Before, he might have been caught off-guard, but he's quite a bit more relaxed now - he doesn't so much as startle. His answer's painfully earnest, accompanied by a small smile. "It's been...eventful. But I'm ending the day in a far better place than I started. I wouldn't mind staying up, given the company."
Inside Vex, there are two wolves. One who'd like to stay up and flirt, bask in the thrill of new company, and especially a handsome young man who's clearly (and flatteringly) taken with her. The other is well aware that they're back with the team, that her brother isn't that distracted. That she risks giving Percy the wrong impression.
Oh, she's lovely. It's hard to escape just how fond he's grown tonight, and harder still to hide it. He doesn't try, instead allowing himself the little luxury of leaning in slightly towards her. There's a sort of happy shyness to the way he answers, the knowledge that this is not, as a rule, how he talks to people. "You'd be surprised. When I'm interested in something, hours go by in moments."
All right, hours is likely pushing it. But the idea of remaining in her company makes him inclined towards hyperbole.
"Hours, darling?" Vex says, her brows going up in good natured skepticism. It's not that she believes him or that she doesn't. It's that it's more interesting to tease, to see how he reacts.
To keep the conversation going.
To issue, however unseriously, a little bit of a challenge for him to prove it.
"Well, you do seem like the driven sort. I wonder if we ought to be getting you another bowl of stew to keep your strength up."
"Given, erm, sufficient motivation." It's a bluff at the moment - he does think he could manage another round, but not more. But even if it comes to nothing, just being in the company of someone else is rather satisfying.
"I could probably down another meal, too," he admits, "but it's not a dire emergency. I received my fair share of bread and water before you found me."
Not much more, but supper tonight made a dent in that ever-gnawing hunger that comes of being young, tall, and penniless. And he's still conscious of the fact that any money spent on him isn't really earned, at this point.
"Hardly enough to keep a young man's stamina up," Vex observes. There's still a flirtatious note in her tone, but also some genuine concern. As flinty eyed as she can be about money, certainly as she likes to seem, she can't pretend the idea doesn't reach her. Prison rations aren't going to keep someone fit for...
Well.
Any kind of physical exertion.
"We'll see you get breakfast before we leave tomorrow." One brow lifts to lighten the tone again. "Or something to eat, at least."
He's done more on less, when he's had to - but given the opportunity, he'd rather not have to. And it seems his luck is finally turning around on that point...and on a few others as well. There's a reason his cheeks heat up, after all, at the suggestion of alternatives to breakfast.
(How wonderful to receive tacit encouragement for another round of cunnilingus. Ever a sucker for evidence of a job well done, he's torn between embarrassment and preening.)
"I'd like that." As banter goes, it's far too earnest, but thus far, clear admissions of desire have served him well. "A slightly later start - or perhaps an earlier one. I could ask them to have some food sent up to us around sunrise."
"Wildly optimistic of you to think we'd be able to having something sent up without waking up our teammates," Vex comments, her smile serene, brows twitching with something like genuine warmth, while at the same time she pushes back gently.
She doesn't see them having the morning alone upstairs.
And, implicitly, she doesn't see them getting a room alone tonight.
But...
"However, we may be able to sneak down while the others are sleeping off their hangovers. Keyleth aside, there are not many morning people in our little group."
He's still daydreaming of space and privacy, the possibility of spending the night crammed up next to someone more appealing than a drunken half-giant. Until he's entirely rebuffed, he'll hold out a little hope.
"Under most circumstances, I'm not much of a morning person." Ideally, if he's to be awake at daybreak, it's because he lost track of time in the course of a long night - though his time on the fishing boat certainly taught him to fake his way through early rises. "But if I'm going to get to sneak around with you, that sweetens the deal."
It's the most overt flirting he's committed himself to in years, possibly ever.
Considering his obvious lack of recent opportunity, it's not bad flirting. Of course, Vex might feel that way because she picked him—she'd been interested. His honesty and the ragged way he'd clutched his dignity despite being locked in a prison cell...
Percival is an interesting man.
"I suppose I'll simply have to think of a way to energize you."
