Metarie took Lucian’s hand gently in her own. Carefully, she removed the soaked bandages. She was mindful of the unusual set of his wrist as well as the injuries that must lie beneath. Metarie pursed her lips and exhaled a breath as she took stock of the damage done. Again, she felt anger that another person had done this. She also felt frustrated that she could do nothing to immediately resolve the injury, but had to depend on more mundane means. A desire peaked strongly to heal once more, but she knew she could not. Resting his forearm against her thigh, Metarie dipped another cloth into the water and smoothed it gently over Lucian’s hand. Her hands were steady and sure as she dextrously navigated the dips in between his fingers and the lines of his palm.
Metarie raised her eyebrows and looked at Lucian’s face again.
“This is where I was born.” A smile quirked on the left corner of Metarie’s mouth. The look on Lucian’s face was as if he was completely mystified that she should be here. Gently, Metarie let Lucian’s hand back down into the water.
“Come, we will use the shower to rinse you off. I can answer more questions on that topic after you have eaten and rested. Now, can you stand?” Metarie smiled at Lucian, warm and genuine.
A bard in time saves...
Re: A bard in time saves...
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
When a person loses the use of one sense, the others tend to compensate and become more sensitive, more aware- as though freed space in the mind is suddenly available to be used by the other senses to broaden their range. Or they are less distracted and can discern the others more easily.
Touch, then, was something Lucian experienced acutely. And as she took his hand and removed the bandage, he was aware of the gentle but firm pressure she used, was attuned to the smooth and warm sensation of her skin on his as she used the cloth to purposefully cleanse his hand, resting his arm upon her thigh as she did so.
For a man who had lived more than a decade and a half without physical touch, everything was innately fascinating in a way he did not understand, but then understood vividly.
“This is where I was born.”
Her answer was one that struck him- not because he could not believe it, but because it was a principle that he could not fully comprehend, despite the obvious meaning. He wanted to say, you born to Pal Tahrenor. It's all your home. But that was not what she understood.
When she released his hand he let it fall, even then noting the nature of the release, the pressure of her grip as it lifted and briefly slid as she let it down gently.
Lucian knew far more about speaking without words than speaking with them.
“Come, we will use the shower to rinse you off. I can answer more questions on that topic after you have eaten and rested. Now, can you stand?”
Again, it took him a brief moment to understand what exactly she was suggesting, and he caught himself before his mouth fell open slightly. Immediately he knew that hesitation would look like fear of humiliation, and for that reason he nodded, keeping all further reaction below the surface.
"I can stand." Shifting beneath the water, he braced his arms up on either edge of the vat and began to lift himself, pulling his legs under him, sinew and lean muscle trembling with the effort.
It was far easier said than accomplished.
Touch, then, was something Lucian experienced acutely. And as she took his hand and removed the bandage, he was aware of the gentle but firm pressure she used, was attuned to the smooth and warm sensation of her skin on his as she used the cloth to purposefully cleanse his hand, resting his arm upon her thigh as she did so.
For a man who had lived more than a decade and a half without physical touch, everything was innately fascinating in a way he did not understand, but then understood vividly.
“This is where I was born.”
Her answer was one that struck him- not because he could not believe it, but because it was a principle that he could not fully comprehend, despite the obvious meaning. He wanted to say, you born to Pal Tahrenor. It's all your home. But that was not what she understood.
When she released his hand he let it fall, even then noting the nature of the release, the pressure of her grip as it lifted and briefly slid as she let it down gently.
Lucian knew far more about speaking without words than speaking with them.
“Come, we will use the shower to rinse you off. I can answer more questions on that topic after you have eaten and rested. Now, can you stand?”
Again, it took him a brief moment to understand what exactly she was suggesting, and he caught himself before his mouth fell open slightly. Immediately he knew that hesitation would look like fear of humiliation, and for that reason he nodded, keeping all further reaction below the surface.
"I can stand." Shifting beneath the water, he braced his arms up on either edge of the vat and began to lift himself, pulling his legs under him, sinew and lean muscle trembling with the effort.
It was far easier said than accomplished.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian nodded and said that he could stand. Metarie leaned to the left and a sharp twinge in her right side reminded her that she had been injured as well. An echo of pain etched itself across her features as she lifted the latch that would release the water into the tank below.
The bath system was a beautiful piece of engineering. Some magic was used, but mostly the system was simply air bubbles, curved pipes, and water pressure. Fresh water was drawn in and released into one chamber. If heated water was used, it was drawn from a water heater. Water that was drained from the tub filtered into a tank. Some of the water was re-used to tend to the many plants in her garden. Some was purified using magic for re-use in the system again.
Metarie smiled to herself, only a little, as the pain tinged it some. She was fascinated by the intricacies of mechanics. Rising back up she turned on the water, letting the heated water flow before adding cooler water to make the temperature tolerable. Then, she turned back to find Lucian, limbs trembling with the effort to lift himself. He was making progress and the stubborn, set look on his face said he would stand, will ye, nil ye.
Metarie studied Lucian with a practiced eye and then moved around so that she could help him. As before, she would help, like it or no. She deftly inserted herself into the equation, acting as a point of leverage and a means to his standing. He could stand and would and that was that. Silken fabric stuck to his chest and his lower back as the sleeves of her robe once again became wet. The front and back darkened with water, too, where her chest was pressed against his. Her back was wet from the spray of the shower. Some water also jumped to the soft, thick, white rug that lay upon the floor beside the bath. Metarie couldn’t help but chuckle. If there was a next time where she needed to treat such severe injuries in her home, she should plan it out a little better.
Metarie leaned back, smiling, finding a moment of joy because of the situation. She wanted to share her humor with Lucian. Water was darkening her hair now, too, and dripping down her nose. “Next time, I will wear my raincoat!” Metarie chuckled again. “Please use this to brace yourself. Still holding Lucian, she gently touched his hand and then touched the ledge of the alcove beside the tub. Metarie waited a moment for him to take in what she had said before she continued. Touching his hand, then a bottle, then his hair she indicated he could use this to wash his hair and body.
“I will be here behind this curtain.” Metarie pulled the shower curtain partially around the tub. “When you are ready, I will see to what you found challenging to reach.” A polite way to say, if you missed any grimey, bloody spots, she was going to make sure they were’t missed. “It is important for me to see what exactly was done to you and to see what assistance, if any, I was able to provide.. From there, I can know what still needs to be tended.” Metarie smiled at Lucian. “I think you will like it. It is like bathing in a warm, rain shower.” The curtain was then closed around the shower and the tub with a twinkle of sound. She would give him privacy to gain a little ground on his physical state. She knew all to well how frustrating it was when your body did not do as you told it. She also knew there was a slight chance his exhaustion would over take him. So, Metarie kept a sharp ear out ready to jump at a moment's notice.
