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thereneverwas

[For correspondence, private scenes, and anthrax.]

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From:

unshut

It would be rude to refuse, so she doesn't - takes the broken half of the brittle in her fingers regardless of how slightly sticky it might be.

"Then I'll pretend I haven't already eaten some before I arrived." She raises the candy in lieu of a glass, then commences to snapping off a corner. It's slightly better for having had the chance to cool properly, and rather less likely to take teeth with it.

From:

thereneverwas

Taking a much less dainty bite of his own, Barrow is unable to resist an "mmm," that has him falling back onto his pillow. It's been ages since he had something like this.

"You're a bloody saint," he murmurs, "coming to me with this in my hour of need."

From:

unshut

"I've heard it said before," she is happy to confirm, crunching her way through another bite of the brittle.

"Now the rest is all nonsense," she says, setting what remains of the candy between her teeth and talking around it and she shifts through the remaining contents of the basket with her small fingers (for they are the least sticky). "There is a pair of socks in here and a bit of elfroot if you care for the smoking of it, but if you don't then I suspect Serah Lazar may be willing to cut bargains for it. I have no idea what the healers have said that you may or may not have, so I trust you will use all of this with the correction amount of discretion. Including the socks, I suppose."

From:

thereneverwas

"I love nonsense," he sighs, his contented gaze shifting to look over the contents of the basket and enjoying all of it.

"Serah Lazar can bloody fight me for it," he mumbles with a smirk, "...I suspect he'll win, but don't say I didn't try." Taking the socks in hand, he feels them with a nod of approval. One doesn't come by new socks too often, at least without actively seeking them out.

"You're too kind to me."

From:

unshut

The sound she makes and the wave of her hand together say, Not at all as she crunches through the last bite of her piece of the pecan brittle.

From:

thereneverwas

Setting down the socks, Barrow heaves a sigh of contentment, or admiration, or perhaps both. He angles his head to look at Fitcher: the curve of her jaw, the angle of her brow, the corners of her mouth set just so.
And she's come to see him, of all people.

"I'm very fond of you," he confesses, before he can stop himself. Immediately he winces with an apologetic grin-- it's difficult to be properly suave and debonair when one is lain out in one's underclothes.

From:

unshut

Her smile in reply is quick - more clever fox than hungry wolf. With her elbow on the chair arm, she sets her chin in her hand and only after considers that her fingers are slightly sticky from the sweetness of the honey.

"Well of course, Barrow. I'm very charming."

From:

thereneverwas

He grins back at her, opens his mouth as if to say more, but thinks better of it-- he isn't sure what reaction he was expecting, but it must have been one that gave him more confidence to continue.

Instead, he just clears his throat. "That you are."

From:

unshut

She laughs, head tipping back from it. It's such a pleasant, low sound - unvarnished. Fitcher leans slightly forward in her chair, lying her hand on the bed rather than touching him (because he is broken all over, and she might poke some bruise otherwise).

"You're not meant to agree with someone when they say something so impolite, Ser," she scolds him, fox grinning. "But I do enjoy it when you humor me."

From:

thereneverwas

Barrow's smile only broadens in response, her laughter warming him, and though he doesn't forget what he'd wanted to say, he's already lost his nerve-- and the conversation has already moved on.

"There are many things one isn't meant to do," he replies, with an impish waggle of his eyebrows, "but I'd gladly do them to hear you laugh, my lady."

From:

unshut

"How agreeable you are, Barrow," she says, all good cheer. The curve of her laugh is still in her mouth as she draws her hand back to herself.

"Now, you must swear that you'll tell me should you need anything while you're so laid up. If I can't do it myself, I have fast friends in the kitchens and on the docks and so on who owe me a favor or two. You may consider it a trade for if my hobbies in Kirkwall ever catch up to me and I find myself in need of your support. Do we have a deal?"

From:

thereneverwas

"A deal it is," he agrees easily, and after a moment to think, once again he gets That Look on his face.
"There is something I would ask," he muses, "but only if you're willing. And if not, be certain I shall never ask again."

From:

unshut

It's a dangerous thing, that Look. Licking her thumb, Fitcher rubs it against her stickier fingertips in an attempt to mitigate some of the tackiness left there from the brittle, and finds all she's managed to do is smear it around.

C'est la vie.

She smiles at him - her expression
a broad, good natured thing. "You may ask whatever you like, Barrow."

