipping it, waiting for him to return. ]
[ He's gone a little while, too - gets caught at the bar by someone he knows, has to confirm that yes, he is engaged, and yes, it is real, and yes, she is rich. By the time he returns, she's had a long while with this drink - which, when he sees that, he frowns uneasily and scans the bar to see where it came from. ]
[ and in misunderstanding, she looks puzzled. Looking at the drink then up at him. It's had its effect, that warm haziness in her gaze, the numbness of her digits as she taps thumb to forefinger. Shaking her head. ] Was I supposed too? I thought I should start so I did not fall behind.
Oh - [it takes a minute, looking from from the drink he'd gotten her to the one she was sipping at slowly, to what he meant by admirer.
Furious all at once and easy to map as it crosses over her otherwise besotted expression she found herself wearing at him despite herself. Who could be so rude? She pushes up from her seat. Determined, even if as she does she feels everything spin. She is, to a point, quite drunk and true to a vor, inclined to pick a fight with whoever dared insult her Fiance like that. ]
[ It's the first time he's called her by her name, without a lady or dear or anything of that ilk in front of it. He sets down the drinks at once, reaching out for her arm and catching her, all vague annoyance (why was he feeling annoyance?) dissipating in the face of her outrage. ]
Don't. Come. Sit. Stop.
[ He pulls her down, trying to get her to sit again. ]
[ And down, down, down she tumbles - straight into him. A hinge point that hooks and turns her back, landing flat into his lap, pulling back immediately. Not away, just straight up to look at him - that quick hot burst of temper that ever needs an outlet. ]
Why?
[ The insult plain to her. Against him. Against her, too, for that matter. Deserves anything that comes to him for that. Her fingers setting into his shoulders and curling up sharply in the material of Byerly's coat.
Barely registers that at long last, he used her name. ]
[ It's improper, to say that least. They aren't married yet - and even so, it's not a display that is fitting for either of their ranks. Even if it is perfectly in line with his reputation.
She'll fix this - after the conversation - she will. She will remove his hands where they settle so neatly against the dip for her waist. She will not want for them to be there. The drink will stop making the suggestions easy. She won't - won't - slide her fingers up to his neck, slide against the short hair at the back of his neck, won't - never - would settle there like it calmed her ire. Never let him think he could content her by doing much at all.
Save that she just did all of those things and that hard line set in her mouth eases some. ]
[ He cools her quickly. How steady he is. Adjusts her thumb, there, she thinks, there is his pulse, feels it as her eyes close briefly. Listening to its steady beat against her fingers. Counting them in hums. ]
Perhaps he is blind, and I should not be cross with him.
[ Good. He relaxes a little bit, allows himself a wry little smile. ]
Perhaps. Or perhaps you should feel smug, that the man took a look at you and decided to lay gifts at your feet. I'm sure he's not the first to have that reaction, no?
[ Is the cheerful admission, relaxing into his hold. Still preoccupied with that fine softness of his hair, as she hooks her fingers back and forth against him. Wriggling that little to make sure she stayed put. ]
[ She snickers - twisting back to the glass he had gotten her - and brings it up to sip it slowly. Her eyes meeting his as she makes a show of it - that his gift, his alone would be the gift she accepts. Letting well against her lip before she drinks it deep. ]
I don't like insincere men. They can't dismiss my thoughts, my self, and then act like gold and trinkets is enough for me.
[ That's a powerful sort of look. He doesn't know that he deserves it - there's a brief nervous tremor that goes through the pit of his stomach. He imtries to ignore it. ]
A principled enough stance, but then you're out quite a lot of gold and trinkets. Which strikes me as a pity.
[ She scrapes her teeth against her lip as she swallows down the drink, watching him with that fixed same look still. A question that sits on the tip of her tongue that otherwise, otherwise she would never say. But the thick, curling warmth of her limbs around him that soft hair under her fingers and that his eyes. His eyes look better than richness of the deepest coffers, it suggests the things she would not dare and lets her enact them out as she leans into him, a laughed distance away from his mouth. Where she's heady with the taste of wine and the smell of incense smoke in her hair. ]
- I would not care if were not but flowers, I would wear them and nothing else, if they came from you.
[ Drunk as she is, content as she is, she goes with the press of his fingers, - then bites, not harsh but at the pads of them. Happy little growl before she slips sideways. Hard, hard to keep herself upright like this. Leaning into his shoulder, turning her cheek to his heartbeat. ]
No, but you were tactless. You are very rich. You said exactly what you wanted from me. I gave it. you would only be insincere if you all of a sudden wanted love from me. [ She yawns, wide, and shutting her eyes. A mistake - she realises, a suddenly terrible mistake. ] Byerly?