Metarie pulled off the wet robe and hung it in its place. Instead, she chose to step in to the bedroom and retrieve a tanktop. Pulling it on over the bandgages was not exactly fun, but she managed one-handed. The bruises were no where near departing from her fair skin anytime soon. They bloomed from the bandages like black orchids clinging to her chest, shoulder, and back. Admittedly, part of the tank top’s right side was bunched up a little at the bandage, but things like that happen.
Metarie opened her wardrobe and looked at the articles of clothing she possessed. A pair of soft, flexible fabric denim pants were folded and tucked away in the back bottom of the wardrobe. She had never worn the pair because they were too straight in the hips, but they might fit Lucian. Another, softer pair of pants was also pulled from the closet. Loose fitting and linen, they would be most comfortable to wear while he slept. Two plain, white cotten shirts were also retrieved. Unfortunately, she could do nothing about his undergarments, but it did not appear he wore any as it were.
Returning with the garments to the bathroom, she placed them upon the chest. Two large, soft, thick, white towels were ready and waiting for him to step out. As was Metarie.
The bath system was a beautiful piece of engineering. Some magic was used, but mostly the system was simply air bubbles, curved pipes, and water pressure. Fresh water was drawn in and released into one chamber. If heated water was used, it was drawn from a water heater. Water that was drained from the tub filtered into a tank. Some of the water was re-used to tend to the many plants in her garden. Some was purified using magic for re-use in the system again.
Metarie smiled to herself, only a little, as the pain tinged it some. She was fascinated by the intricacies of mechanics. Rising back up she turned on the water, letting the heated water flow before adding cooler water to make the temperature tolerable. Then, she turned back to find Lucian, limbs trembling with the effort to lift himself. He was making progress and the stubborn, set look on his face said he would stand, will ye, nil ye.
Metarie studied Lucian with a practiced eye and then moved around so that she could help him. As before, she would help, like it or no. She deftly inserted herself into the equation, acting as a point of leverage and a means to his standing. He could stand and would and that was that. Silken fabric stuck to his chest and his lower back as the sleeves of her robe once again became wet. The front and back darkened with water, too, where her chest was pressed against his. Her back was wet from the spray of the shower. Some water also jumped to the soft, thick, white rug that lay upon the floor beside the bath. Metarie couldn’t help but chuckle. If there was a next time where she needed to treat such severe injuries in her home, she should plan it out a little better.
Metarie leaned back, smiling, finding a moment of joy because of the situation. She wanted to share her humor with Lucian. Water was darkening her hair now, too, and dripping down her nose. “Next time, I will wear my raincoat!” Metarie chuckled again. “Please use this to brace yourself. Still holding Lucian, she gently touched his hand and then touched the ledge of the alcove beside the tub. Metarie waited a moment for him to take in what she had said before she continued. Touching his hand, then a bottle, then his hair she indicated he could use this to wash his hair and body.
“I will be here behind this curtain.” Metarie pulled the shower curtain partially around the tub. “When you are ready, I will see to what you found challenging to reach.” A polite way to say, if you missed any grimey, bloody spots, she was going to make sure they were’t missed. “It is important for me to see what exactly was done to you and to see what assistance, if any, I was able to provide.. From there, I can know what still needs to be tended.” Metarie smiled at Lucian. “I think you will like it. It is like bathing in a warm, rain shower.” The curtain was then closed around the shower and the tub with a twinkle of sound. She would give him privacy to gain a little ground on his physical state. She knew all to well how frustrating it was when your body did not do as you told it. She also knew there was a slight chance his exhaustion would over take him. So, Metarie kept a sharp ear out ready to jump at a moment's notice.
Metarie pulled off the wet robe and hung it in its place. Instead, she chose to step in to the bedroom and retrieve a tanktop. Pulling it on over the bandgages was not exactly fun, but she managed one-handed. The bruises were no where near departing from her fair skin anytime soon. They bloomed from the bandages like black orchids clinging to her chest, shoulder, and back. Admittedly, part of the tank top’s right side was bunched up a little at the bandage, but things like that happen.
Metarie opened her wardrobe and looked at the articles of clothing she possessed. A pair of soft, flexible fabric denim pants were folded and tucked away in the back bottom of the wardrobe. She had never worn the pair because they were too straight in the hips, but they might fit Lucian. Another, softer pair of pants was also pulled from the closet. Loose fitting and linen, they would be most comfortable to wear while he slept. Two plain, white cotten shirts were also retrieved. Unfortunately, she could do nothing about his undergarments, but it did not appear he wore any as it were.
Returning with the garments to the bathroom, she placed them upon the chest. Two large, soft, thick, white towels were ready and waiting for him to step out. As was Metarie.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
The water around him began to drain as he lifted himself by degrees. And then wholly unexpectedly he was hit from above by a warm spray of water, startling him but not enough that he lost his grip on the sides of the vat. It immediately connected, in his head- when she had used the word "shower," he had understood it's meaning, but honestly had not been sure how that would manifest here in this room.
Question answered, clearly.
And then she entered his space, arms wrapping around him with snug pressure that pulled him close as they rose together. He nearly spoke, told her he was alright, didn't require assistance- but he did. And he knew he did, not making eye contact as he posted one hand on the wall and they both straightened, the warm spray make her robe cling to them both as though sealing them together.
Lucian looked at her face then, unable to not be wholly unaffected by her proximity and touch, and she was smiling. That caught him off guard, her face necessarily close to his, being able then to look straight into her eyes and see the wealth of color and expression they contained. Then she chuckled, her hair wet and beginning to drip, water running off the curves and lines of her face, and she was beautiful in a way that made his gut tighten.
"Next time, I will wear my raincoat!"
That brought a small smile to his face, in spite of his embarrassment and awkward state. He did not speak it, but thought it, looking at her face, That would truly be a shame.
She eased back from him then, and his hands followed where her hands led, first to the alcove where found his grip, then to the bottle which he picked up, and understood from the touch to his hair that it contained soap for washing.
She told him she would wait behind the curtain. That she would make sure he was cleansed, that he had no further injuries. He watched her eyes and mouth, making sure he missed nothing as stepped outside of the "shower" and pulled the curtain closed.
"Thank you." It was the only response he could produce, spoken as she disappeared behind the curtain.
It was a long moment that he stood there, feeling the spray wash over him in a cascade of shattering water droplets as the wringing in his gut very slowly calmed.