From:

thereneverwas

"Just--" he falters, and is he blushing?
"--a kiss. To bolster courage." He grins helplessly, knowing she'll see right through his reasoning, but hoping beyond hope that it won't matter.

From:

unshut

"A kiss." Her eyebrows climb by a few scant degrees, and that smile tugs crooked. "Is this how they ask for a lady's favor in Ferelden, Ser?"

She's giving him a hard time, but it's such a pleasant kind of thing - not so different from singing loudly in a ferry.

From:

thereneverwas

At least Fitcher hasn't yelled at him yet.
"Only scoundrels," he replies, his smile as cheeky as it is apologetic. He doesn't rescind the request.

From:

unshut

"And is that what you are, hm? A scoundrel?" She starts to set her chin in her hand, remembers a moment too late that her fingers are sticky to save herself, and so simply commits to a sugar tacky cheek.

"I suppose I can see it. There is a certain roguish quality to your face, Barrow."

From:

thereneverwas

Smirking at Fitcher's struggle with her hand, Barrow nods. "I'm surprised you didn't already know."

From:

unshut

"By way of rumor, certainly." Though of course they've resolved that whole matter with Poesia in the jungle, so let's not linger on it. "But to my person? You have been nothing but the most steadfast of gentlemen. I should pay more attention to the gossips, it seems."

Says the biggest gossip in the Gallows. The way her smile twitching against her fingers says she realizes the joke.

"But of course," she says, at last removing the basket from her lap and drawing her heels down off the edge of the bed so she might sit up and lean slightly forward in her chair. "I could never kiss a rogue because he asked me to. But I have a very soft heart, so I will kiss you where you hurt most. Is it here?"

She sets a finger on his forehead. "Or here?" She taps his cheek. "Or—?"

She lifts her finger and awaits his direction.

From:

thereneverwas

"Cruel," Barrow remarks with a grin, "perhaps I ought to hit myself in the face, so my lips will ail the most."
He hesitates.

"...or, you know, since you're so fond of doing it-- but I wouldn't ask you two favors in the same day."

From:

unshut

"I am not fond of it and I'm rather offended you'd say so," she says, too breezily to be actually put out about it although the look she tilts at him is at least somewhat sincere. Really now, Barrow. What respectable woman is proud of her temper?

"If any case," she says, turning her hand slightly so she might scratch absently at the scruff of his beard just there near his ear. "I'm neither a healer or a mind reader, so I am entirely reliant on your opinion in this matter. For all I know, you sprained your mouth terribly while escaping your captors—in saying something very witty, no doubt."

From:

thereneverwas

He grins when Fitcher rises to her own defense, clearly pleased with himself for getting her goat, even if gently.
He angles his head toward her hand when it draws near, and raises his eyebrows, intrigued.
"Wouldn't you know it, that's exactly what happened," he says, feigning dismay, "and I've spent so many lonely hours up here talking to myself, I'm certain I've pulled all the muscles in it."

He's full of shit; he's had constant visitors.

From:

unshut

Her hmm is very skeptical indeed, punctuated with a narrowing look as if she might catch him in a lie if she simply squints hard enough.

"Perhaps I should fetch back Lazar then. I'm sure he would be happy to do all the talking for you in exchange for something. The socks, maybe?"

From:

thereneverwas

Barrow reaches forward to gently place his hand on hers. He remains smiling, but there's the subtlest of sadness behind it now: he can take a hint, and he swore he wouldn't press. That doesn't mean Fitcher's evasiveness doesn't hurt, hunting for excuses to do anything but what he asked.

"Perish the thought," he says, charming as ever, though some of the wind has left his sails.

Edited Date: 2020-08-26 09:51 pm (UTC)

From:

unshut

Let the wind go out of them. It would be the greater kindness to keep him at this little reserved distance so that later, should things go as they eventually must—

(she has been at this work far too long to let herself pretend that they won't—eventually she will disappear; if she is clever, it will simply look like she got bored, or she died, or she ran away with someone)

—he will be allowed to think 'Well at least we weren't so close as all that.' Or maybe even, should the very worst (being discovered) come to pass, 'Ah, it all makes sense now; she cared about me enough not to use this part.'

Wouldn't that be lovely?

Fitcher smiles at him, her nails scratching idly at the scuff of his beard.

"I doubt he's much of a kisser though, that Lazar. Over eager. Very wet." She taps the side of her nose, punctuating it with an unnecessarily mugging squint as if to say she has seen the type before.

She leans down and kisses him then, brief and honey sweet, because she is working and painful things are sometimes necessary in all business.