[ Oh, god, they will be gossiping about this later. With any luck, it'll be just about how he...got her drunk and took advantage or some such thing. What a villain, that man, all that. He couldn't abide it if the gossip became about her...So he doesn't stop her, doesn't place her firmly back in her own seat; he cannot look honorable here. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ He cups a hand against his cheek. ]
I'm afraid of getting slapped again.
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You are still a wretch.
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[ He makes a grand show of wincing. ]
How rotten it is to live in fear like this.
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[ He plays her too well, for that. She's sure. Half way through being seduced by his teasing as much as his sharpness. Little defense against either, and quickly moved over. She doesn't want him to realise it, not yet, it would not be fair to her. ]
Aren't you supposed to be giving me another drink?
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[ He tosses back the last of his own drink, stands. ]
Back in a moment. Don't fight anyone while I'm gone.
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Which is fine, until he is gone, and she is a Vor woman sitting at a bar. Quite happily drunk to herself, fiddling with the necklace at her throat in contemplation of her surroundings. Or, not so much to herself, as it turns out when there ends up a drink in front of her, from some other gentleman across the bar and - she mistakes it, as she sips it - Byerly must have sent it, as she goes about sipping it, waiting for him to return. ]
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Couldn't wait?
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I fear you have another admirer.
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Furious all at once and easy to map as it crosses over her otherwise besotted expression she found herself wearing at him despite herself. Who could be so rude? She pushes up from her seat. Determined, even if as she does she feels everything spin. She is, to a point, quite drunk and true to a vor, inclined to pick a fight with whoever dared insult her Fiance like that. ]
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[ It's the first time he's called her by her name, without a lady or dear or anything of that ilk in front of it. He sets down the drinks at once, reaching out for her arm and catching her, all vague annoyance (why was he feeling annoyance?) dissipating in the face of her outrage. ]
Don't. Come. Sit. Stop.
[ He pulls her down, trying to get her to sit again. ]
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Why?
[ The insult plain to her. Against him. Against her, too, for that matter. Deserves anything that comes to him for that. Her fingers setting into his shoulders and curling up sharply in the material of Byerly's coat.
Barely registers that at long last, he used her name. ]
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[ His hands move down to support her and hold her upright. ]
I don't like fighting.
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She'll fix this - after the conversation - she will. She will remove his hands where they settle so neatly against the dip for her waist. She will not want for them to be there. The drink will stop making the suggestions easy. She won't - won't - slide her fingers up to his neck, slide against the short hair at the back of his neck, won't - never - would settle there like it calmed her ire. Never let him think he could content her by doing much at all.
Save that she just did all of those things and that hard line set in her mouth eases some. ]
But he insulted you. He deserves it.
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I don't feel insulted. Do you?
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Perhaps he is blind, and I should not be cross with him.
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Perhaps. Or perhaps you should feel smug, that the man took a look at you and decided to lay gifts at your feet. I'm sure he's not the first to have that reaction, no?
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[ Is the cheerful admission, relaxing into his hold. Still preoccupied with that fine softness of his hair, as she hooks her fingers back and forth against him. Wriggling that little to make sure she stayed put. ]
They stopped after that.
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Why? Do you not like gifts?
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I don't like insincere men. They can't dismiss my thoughts, my self, and then act like gold and trinkets is enough for me.
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A principled enough stance, but then you're out quite a lot of gold and trinkets. Which strikes me as a pity.
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[ She scrapes her teeth against her lip as she swallows down the drink, watching him with that fixed same look still. A question that sits on the tip of her tongue that otherwise, otherwise she would never say. But the thick, curling warmth of her limbs around him that soft hair under her fingers and that his eyes. His eyes look better than richness of the deepest coffers, it suggests the things she would not dare and lets her enact them out as she leans into him, a laughed distance away from his mouth. Where she's heady with the taste of wine and the smell of incense smoke in her hair. ]
- I would not care if were not but flowers, I would wear them and nothing else, if they came from you.
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[ He lifts up his hand to brush it over her lips - a gesture of affection, but also one that keeps her from kissing him where others can see. ]
But I am not famed for my sincerity, you know.
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No, but you were tactless. You are very rich. You said exactly what you wanted from me. I gave it. you would only be insincere if you all of a sudden wanted love from me. [ She yawns, wide, and shutting her eyes. A mistake - she realises, a suddenly terrible mistake. ] Byerly?
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Yes, my lady?
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