Eventually he uncapped the bottle, pouring out some of the contents into his right hand that immediately began to lather. Moving slowly, holding the bottle solely with his left index finger and thumb, he worked it into his hair, and then across his body, feeling himself begin to breath easier as the act of washing lifted the feeling of filth from him. After a short while the water ran clear down the drain, and the gypsy felt a new man. Albeit exhausted and beginning to tremble slightly, but a new man.
Capping and replacing the bottle, he stared for moment at the knobs that controlled the flow of water before deciding he would let Metarie deal with those.
One hand on the alcove, the other pulled back the curtain partly so that he could see out, but mostly trapping the excess spray of the shower.
She stood there, waiting, and Lucian swallowed, smiling awkwardly for a moment- she had changed out of her robe and wore shirt that bared her slender shoulders and arms, but also showed the tips of dark, heavy bruises that reached up from her side, and the awkward smile became a quiet expression.
All this she had done while under heavy injury herself.
Part of him wanted to feel ashamed. The other part did feel ashamed, felt like a burden- and to be a burden to her was something that made the anger within simmer, but the target was himself.
"I'm finished." His voice was a quiet rasp, his eyes were sorry. Embarrassed.
Question answered, clearly.
And then she entered his space, arms wrapping around him with snug pressure that pulled him close as they rose together. He nearly spoke, told her he was alright, didn't require assistance- but he did. And he knew he did, not making eye contact as he posted one hand on the wall and they both straightened, the warm spray make her robe cling to them both as though sealing them together.
Lucian looked at her face then, unable to not be wholly unaffected by her proximity and touch, and she was smiling. That caught him off guard, her face necessarily close to his, being able then to look straight into her eyes and see the wealth of color and expression they contained. Then she chuckled, her hair wet and beginning to drip, water running off the curves and lines of her face, and she was beautiful in a way that made his gut tighten.
"Next time, I will wear my raincoat!"
That brought a small smile to his face, in spite of his embarrassment and awkward state. He did not speak it, but thought it, looking at her face, That would truly be a shame.
She eased back from him then, and his hands followed where her hands led, first to the alcove where found his grip, then to the bottle which he picked up, and understood from the touch to his hair that it contained soap for washing.
She told him she would wait behind the curtain. That she would make sure he was cleansed, that he had no further injuries. He watched her eyes and mouth, making sure he missed nothing as stepped outside of the "shower" and pulled the curtain closed.
"Thank you." It was the only response he could produce, spoken as she disappeared behind the curtain.
It was a long moment that he stood there, feeling the spray wash over him in a cascade of shattering water droplets as the wringing in his gut very slowly calmed.
Eventually he uncapped the bottle, pouring out some of the contents into his right hand that immediately began to lather. Moving slowly, holding the bottle solely with his left index finger and thumb, he worked it into his hair, and then across his body, feeling himself begin to breath easier as the act of washing lifted the feeling of filth from him. After a short while the water ran clear down the drain, and the gypsy felt a new man. Albeit exhausted and beginning to tremble slightly, but a new man.
Capping and replacing the bottle, he stared for moment at the knobs that controlled the flow of water before deciding he would let Metarie deal with those.
One hand on the alcove, the other pulled back the curtain partly so that he could see out, but mostly trapping the excess spray of the shower.
She stood there, waiting, and Lucian swallowed, smiling awkwardly for a moment- she had changed out of her robe and wore shirt that bared her slender shoulders and arms, but also showed the tips of dark, heavy bruises that reached up from her side, and the awkward smile became a quiet expression.
All this she had done while under heavy injury herself.
Part of him wanted to feel ashamed. The other part did feel ashamed, felt like a burden- and to be a burden to her was something that made the anger within simmer, but the target was himself.
"I'm finished." His voice was a quiet rasp, his eyes were sorry. Embarrassed.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie smiled at Lucian’s words of thanks, although, he would not have seen her. While she waited for Lucian to finish, Metarie recalled clearly the color of his eyes. They were not blue and his hair was not blonde. Instead, they were like the loamy earth or the gorgeous autumn color of the trees. There had been a moment there, though she had been laughing, that it felt as if something flitted about in her gut. Another sensation associated with this person that she had not experienced before. What was it? Anticipation? Excitement? A little fear? Metarie shook her head. She did not know what it was. Perhaps, she was feeling ill from the experiences of the day.
The shower curtain moved with its tell-tale tinkle of sound. Metarie looked up at Lucian. His hair was slicked back from his face and he was looking at her. An odd expression was fit on his face – a quirk of his mouth, a glancing away – it took her a moment to realize he was feeling uncomfortable. Metarie assumed it was due to the awkwardness of having a female healer tend to him. She stood and shook out a towel. Then, she stepped to the tub and turned off the water while holding the towel up to him. The smile faded as his eyes took in the ugly bruises she sported. Another emotion showed in his eyes, making his gaze hard. Lucian glanced away then.
“I’m finished.”
Metarie ducked her head to the side to catch his gaze. Misunderstanding his look she sought to reassure him. “With the towel on you will be covered. Don’t worry, I… I have seen men before.” She hastened to add, “…in my work,” as a slight flush crept up her cheek. Metarie held out the towel again. “I have found some clothing you can wear. There…” Metarie gestured to the stack of clothing. A look of concern crossed her face and she reached out a hand to his shoulder. He was trembling some.
“Come on, I will help you out.”
The shower curtain moved with its tell-tale tinkle of sound. Metarie looked up at Lucian. His hair was slicked back from his face and he was looking at her. An odd expression was fit on his face – a quirk of his mouth, a glancing away – it took her a moment to realize he was feeling uncomfortable. Metarie assumed it was due to the awkwardness of having a female healer tend to him. She stood and shook out a towel. Then, she stepped to the tub and turned off the water while holding the towel up to him. The smile faded as his eyes took in the ugly bruises she sported. Another emotion showed in his eyes, making his gaze hard. Lucian glanced away then.
“I’m finished.”
Metarie ducked her head to the side to catch his gaze. Misunderstanding his look she sought to reassure him. “With the towel on you will be covered. Don’t worry, I… I have seen men before.” She hastened to add, “…in my work,” as a slight flush crept up her cheek. Metarie held out the towel again. “I have found some clothing you can wear. There…” Metarie gestured to the stack of clothing. A look of concern crossed her face and she reached out a hand to his shoulder. He was trembling some.
“Come on, I will help you out.”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
She immediately unwrapped a towel as she walked over to turn off the water, leaving him standing for a moment in the empty space of the shower, steam dissipating as the chill feeling of cool air brushed against his skin- a feeling of vitality coming with it, like awakening in the forest in spring. Her distance closed again and he looked up, working to keep his emotion out of his face.
