[ her name is so short, without much room to linger. and yet, when it comes from Lucanis, there's something in the way his shapes the syllables. it feels like the warmth of a hearth, the primal comfort of being wrapped in a blanket. she's never considered herself a romantic, but she thinks maybe Lucanis could make her a believer.
(funny, how someone so adept at killing could nurture such a thing).
so, her name sits in the air between them, dissolving like honey in hot tea. there's more, she senses–the slightest inhalation of breath, the way the molecules settle as he holds it in. Neve cannot say she knows what he wants to continue with, only that it means a lot.
soon enough, his more calloused hand curls over hers, the pad of his thumb tracing her finer knuckles. his fingers are warm, even in the coolness of the storage room. she suppresses a shiver, dark eyes tearing away from their joined hands as he speaks up. ]
Okay, yeah. I would hate to have to explain to Tarquin that I'm in the middle of a serious discussion so he's not allowed in the cellar yet. Can't imagine he would be thrilled.
[ nor is she, really, at the thought of being interrupted. whether this goes where she's hoping or not–Lucanis is...well, he's snuck up on her. fitting, for the assassin of all assassins. but somehow, she isn't as bothered by the way he's slid the gentlest knife between the plates of her armor. it's as though there's a treasure under the rusted mail; the pearl of an oyster, but he wants to keep both intact.
she swallows down the rest of her wine and pushes herself out of her creaking chair, regretting the absence of his hand in hers.
(which is–she'll get back to that. later.)
Let me leave a note for the next shift, then we can go. Otherwise, Mae will start tearing all of Minrathous apart thinking I got kidnapped or something.
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Date: 2025-02-04 01:55 am (UTC)(funny, how someone so adept at killing could nurture such a thing).
so, her name sits in the air between them, dissolving like honey in hot tea. there's more, she senses–the slightest inhalation of breath, the way the molecules settle as he holds it in. Neve cannot say she knows what he wants to continue with, only that it means a lot.
soon enough, his more calloused hand curls over hers, the pad of his thumb tracing her finer knuckles. his fingers are warm, even in the coolness of the storage room. she suppresses a shiver, dark eyes tearing away from their joined hands as he speaks up. ]
Okay, yeah. I would hate to have to explain to Tarquin that I'm in the middle of a serious discussion so he's not allowed in the cellar yet. Can't imagine he would be thrilled.
[ nor is she, really, at the thought of being interrupted. whether this goes where she's hoping or not–Lucanis is...well, he's snuck up on her. fitting, for the assassin of all assassins. but somehow, she isn't as bothered by the way he's slid the gentlest knife between the plates of her armor. it's as though there's a treasure under the rusted mail; the pearl of an oyster, but he wants to keep both intact.
she swallows down the rest of her wine and pushes herself out of her creaking chair, regretting the absence of his hand in hers.
(which is–she'll get back to that. later.)
Let me leave a note for the next shift, then we can go. Otherwise, Mae will start tearing all of Minrathous apart thinking I got kidnapped or something.