10-17-2016, 03:07 PM
“Uh huh.”
Expression perfectly serious, though therein lie the mockery. She did not smile, but there was a glint to her eye; amusement that ran deep, patient, and fondly. She found contentment in the possession of his embrace, in the warmth of a face so close his words brushed shivers across her lips. But like most flawless moments, the glass ceilings shattered under the weight of a little doubt. Shards fell like glitter; dazzling in the moment, but resplitting old wounds to tend to later. The intensity was beguiling; and dangerous in a way that didn’t fire rebellious instincts, but protective ones. He looked too deeply, like they weren’t just two disenchanted souls seeking distraction from an unsatisfactory life. Like they were lovers, not strangers; like he was as blissful lost as she.
Not that she balked from his gaze. Even at her unsteadiest moments, there was no lack of cool confidence. Uncertainty buried itself deep beneath an avalanche of dripping sarcasm and droll humour. And she was possessed of a steel that made her cruel as winter, and as enduring. “You. Are. An. Idiot,”
her only teasing answer to his suggestive quip, each word fluttering like a kiss across his lips. Though there was an intended sting there too, encompassing how easily he had fallen to Imaad’s machinations, and in turn how she now fell so easily to his. Weakness made her wary; at least when she suspected she was acting foolish. But she abandoned the faint disgust at herself for being so easily led by a handsome face. The moment was too precious and rare to lay victim to over-wrought cynicism. His grin was too boyish, too charming, and she couldn’t crush it even if she’d wanted to.
She would be in Tar Valon soon, and unlikely to ever see him again. Remembering that softened the urge to slip away; to sabotage this moment enthralling her so deeply before it exploded in her face. She was under no naïve illusions; her cynicism was a scar hard-earned and dutifully fortified - she harboured no girlish fantasies, no whimsical expectations. But secreted beneath all the sharp layers of apathy and scorn lay the ghost of an idealist - one that still nursed the fragments of the last time her world had ripped her to shreds. It stirred now persistent as hope and recklessly she let it, succumbing to Jai's playful teases and touches, to the flutter of her stomach at every brush of lips and fingertips. It was his smile, that bloody smile, which did it. She fell willingly. Content, and safe. Because tomorrow it would mean nothing.
Caught by the charm of a heart that skipped silent beats, his playful conspiracy went undetected until the last possible moments, when he broke away and whispered.
And then she was flying.
Water rushed up over her head; darkness and no air, weightlessness and the rush of bubbles. She sputtered as she broke the surface, pushing the sting of salt water from her face and bracing to find solid beneath her feet. “Ten-fold, Asha’man!”
The words were outraged, but she was laughing. Really laughing; at the audacity, at the charm, at the silliness after such a disarmingly intimate moment. She raced after him on impulse, spurred by the boyish laughter. Though she slowed when she realised she had little chance of catching him. And the view was hardly so bad; him racing back to shore to struggle into his pants, grinning like a fool. She followed more sedately then, absently chewing her lip now she knew he could not see her expression, and wondering how in the light she had ever managed to tear herself away from him.
Leaving the gentle caress of seawater, her feet sank into the wet sand and pressed prints in her wake. If she was self-conscious at being so scandalously attired, there was no sign. Shift slicked like a second skin, black hair spilled down curves like ink. Rivulets of water made silvered paths down bare skin, including the planes of her face. “If you’re shy, you should have just said. I promise I wouldn’t have looked.”
She managed to look vaguely unimpressed, but the subterfuge was marred by the light of laughter. Just as the promise was marred by a gaze that dipped south. Her lips finally flickered an impish smile as he settled his coat around her shoulders, like a faint reminder of the arms that had gathered her in minutes before.
The wisest thing for her to do now was to dress and dry. Cresting the cliff like a monolith, the sprawl of Daryen’s estate glared its twinkling lights like an indignant chaperone. Half-naked, drenched to the bone and nestled in an Asha’man’s coat… gifted as she was, even she would struggle to talk herself out of that one. But through she retrieved her dress from the sands, she neither dressed or dried – bar to pull soaking hair from the collar of Jai’s coat and wring a river from its length. Music drifted beneath the melodic call of the ocean, and the distance was reassuring. It seemed impossible Liridia or Yui or both had not noted her absence by now; sunset had receded to the full force of stars lit like beacons, and the last she had seen either of them the sky was still brilliant orange and red. Maybe the Aes Sedai was even looking for her now, to Gate her home. The threat rang somewhat hollow, like her existence had narrowed to this one moment at the expense of everything that waited tomorrow. If she could pull at the strings of time and slow its pace, she would have. Fall forever, never land.