Metarie's was a concerned look, one seeking to reassure- the words were ones he could have understood, but he found himself not paying attention to the words that he did bother to comprehend. Instead he watched how her eyes diverted a moment as she sought to explain, and then how blush color stretched out under her skin as she did so. Lucian saw the muscle twitching of a slightly nervous smile with it all, as though in the act of explaining she was saying more than she meant to say.
What did she mean to say?
For a moment, it jammed Lucian entirely- his shame, his anger, all defused as her reaction baffled him. And then immediately following, her former expression was replaced by one of concern and she touched his shoulder, reassuring.
“Come on, I will help you out.”
Again he was silenced. Her care overrode whatever nervousness she had shown a moment before, and she put her feeling away to help him in his need. The selflessness of the act nearly shamed him again, but in the instant he put away his shame and culled his petty anger.
He looked at her briefly without moving, and then, gently taking hold of her arm for balance, slowly stepped out of the vat and onto the soft rug where he stood dripping, wholly exposed-
But for the first, not shamed by his weakness, but rather he smiled a little, and then nearly chuckled. He would not allow his self-pity to steal from her the life of rendering help to a grateful recipient.
Lucian looked up from the rug as he feet settled on it, not able to be wholly unembarrassed, but not bothered because there was nothing to be done. She was she, he was he. And here they were.
"You are very kind," his voice was quiet, and the rasp lighter because of it, "and I will not be ashamed of your kindness anymore." His smile grew a little more touched his his eyes as it did. His calloused hand still rested on her arm for balance, and through it he became aware of her warm skin and the life flowing in the blood that rushed beneath its surface.
Water stood beaded on his face and densely sinewed body, and dripped from his scraggly hair in a perfectly awkward silence, the clenching in his stomach reasserting itself as his self-awareness came back.
He dropped his eyes a little and elicited one short chuckle.
"Thank you, Metarie."
Metarie's was a concerned look, one seeking to reassure- the words were ones he could have understood, but he found himself not paying attention to the words that he did bother to comprehend. Instead he watched how her eyes diverted a moment as she sought to explain, and then how blush color stretched out under her skin as she did so. Lucian saw the muscle twitching of a slightly nervous smile with it all, as though in the act of explaining she was saying more than she meant to say.
What did she mean to say?
For a moment, it jammed Lucian entirely- his shame, his anger, all defused as her reaction baffled him. And then immediately following, her former expression was replaced by one of concern and she touched his shoulder, reassuring.
“Come on, I will help you out.”
Again he was silenced. Her care overrode whatever nervousness she had shown a moment before, and she put her feeling away to help him in his need. The selflessness of the act nearly shamed him again, but in the instant he put away his shame and culled his petty anger.
He looked at her briefly without moving, and then, gently taking hold of her arm for balance, slowly stepped out of the vat and onto the soft rug where he stood dripping, wholly exposed-
But for the first, not shamed by his weakness, but rather he smiled a little, and then nearly chuckled. He would not allow his self-pity to steal from her the life of rendering help to a grateful recipient.
Lucian looked up from the rug as he feet settled on it, not able to be wholly unembarrassed, but not bothered because there was nothing to be done. She was she, he was he. And here they were.
"You are very kind," his voice was quiet, and the rasp lighter because of it, "and I will not be ashamed of your kindness anymore." His smile grew a little more touched his his eyes as it did. His calloused hand still rested on her arm for balance, and through it he became aware of her warm skin and the life flowing in the blood that rushed beneath its surface.
Water stood beaded on his face and densely sinewed body, and dripped from his scraggly hair in a perfectly awkward silence, the clenching in his stomach reasserting itself as his self-awareness came back.
He dropped his eyes a little and elicited one short chuckle.
"Thank you, Metarie."
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian looked at her as if he were processing her words or didn't understand her. But, then he took hold of her arm. The two navigated Lucian out of the tub. Metarie’s brows were drawn together in concern as she watched him carefully. She did not want him to fall. Her left hand slipped onto his back and her right, the one holding the towel was held to his stomach as they moved.
Metarie looked over him to assess what injuries remained to be treated. Most, could be covered with salve and bandage. Metarie nodded and turned her attention back to Lucian’s face. She noted the way the droplets of water clung to his skin or ran down the lean planes of his build, she did well in being as professional as possible.
"You are very kind,"
His words made her feel a little ashamed for noticing him in a way that was not as a healer, so she looked away from him and color blossomed on her face yet again.
“…and I will not be ashamed of your kindness anymore." Ashamed? Metarie’s gaze darted back to his face.
“Please don’t be. I understand how it feels when your body doesn’t do as you tell it.” Metarie returned Lucian’s smile. Moments ticked by as they smiled at each other. Eventually, the smile was awkward, but sweet. She bit her lip slightly.
“Did you want to dry off? And try the clothes? They are mine, but they are not too feminine for you to wear.” Metarie blinked and waited for him to take the towel. Lucian chuckled.
"Thank you, Metarie."
“You are welcome, Lucian.”
Metarie looked over him to assess what injuries remained to be treated. Most, could be covered with salve and bandage. Metarie nodded and turned her attention back to Lucian’s face. She noted the way the droplets of water clung to his skin or ran down the lean planes of his build, she did well in being as professional as possible.
"You are very kind,"
His words made her feel a little ashamed for noticing him in a way that was not as a healer, so she looked away from him and color blossomed on her face yet again.
“…and I will not be ashamed of your kindness anymore." Ashamed? Metarie’s gaze darted back to his face.
“Please don’t be. I understand how it feels when your body doesn’t do as you tell it.” Metarie returned Lucian’s smile. Moments ticked by as they smiled at each other. Eventually, the smile was awkward, but sweet. She bit her lip slightly.
“Did you want to dry off? And try the clothes? They are mine, but they are not too feminine for you to wear.” Metarie blinked and waited for him to take the towel. Lucian chuckled.
"Thank you, Metarie."
“You are welcome, Lucian.”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Alibi of Tyrants
- Citizen
- Posts: 53
- Joined: Wed Dec 12, 2007 3:24 pm
- Name: Everett
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
How did this go from a discussion about a single elf to an opinion concerning the whole damn race? Ah, well. Sometimes people drew context from the strangest things. Everett wasn't any different; he could see some Joe Blow get a manure cart dumped on him and it would remind him that he had some kind of mitigating expense that he needed to put out of the way (because, you know, shit and bills go hand-in-hand).
"My general opinion of the elven race?" Everett repeated, lightly cocking his head off to the side. "Personally, they can be the haughtiest sonuvabitches you can ever come across, especially the ones that have government jobs. Gods, those are the most annoying ones. They're like, 'Ha ha! We're innately smarter, prettier, and better built and that makes us just that much cooler than you!'
"Of course, you do have the elves like Metarie. They're about as humble as the next guy and they just mill around in the woodwork just like every other person on the streets."
