"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—?"
"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."
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."
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.
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.
He almost doesn't expect it, after all that. Surely she's aiming for his cheek, but then Fitcher's lips touch his, and Barrow has just long enough to touch his fingers to her jaw before she pulls away.
A silence passes between them, then, as he looks up into her face, his eyes hazy with admiration and, worse, trust.
"A raft for a drowning man," he says gently, after a moment.
"Nonsense," Fitcher says, all good cheer as she pats his cheek and withdraws. She doesn't kick her heels back up onto the edge of the bed, but she doesn't move to rise from the chair either. "That's far too much responsibility for a clerk."
Instead she settles back in, rifling through the pockets of her skirts until she finds her pipe and tobacco tin. She tips her head toward the basket and, presumably, the elfroot therein.
"Oh, as well as can be expected," she says, producing her little tinder box from her pocket.
"But Athessa is correct. I believe we were all extremely fortunate; the only real casualties on Riftwatch's side are the dining hall's ceiling and the rear wall of the kitchens. I have no doubt that both will be set to rights as quickly as the Seneschal can manage."
It takes some moments to arrange all the accoutrements of this habit—the shake loose the tobacco, pack the bowl of the pipe, and at last to set the stem between her teeth. Striking a spark into the bowl is a simple matter; she has been practicing for a very long time.
After a few puffs, she leans back over so he might fetch a light from the pipe's ember.
"I'm glad to hear it, as glad as one can be in the aftermath of such a thing." He puffs gently at the blunt after lighting it, finally managing to take a deep draw as he rests back, sighing it out with contentment.
"Nice to be able to help, too, though if looks could kill those mages would've had me dead on the floor in a heartbeat."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-08-15 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-16 03:01 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-16 11:51 pm (UTC)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."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-19 11:58 am (UTC)"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."
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 05:33 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-26 02:21 pm (UTC)"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?"
no subject
Date: 2020-08-26 09:49 pm (UTC)"Perish the thought," he says, charming as ever, though some of the wind has left his sails.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-27 03:23 pm (UTC)(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.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 03:57 am (UTC)A silence passes between them, then, as he looks up into her face, his eyes hazy with admiration and, worse, trust.
"A raft for a drowning man," he says gently, after a moment.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 05:53 am (UTC)Instead she settles back in, rifling through the pockets of her skirts until she finds her pipe and tobacco tin. She tips her head toward the basket and, presumably, the elfroot therein.
"Care for a light?"
no subject
Date: 2020-08-28 10:49 pm (UTC)"How is everyone faring after the incident? Athessa tells me the only death was the Abomination himself."
no subject
Date: 2020-09-01 03:03 pm (UTC)"But Athessa is correct. I believe we were all extremely fortunate; the only real casualties on Riftwatch's side are the dining hall's ceiling and the rear wall of the kitchens. I have no doubt that both will be set to rights as quickly as the Seneschal can manage."
It takes some moments to arrange all the accoutrements of this habit—the shake loose the tobacco, pack the bowl of the pipe, and at last to set the stem between her teeth. Striking a spark into the bowl is a simple matter; she has been practicing for a very long time.
After a few puffs, she leans back over so he might fetch a light from the pipe's ember.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-07 02:00 am (UTC)"Nice to be able to help, too, though if looks could kill those mages would've had me dead on the floor in a heartbeat."