Sand caked wet skin, irritatingly abrasive after the smooth freedoms of the sea. She sat upright, legs poking out from the folds of soft black fabric, knees bent soft and ankles buried in sand. The moment of comfortable silence reminded her she was hungry, but the vigours of her usual schedule often made a mockery of meal time. It was an easy gnaw to ignore, especially knowing that when they left the beach the bubble of escape was over. And time funnelled towards that inevitable path, despite inclination to soak up every last minute. Maybe Liridia would have nothing to say about her disappearance... it was always possible the Brown was so typical of her Ajah it would slip her mind. Unlikely, but possible. She considered that Jai probably had little idea as to the heavy hand of Tower expectation, or just how much trouble she would be in if Liridia were to descend on them as Aes Sedai are wont to do. She'd crossed a line just being out here alone, let alone the rest. But she felt no inclination to enlighten him. She was not here to impress him with her walk along the knife-edge; nor to make him feel guilty or flattered that she had chosen to take the risk at his behest. So she stared out into darkness and tried not to think about him sprawled half-naked beside her. About climbing atop, pushing him back in the sand and repaying him quite thoroughly for dumping her in the ocean. The faint impression of a wicked smile was the only indication of those thoughts; to him it probably looked like she was just smiling at the stars.
“And a swordsman without scars is either a coward or a sham. He should have just dispensed with the pretty sayings and told you to trust no-one.”
She did not put much stock in mindless counsel; any man could string words into wise-sounding banalities and offer them as truths. Her tone suggested as much. Though she had not missed his point; taught swordplay as a child, and with the obsessive nature to preclude the possibility of incompetency. The tilt of his lips was reassuring, not that she needed it; Nythadri was not the sort to tip-toe around uncomfortable topics. “There are worse vices than an over-inflated pride.”
Wounds like that more often left corpses than such wicked scars on living breathing men. She'd felt the sheer length of it in the ocean, and had caught glimpse of it when Daryen had hauled him from the ground during the hunt. Some women liked scars; some didn't. Nythadri was fairly indifferent, though she looked at it now. If there was a story she would not ask to hear it, unless he chose to share - not that she was disinterested, more that she presumed all those who ever saw the scar were always inclined to ask its origins.
And speaking of vices. She propped her chin her palm, elbow rested on one knee, and watched him a moment. “It wasn’t a deathnote. Not if Imaad was responsible.”
Expression perfectly serious, though therein lie the mockery. She did not smile, but there was a glint to her eye; amusement that ran deep, patient, and fondly. She found contentment in the possession of his embrace, in the warmth of a face so close his words brushed shivers across her lips. But like most flawless moments, the glass ceilings shattered under the weight of a little doubt. Shards fell like glitter; dazzling in the moment, but resplitting old wounds to tend to later. The intensity was beguiling; and dangerous in a way that didn’t fire rebellious instincts, but protective ones. He looked too deeply, like they weren’t just two disenchanted souls seeking distraction from an unsatisfactory life. Like they were lovers, not strangers; like he was as blissful lost as she.
Not that she balked from his gaze. Even at her unsteadiest moments, there was no lack of cool confidence. Uncertainty buried itself deep beneath an avalanche of dripping sarcasm and droll humour. And she was possessed of a steel that made her cruel as winter, and as enduring. “You. Are. An. Idiot,”
her only teasing answer to his suggestive quip, each word fluttering like a kiss across his lips. Though there was an intended sting there too, encompassing how easily he had fallen to Imaad’s machinations, and in turn how she now fell so easily to his. Weakness made her wary; at least when she suspected she was acting foolish. But she abandoned the faint disgust at herself for being so easily led by a handsome face. The moment was too precious and rare to lay victim to over-wrought cynicism. His grin was too boyish, too charming, and she couldn’t crush it even if she’d wanted to.
She would be in Tar Valon soon, and unlikely to ever see him again. Remembering that softened the urge to slip away; to sabotage this moment enthralling her so deeply before it exploded in her face. She was under no naïve illusions; her cynicism was a scar hard-earned and dutifully fortified - she harboured no girlish fantasies, no whimsical expectations. But secreted beneath all the sharp layers of apathy and scorn lay the ghost of an idealist - one that still nursed the fragments of the last time her world had ripped her to shreds. It stirred now persistent as hope and recklessly she let it, succumbing to Jai's playful teases and touches, to the flutter of her stomach at every brush of lips and fingertips. It was his smile, that bloody smile, which did it. She fell willingly. Content, and safe. Because tomorrow it would mean nothing.
Caught by the charm of a heart that skipped silent beats, his playful conspiracy went undetected until the last possible moments, when he broke away and whispered.