"My general opinion of the elven race?" Everett repeated, lightly cocking his head off to the side. "Personally, they can be the haughtiest sonuvabitches you can ever come across, especially the ones that have government jobs. Gods, those are the most annoying ones. They're like, 'Ha ha! We're innately smarter, prettier, and better built and that makes us just that much cooler than you!'
"Of course, you do have the elves like Metarie. They're about as humble as the next guy and they just mill around in the woodwork just like every other person on the streets."
A legendary character...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
Where? Only there!
When? Only then!
A hero or a hooligan, well that part's never clear...
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
She nodded in response to his succinct assessment, taking note of how he made sure to separate Metarie from the rest of her kinsfolk. Which meant he wasn't lying when he stated they'd been friends for a long while, and good friends at that. He wouldn't see her denounced, even in personal jest with a stranger.
She stared without seeing at her mug where it sat on the table. Her finger continued stroking Flame's tiny chest, though she wasn't focused enough to do anything beyond a habitual up-and-down motion. If the bird cared, he gave no sign of it. His eyes closed and his body shifted slightly with each passing of her finger, and he appeared to be napping from contentment.
She remembered the dryad well enough, and it was the only fae creature she'd ever known. Elves didn't actually count as fae, but she couldn't help but group them with other non-human entities. The dryad had been a happy sort, though not as full of trickery as some stories demanded she should've been. Lanya didn't hold the gift of the guitar against the young dryad. She couldn't have known the danger it would become.
Or rather, Lanya refused to believe she had. For if she had, that would make her evil, and Lanya didn't wish to believe there was evil in such an overall sweet creature. Young and inexperienced, yes, but never evil. Still, the bard would never accept a fae gift again without first having it tested for spells.
She took a quiet sip of her tea and drummed her fingernails on the table once, just for the amusement of the sound. She finally refocused on Everett's face and raised her eyebrows, as though she thought he'd spoken and had missed the words. A moment's confusion lit her face.
"Hm?"
She stared without seeing at her mug where it sat on the table. Her finger continued stroking Flame's tiny chest, though she wasn't focused enough to do anything beyond a habitual up-and-down motion. If the bird cared, he gave no sign of it. His eyes closed and his body shifted slightly with each passing of her finger, and he appeared to be napping from contentment.
She remembered the dryad well enough, and it was the only fae creature she'd ever known. Elves didn't actually count as fae, but she couldn't help but group them with other non-human entities. The dryad had been a happy sort, though not as full of trickery as some stories demanded she should've been. Lanya didn't hold the gift of the guitar against the young dryad. She couldn't have known the danger it would become.
Or rather, Lanya refused to believe she had. For if she had, that would make her evil, and Lanya didn't wish to believe there was evil in such an overall sweet creature. Young and inexperienced, yes, but never evil. Still, the bard would never accept a fae gift again without first having it tested for spells.
She took a quiet sip of her tea and drummed her fingernails on the table once, just for the amusement of the sound. She finally refocused on Everett's face and raised her eyebrows, as though she thought he'd spoken and had missed the words. A moment's confusion lit her face.
"Hm?"
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
When the color crept back into her face he immediately felt the need to apologize, though he had no true idea of why he ought to do so. Maybe because he had triggered a response in her that made her appear vulnerable- vulnerable to him?
And then she bit her lip as they stood saying nothing, looking at one another, which was purely feminine in a way Lucian found beyond his ability to explain as she then asked him if he wanted to dry off, try on the clothing she had brought for him. He didn't respond to either question but just looked at her, unable to do anything else.
"You are welcome, Lucian."
The gypsy just smiled ineptly, eye level with the elf, resisting the urge to follow the graceful lines of her face and neck down her body.
He took the towel from her then and briefly dabbed at himself, his hair, the entire act somewhat unfamiliar to him. His awkward smile had relaxed into a smaller version of itself as his thoughts became less self-conscious and turned instead to momentary speculation-
Which he instantly killed, forcibly jumping his attention to the chest which he briefly eased over to, taking easy steps with one hand outstretched just an inch away from actually holding onto the elf.
At the chest he draped the towel over it and picked up the linen pants, bracing himself on the chest with one hand while he bent over and slipped his feet into the legs and pulled them up, straightening slowly as he did so from a general soreness in his joints and muscles, but especially a tightness across his back where the hot irons had been applied.
He winced at a flash of memory, and then it pushed away.
Lucian looked over at the Metarie then, allowing himself to take her in a little more than he had consciously been able in his less-clothed state, and he inhaled deeply before turning back to the chest to pick up one of the simple shirts. She curved gently, her lines graceful and long in a manner that screamed to Lucian's feral core that she was female and beautiful and his pulse spiked unanticipatedly, but not merely that- the lines were also strong, steady- even injured and worn out as she was, she showed no signs of trembling or fatigue other than the weariness that effected her eyes.
Not yet pulling on the shirt, he looked over at her again. His eyes were soft, but held a focus he was not consciously aware of. Lucian's mouth opened as though to speak, but no sounds came forth and after a very brief instant his mouth closed again and he looked back to the shirt.
Language, at the moment, failed him.
And then she bit her lip as they stood saying nothing, looking at one another, which was purely feminine in a way Lucian found beyond his ability to explain as she then asked him if he wanted to dry off, try on the clothing she had brought for him. He didn't respond to either question but just looked at her, unable to do anything else.
"You are welcome, Lucian."
The gypsy just smiled ineptly, eye level with the elf, resisting the urge to follow the graceful lines of her face and neck down her body.
He took the towel from her then and briefly dabbed at himself, his hair, the entire act somewhat unfamiliar to him. His awkward smile had relaxed into a smaller version of itself as his thoughts became less self-conscious and turned instead to momentary speculation-
Which he instantly killed, forcibly jumping his attention to the chest which he briefly eased over to, taking easy steps with one hand outstretched just an inch away from actually holding onto the elf.
At the chest he draped the towel over it and picked up the linen pants, bracing himself on the chest with one hand while he bent over and slipped his feet into the legs and pulled them up, straightening slowly as he did so from a general soreness in his joints and muscles, but especially a tightness across his back where the hot irons had been applied.
He winced at a flash of memory, and then it pushed away.
Lucian looked over at the Metarie then, allowing himself to take her in a little more than he had consciously been able in his less-clothed state, and he inhaled deeply before turning back to the chest to pick up one of the simple shirts. She curved gently, her lines graceful and long in a manner that screamed to Lucian's feral core that she was female and beautiful and his pulse spiked unanticipatedly, but not merely that- the lines were also strong, steady- even injured and worn out as she was, she showed no signs of trembling or fatigue other than the weariness that effected her eyes.
Not yet pulling on the shirt, he looked over at her again. His eyes were soft, but held a focus he was not consciously aware of. Lucian's mouth opened as though to speak, but no sounds came forth and after a very brief instant his mouth closed again and he looked back to the shirt.
Language, at the moment, failed him.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian gave her a quirky smile, which earned him one in exchange from Metarie. She loosed the towel quickly as Lucian took possession of it. Stepping out of the way, Metarie rested against the edge of the tub and crossed her arms. Turning her head, she could see Lucian’s upper body reflected in the mirror, but nothing else. She wasn’t ungreatful for the respite. He moved her in ways she had not experienced before. Metarie did not understand it. The feeling was foreign to her. She could rationalize, but that would not explain the feeling. Metarie pressed a hand to the center of her chest. Her heart was pounding.
The shape in the mirror shifted, catching her attention once more. Lucian has leaned down and slowly rose to stand once more. Metarie felt her gut clench in empathy and sympathy as she saw the burns upon Lucian’s back. Though he could not hear her words left her anyhow. Tears burned hot against her eyes. Her fingers rested against her lips as she looked and shook her head. A great sadness filled her.
“Oh, Lucian…”
Lucian turned to look at her as if on cue. She could see the direction of his eyes; see the way he took in her form. Metarie stood and let her hand drop to her side, allowing herself to be looked upon. By the time his gaze reached her face, hers was direct albeit accompanied yet again by that flush of color. The compassion was still there in her gaze, but it was mingled, too with the memory of that connection that danced around fire and with something else: a faint recognition.
There was a mark beneath the burns that seemed familiar some how.
Metarie stepped toward Lucian and brushed cool, gentle fingertips across where the burns were. Why was that familiar? Where had she seen it before? Lucian turned to look at her again. Metarie was closer now, than she had been. Few inches lay between them. When their gaze met again, Metarie felt as if something leapt out of her; something that zapped between them and again that sense of knowing Lucian came once more. Metarie licked her lips. Lucian opened his mouth to speak, but the husky rasp of his voice did not grace her ears. There was no sound but the sound of their breathing.
He was a mystery. The symbol rolled around in her mind as she sought to find a meaning for it or at least a context. The symbol had been branded onto him and then what appeared to be rods of hot metal has been lain across them as if to obscure them. There was a mystery here to be solved, but what was it?
Just as quickly as that spark happened, it was shuttered away. Lucian looked down at the shirt, his fingers moving over the fabric. Metarie glanced down to Lucian’s hands and placed hers atop his to still the fidgiting. Her hand closed over his. Her other lifted to rest gently on his shoulder. He was so close, she could feel the heat radiating from him or perhaps it was just an innate awareness of him. Metarie closed her eyes to regain herself. Then, once again she waited until he would look at her. Despite the depth of his dark eyes, Metarie managed to speak.
“Let me treat the burns on your back before you put on the shirt. Then, we will get you more to drink. After that, you must rest.”
The shape in the mirror shifted, catching her attention once more. Lucian has leaned down and slowly rose to stand once more. Metarie felt her gut clench in empathy and sympathy as she saw the burns upon Lucian’s back. Though he could not hear her words left her anyhow. Tears burned hot against her eyes. Her fingers rested against her lips as she looked and shook her head. A great sadness filled her.
“Oh, Lucian…”
Lucian turned to look at her as if on cue. She could see the direction of his eyes; see the way he took in her form. Metarie stood and let her hand drop to her side, allowing herself to be looked upon. By the time his gaze reached her face, hers was direct albeit accompanied yet again by that flush of color. The compassion was still there in her gaze, but it was mingled, too with the memory of that connection that danced around fire and with something else: a faint recognition.
There was a mark beneath the burns that seemed familiar some how.
Metarie stepped toward Lucian and brushed cool, gentle fingertips across where the burns were. Why was that familiar? Where had she seen it before? Lucian turned to look at her again. Metarie was closer now, than she had been. Few inches lay between them. When their gaze met again, Metarie felt as if something leapt out of her; something that zapped between them and again that sense of knowing Lucian came once more. Metarie licked her lips. Lucian opened his mouth to speak, but the husky rasp of his voice did not grace her ears. There was no sound but the sound of their breathing.
He was a mystery. The symbol rolled around in her mind as she sought to find a meaning for it or at least a context. The symbol had been branded onto him and then what appeared to be rods of hot metal has been lain across them as if to obscure them. There was a mystery here to be solved, but what was it?
Just as quickly as that spark happened, it was shuttered away. Lucian looked down at the shirt, his fingers moving over the fabric. Metarie glanced down to Lucian’s hands and placed hers atop his to still the fidgiting. Her hand closed over his. Her other lifted to rest gently on his shoulder. He was so close, she could feel the heat radiating from him or perhaps it was just an innate awareness of him. Metarie closed her eyes to regain herself. Then, once again she waited until he would look at her. Despite the depth of his dark eyes, Metarie managed to speak.
“Let me treat the burns on your back before you put on the shirt. Then, we will get you more to drink. After that, you must rest.”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
When her fingers connected with the scars on his back he experienced tendrils of trickling sensation up and down his spine and his breath came in sharply, beyond his control. When she stood that near he experienced the physical heat from the proximity and his throat fought to close up.
He could smell her with every tense breath he took in. It was a woman's smell, gentle and clean, but it was laced with other things like the subtle musk of exertion, the crisp smell of clean linen in the clothing she had just put on, the soft scent of warm skin.
And then when he had looked away from her, unable to find the language, her hand wrapped over his, lithe fingers entangling his as he sensed her a little closer, her other hand to his shoulder, and where her skin met his he felt fire. For a moment he just looked at her hand, unable to do anything.
After a brief moment Lucian looked up at her and she was right there. So near that he could feel her breath as she spoke, her mouth moving fluidly as she said she wanted to treat the burns on his back, and then get him a drink, and then have him rest- but all he could see were the vast spring meadows at sunrise in her eyes. They gave language to something that moved in the atmosphere that lay between them.
And for that moment, the gypsy ceased to stand against the movement.
He turned slightly toward her, lifted his right hand, and touched it to her lips with his index and middle finger, a pressure so light that the contact was almost non-existent. Her lips felt so soft that he trembled a little, and this time not from exhaustion.
"You." He breathed the word, not lowering the fingers at her lips. Slowly, as if going too fast would shatter the very air, his left hand came and rested on her shoulder, halfway on the cloth of the tanktop's strap, halfway on the bare skin at the base of her neck.
The moment stretches out as the fabric of time wrinkles around them.
"I can see you," his voice is so quiet, like speaking too loud would shatter the room, "dancing around the fire, while it dances with you and breathes living color across your skin. And your movement-"
Lucian paused, eyes shifting as he took in all of her face. "Your movement is so beautiful- it makes me ache." The volume does not change, but as words become raw and the rasp becomes more clear.