And then she was flying.
Water rushed up over her head; darkness and no air, weightlessness and the rush of bubbles. She sputtered as she broke the surface, pushing the sting of salt water from her face and bracing to find solid beneath her feet. “Ten-fold, Asha’man!”
The words were outraged, but she was laughing. Really laughing; at the audacity, at the charm, at the silliness after such a disarmingly intimate moment. She raced after him on impulse, spurred by the boyish laughter. Though she slowed when she realised she had little chance of catching him. And the view was hardly so bad; him racing back to shore to struggle into his pants, grinning like a fool. She followed more sedately then, absently chewing her lip now she knew he could not see her expression, and wondering how in the light she had ever managed to tear herself away from him.
Leaving the gentle caress of seawater, her feet sank into the wet sand and pressed prints in her wake. If she was self-conscious at being so scandalously attired, there was no sign. Shift slicked like a second skin, black hair spilled down curves like ink. Rivulets of water made silvered paths down bare skin, including the planes of her face. “If you’re shy, you should have just said. I promise I wouldn’t have looked.”
She managed to look vaguely unimpressed, but the subterfuge was marred by the light of laughter. Just as the promise was marred by a gaze that dipped south. Her lips finally flickered an impish smile as he settled his coat around her shoulders, like a faint reminder of the arms that had gathered her in minutes before.
The wisest thing for her to do now was to dress and dry. Cresting the cliff like a monolith, the sprawl of Daryen’s estate glared its twinkling lights like an indignant chaperone. Half-naked, drenched to the bone and nestled in an Asha’man’s coat… gifted as she was, even she would struggle to talk herself out of that one. But through she retrieved her dress from the sands, she neither dressed or dried – bar to pull soaking hair from the collar of Jai’s coat and wring a river from its length. Music drifted beneath the melodic call of the ocean, and the distance was reassuring. It seemed impossible Liridia or Yui or both had not noted her absence by now; sunset had receded to the full force of stars lit like beacons, and the last she had seen either of them the sky was still brilliant orange and red. Maybe the Aes Sedai was even looking for her now, to Gate her home. The threat rang somewhat hollow, like her existence had narrowed to this one moment at the expense of everything that waited tomorrow. If she could pull at the strings of time and slow its pace, she would have. Fall forever, never land.
Sand caked wet skin, irritatingly abrasive after the smooth freedoms of the sea. She sat upright, legs poking out from the folds of soft black fabric, knees bent soft and ankles buried in sand. The moment of comfortable silence reminded her she was hungry, but the vigours of her usual schedule often made a mockery of meal time. It was an easy gnaw to ignore, especially knowing that when they left the beach the bubble of escape was over. And time funnelled towards that inevitable path, despite inclination to soak up every last minute. Maybe Liridia would have nothing to say about her disappearance... it was always possible the Brown was so typical of her Ajah it would slip her mind. Unlikely, but possible. She considered that Jai probably had little idea as to the heavy hand of Tower expectation, or just how much trouble she would be in if Liridia were to descend on them as Aes Sedai are wont to do. She'd crossed a line just being out here alone, let alone the rest. But she felt no inclination to enlighten him. She was not here to impress him with her walk along the knife-edge; nor to make him feel guilty or flattered that she had chosen to take the risk at his behest. So she stared out into darkness and tried not to think about him sprawled half-naked beside her. About climbing atop, pushing him back in the sand and repaying him quite thoroughly for dumping her in the ocean. The faint impression of a wicked smile was the only indication of those thoughts; to him it probably looked like she was just smiling at the stars.
“And a swordsman without scars is either a coward or a sham. He should have just dispensed with the pretty sayings and told you to trust no-one.”
She did not put much stock in mindless counsel; any man could string words into wise-sounding banalities and offer them as truths. Her tone suggested as much. Though she had not missed his point; taught swordplay as a child, and with the obsessive nature to preclude the possibility of incompetency. The tilt of his lips was reassuring, not that she needed it; Nythadri was not the sort to tip-toe around uncomfortable topics. “There are worse vices than an over-inflated pride.”
Wounds like that more often left corpses than such wicked scars on living breathing men. She'd felt the sheer length of it in the ocean, and had caught glimpse of it when Daryen had hauled him from the ground during the hunt. Some women liked scars; some didn't. Nythadri was fairly indifferent, though she looked at it now. If there was a story she would not ask to hear it, unless he chose to share - not that she was disinterested, more that she presumed all those who ever saw the scar were always inclined to ask its origins.
And speaking of vices. She propped her chin her palm, elbow rested on one knee, and watched him a moment. “It wasn’t a deathnote. Not if Imaad was responsible.”