Slowly, he lowers the fingers from her lips, just holding the hand between them, pulse visible in his neck, but he's not trembling now. The hand on her shoulder splays a little, thumb brushing the curve of her jaw.
"I want you, Metarie," he rasps in a whisper, barely breathing. He scarcely believes what he hears himself saying, but the razor blades cutting up his guts cannot be quieted.
"You."
He could smell her with every tense breath he took in. It was a woman's smell, gentle and clean, but it was laced with other things like the subtle musk of exertion, the crisp smell of clean linen in the clothing she had just put on, the soft scent of warm skin.
And then when he had looked away from her, unable to find the language, her hand wrapped over his, lithe fingers entangling his as he sensed her a little closer, her other hand to his shoulder, and where her skin met his he felt fire. For a moment he just looked at her hand, unable to do anything.
After a brief moment Lucian looked up at her and she was right there. So near that he could feel her breath as she spoke, her mouth moving fluidly as she said she wanted to treat the burns on his back, and then get him a drink, and then have him rest- but all he could see were the vast spring meadows at sunrise in her eyes. They gave language to something that moved in the atmosphere that lay between them.
And for that moment, the gypsy ceased to stand against the movement.
He turned slightly toward her, lifted his right hand, and touched it to her lips with his index and middle finger, a pressure so light that the contact was almost non-existent. Her lips felt so soft that he trembled a little, and this time not from exhaustion.
"You." He breathed the word, not lowering the fingers at her lips. Slowly, as if going too fast would shatter the very air, his left hand came and rested on her shoulder, halfway on the cloth of the tanktop's strap, halfway on the bare skin at the base of her neck.
The moment stretches out as the fabric of time wrinkles around them.
"I can see you," his voice is so quiet, like speaking too loud would shatter the room, "dancing around the fire, while it dances with you and breathes living color across your skin. And your movement-"
Lucian paused, eyes shifting as he took in all of her face. "Your movement is so beautiful- it makes me ache." The volume does not change, but as words become raw and the rasp becomes more clear.
Slowly, he lowers the fingers from her lips, just holding the hand between them, pulse visible in his neck, but he's not trembling now. The hand on her shoulder splays a little, thumb brushing the curve of her jaw.
"I want you, Metarie," he rasps in a whisper, barely breathing. He scarcely believes what he hears himself saying, but the razor blades cutting up his guts cannot be quieted.
"You."
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian’s fingers touched her lips and Metarie thought he meant that she should not speak futher. He had grown tired of the constant pushing to do just a little more. Beneath her hands, she felt him tremble. Despite the fingers against her lips, Metarie inhaled a breath to speak, but was cutoff by Lucian’s voice.
"You."
Her? Confusion began to fill her gaze and move across her features. A roughened hand curled around her shoulder. Metarie exhaled slowly and her heart pounded in her chest. She felt as if something was going to happen, but what that something might be remained to be seen.
"I can see you,"
Elvish hearing is sharp. His voice, muted and rasped thundered in her ears. Or, perhaps it was just the words – words no one had ever spoken to her before; words like poetry.
"…dancing around the fire, while it dances with you and breathes living color across your skin. And your movement- your movement is so beautiful- it makes me ache."
Heat chills prickled across her skin. Metarie searched his gaze for some sign of deceit. Certainly, all this that had happened it was too impossible. Yet, how could she deny impossible things when she did them on a regular basis – magic… this was like being in the Dreaming, but being awake, too. She felt as light as air. She felt as if what was inside her, these feelings were too big for her skin to hold.
Lucian’s thumb brushed across her jaw. Metarie stilled in this moment, like some doe listening for the huntsman’s footsteps.
"I want you, Metarie,"
Now, it was her turn to tremble. That heat rushed through her once more, filling her skin; making her more aware of herself than she had ever been. And, more aware of him.
"You."
She looked at him with wonder.
Slowly, Metarie nodded, agreeing with Lucian. Yes.
A slow smile curved her mouth and that bigger than herself feeling built within her again. Like a bubble, filled with golden sunshine and joy, she thought what was within expanded and expanded until she just knew it overflowed around her. In this moment, all that had happened seemed to fade and blend. Cocooned within the the golden glow, forgotten was the brand upon his back. A fleeting and forever moment. She swayed almost imperceptibly toward him closing the gap between them even further. Her fingers moved and clasped his hand. The hand on his shoulder lifted to cup his cheek.
"Yes."
"You."
Her? Confusion began to fill her gaze and move across her features. A roughened hand curled around her shoulder. Metarie exhaled slowly and her heart pounded in her chest. She felt as if something was going to happen, but what that something might be remained to be seen.
"I can see you,"
Elvish hearing is sharp. His voice, muted and rasped thundered in her ears. Or, perhaps it was just the words – words no one had ever spoken to her before; words like poetry.
"…dancing around the fire, while it dances with you and breathes living color across your skin. And your movement- your movement is so beautiful- it makes me ache."
Heat chills prickled across her skin. Metarie searched his gaze for some sign of deceit. Certainly, all this that had happened it was too impossible. Yet, how could she deny impossible things when she did them on a regular basis – magic… this was like being in the Dreaming, but being awake, too. She felt as light as air. She felt as if what was inside her, these feelings were too big for her skin to hold.
Lucian’s thumb brushed across her jaw. Metarie stilled in this moment, like some doe listening for the huntsman’s footsteps.
"I want you, Metarie,"
Now, it was her turn to tremble. That heat rushed through her once more, filling her skin; making her more aware of herself than she had ever been. And, more aware of him.
"You."
She looked at him with wonder.
Slowly, Metarie nodded, agreeing with Lucian. Yes.
A slow smile curved her mouth and that bigger than herself feeling built within her again. Like a bubble, filled with golden sunshine and joy, she thought what was within expanded and expanded until she just knew it overflowed around her. In this moment, all that had happened seemed to fade and blend. Cocooned within the the golden glow, forgotten was the brand upon his back. A fleeting and forever moment. She swayed almost imperceptibly toward him closing the gap between them even further. Her fingers moved and clasped his hand. The hand on his shoulder lifted to cup his cheek.
"Yes."
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
She reacted to him, effecting him like he could not expect. Through his hands he could sense little involuntary things that followed his words, feel her heart beating, and when she trembled- it made him desperately weak, but then she leaned into him and he felt himself react to her in kind, her eyes emanating something and he felt it seep into his body and strength flow through it.
Her smile was daybreak after winter night. It was pure happiness, pure life, and Lucian was awed by it- that she shared it with him, because of him. His expression flickered between silently searching eyes and a grin that flashed even white teeth.
Then she responded to him, and that effected him more. One hand captured his, the other caressed his cheek and Lucian turned his face into it slightly, feeling the delicate touch, savoring.
"Yes."
He looked at her, into her. He had stopped breathing for a moment. He experienced nothing from his past, nothing of what he felt was to come. Only her leaning lightly against him and he meeting the pressure. The warmth of her skin against his, her eyes that he could not extricate himself from. And her rhythm that pulled him in with every second that passed in the world around them.
None knew less than Lucian of what to do.
But this was the movement; as the fire and the night and Pal Tahrenor moved- this was their movement, his head tilting slightly and dipping through that small space, his lips brushing hers slightly, almost asking, and then connecting gently, his arms wrapping around her intimately but without tightening, aware through the touch of her bandages and the hurt that lay beneath them. She was warm and inviting and he felt her chest rise and fall against him, so vulnerable to his movement, but so powerful to move him.
She could not know what she did. She could not know how she stirred in him things he did not understand, could not understand, but threated to crush him and make him invincible in the same instant. She was weightless in his embrace then, like he could lift her and spin her round and around. As if they were spinning, round and around, gently tracing the curve of her spine with his hand.
Time vanished and reemerged, and Lucian drew his head back a little so he could take her in with his eyes, like a traveler drinking deeply from a spring, his heart thudding against his ribs. Emotions, unnamed, spun around in his chest like a turbulent storm.
"What is this?" One arm stayed around her, the other hand found the side of her face and held it, his questions whispered- his eyes searched hers with a softness that they had never before contained in their lifetime. "What have you done, beautiful Metarie?"
His face danced between wonder and passion, his mouth flickering in a gentle half-grin. "What have you given me?"
Her smile was daybreak after winter night. It was pure happiness, pure life, and Lucian was awed by it- that she shared it with him, because of him. His expression flickered between silently searching eyes and a grin that flashed even white teeth.
Then she responded to him, and that effected him more. One hand captured his, the other caressed his cheek and Lucian turned his face into it slightly, feeling the delicate touch, savoring.
"Yes."
He looked at her, into her. He had stopped breathing for a moment. He experienced nothing from his past, nothing of what he felt was to come. Only her leaning lightly against him and he meeting the pressure. The warmth of her skin against his, her eyes that he could not extricate himself from. And her rhythm that pulled him in with every second that passed in the world around them.
None knew less than Lucian of what to do.
But this was the movement; as the fire and the night and Pal Tahrenor moved- this was their movement, his head tilting slightly and dipping through that small space, his lips brushing hers slightly, almost asking, and then connecting gently, his arms wrapping around her intimately but without tightening, aware through the touch of her bandages and the hurt that lay beneath them. She was warm and inviting and he felt her chest rise and fall against him, so vulnerable to his movement, but so powerful to move him.
She could not know what she did. She could not know how she stirred in him things he did not understand, could not understand, but threated to crush him and make him invincible in the same instant. She was weightless in his embrace then, like he could lift her and spin her round and around. As if they were spinning, round and around, gently tracing the curve of her spine with his hand.
Time vanished and reemerged, and Lucian drew his head back a little so he could take her in with his eyes, like a traveler drinking deeply from a spring, his heart thudding against his ribs. Emotions, unnamed, spun around in his chest like a turbulent storm.
"What is this?" One arm stayed around her, the other hand found the side of her face and held it, his questions whispered- his eyes searched hers with a softness that they had never before contained in their lifetime. "What have you done, beautiful Metarie?"
His face danced between wonder and passion, his mouth flickering in a gentle half-grin. "What have you given me?"
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian was complex, yet simple. The marred outside of him was nothing in comparison to the view of him she saw behind his eyes.
Lucian was beautiful.
The tilt of his head and the brush and press of his lips were all part of a dance as ancient as the first souls that graced the lands. His arms around her could have been a cage, but instead they were safety. Metarie returned the kiss in kind, eyes closing as a heady rush shifted her reality. The hand upon his cheek slipped around to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the unruly, hacked tendrils of wet hair. The hand that had held his slipped around his ribs, hovering over the burns upon his back. Chests rose and fell, brushing against one another, with little between them but thin fabric and thick bandages. His was a flat plane that did not give as he breathed, thus hers was pressed softness.
His fingers brushed bare skin in the space between the top of her trews and the edge of the bandages. The feeling was a hot poker of sensation – a sizzle that combined with the warm,soft touch of his lips against hers made her feel as if her legs would not support her and another deeper heat rushed through her. All so new…
She could feel his race of his heart against her chest and she wanted to crush him to her, hug him tightly and never let go.
What was it? She wasn’t sure except that it felt right and her finally, whole.
“I...”
What had she done? Was she beautiful?
Metarie shook her head, gaze soft and giving. “We have found each other.”
What had she given him? Metarie’s eyes moved as her gaze attempted to see more of him. within.
“Nothing more than was already yours…” Another smile suffused her features, soft like the sun glistening after a morning rain. Then, clouds covered the sun as her fingers touched the ridged, burnt skin on his back. A concerned frown replaced the smile.
"There is a mark underneath the burns, Lucian. I don't know what it is, but it seems familiar to me."
Lucian was beautiful.
The tilt of his head and the brush and press of his lips were all part of a dance as ancient as the first souls that graced the lands. His arms around her could have been a cage, but instead they were safety. Metarie returned the kiss in kind, eyes closing as a heady rush shifted her reality. The hand upon his cheek slipped around to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the unruly, hacked tendrils of wet hair. The hand that had held his slipped around his ribs, hovering over the burns upon his back. Chests rose and fell, brushing against one another, with little between them but thin fabric and thick bandages. His was a flat plane that did not give as he breathed, thus hers was pressed softness.
His fingers brushed bare skin in the space between the top of her trews and the edge of the bandages. The feeling was a hot poker of sensation – a sizzle that combined with the warm,soft touch of his lips against hers made her feel as if her legs would not support her and another deeper heat rushed through her. All so new…
She could feel his race of his heart against her chest and she wanted to crush him to her, hug him tightly and never let go.
What was it? She wasn’t sure except that it felt right and her finally, whole.
“I...”
What had she done? Was she beautiful?
Metarie shook her head, gaze soft and giving. “We have found each other.”
What had she given him? Metarie’s eyes moved as her gaze attempted to see more of him. within.
“Nothing more than was already yours…” Another smile suffused her features, soft like the sun glistening after a morning rain. Then, clouds covered the sun as her fingers touched the ridged, burnt skin on his back. A concerned frown replaced the smile.
"There is a mark underneath the burns, Lucian. I don't know what it is, but it seems familiar to me."
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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