"I've a few ideas." It's hard not to, with her looking at him that way. She has the keen eye of a hunter with prey in her suggest, and he can't even profess to mind; this capture would be far nicer than the last one he experienced. "You're an inspiring woman, Vex'ahlia."
In fact - he can't resist pushing his luck, reasoning that she'd made similar overtures earlier, before they'd thoroughly debauched themselves. "Enough so that waiting for the morning might be torture."
...All right, as overtures go, it's still rather subtle. He'd rather not come right out and say it, I'm willing to give it another go if you are.
"Torture, is it?" Vex repeats the word, wondering if that's meant to be flattering, if she should take it as such. Of course, whether or not she should doesn't determine whether or not she does.
And the idea that waiting for her is torture is flattering when he's more or less just come from having her is quite flattering.
"And is there anything that might ease your hardship?"
It is not, as a point of fact, torture, and he well knows the difference - but making light of the subject might keep her from the truth of his scars. He'd had no trouble with them among prior groups, if only because no one actually wanted to share the details of their pasts...but Vex'ahlia is chatty. Inquiring. And she's seen more of him than he hopes most of her comrades will.
It's a dangerous game to play, deception, but he's gotten better at it over the last few years.
Also dangerous: overtures. He's can tell he's trifling with fire here, and yet he can't resist the opportunity to burn his hands. "The, ah, pleasure of your company?"
"Is that so? It seems to me you're enjoying the pleasure of my company as we speak." Her brow arches a little, teasing but lightly. There's no effort to discourage him. More playful swiping.
"I am," he agrees, granting himself a moment to drain the last of his ale. It's precisely the sort of courage he needs to set the tankard down and slide an arm around her. "And I'd like to continue to enjoy it, if I may."
This entire night has taken a wonderful, surprising turn, and things feel like they're continuing to move in his favor. And why not pursue that? Her interest feels limitless at the moment, even with the way her gaze shifts toward her brother occasionally. He's still occupied with his cards, so far as Percy knows - and his opinion hardly matters anyway, under the circumstances.
The limitlessness of Vex's interest might prove treacherous; the sky can seem limitless too, when you're standing at the edge of a cliff.
The evening has been fun. More than fun, if Vex takes the time to examine it. (Which she'd rather not.) Percy's company fills a space in their little party that Vex hadn't realized was sorely missing: someone smart, sharp, someone she could see herself holding a real conversation with, who could keep her interest. His inexperience and occasional awkwardness lend an air of authenticity to him, and soften the edges that could be called pompous or abrasive.
The fact he's so willing to be fascinated by her doesn't hurt—him, so obviously coming from money and respectability, fascinated by her. It might say something unflattering about her just how much she is flattered by it.
But that arm is a step forward, and it might leave both of them in empty air.
"You know, I think I could use another round myself," she says, slipping away before the limb in question has time to settle, to become a restraint.
"I -" he begins, caught off guard by the question. But this is a barroom, they're here to drink, and their little trip to the baths have them time to sober. "Yes. Thank you."
It's reasonable for her to get up and kind of her to fetch the next round. Nothing about this should be a concern to him. The slightly unsettled sensation in his chest isn't an instinct worth listening to - but it is there.
And so he lets her go without hesitation and only looks a little nonplussed, and when shes away, he only gives his shirt collar a single, surreptitious sniff. (Awful, as he'd expected. Perhaps that's the problem.) By the time she returns, he's pulled out a scrap of parchment and the stub of a charcoal pencil from among his things. The beginnings of a sketch - likely abstract to anyone not intimately familiar with the inner workings of a pepperbox - are taking shape, if more shaggily than usual.
Vex moves lightly, her expression faltering only slightly as she heads to the bar. Her smile is back in place, good mood thoroughly restored and back in place by the time she returns. There's a full tankard in each hand when she swans back to him. She sets one in front of Percy (careful not to disturb his sketch), and then resumes her seat.
Just slightly farther away than before. Enough that it's inconvenient to put his arm around her again.
At the same time, she leans toward him, her head tipped forward conspiratorially.
"There we are. You're very welcome, darling. Best enjoy it while we can."
See, he tells himself, it's fine. Vex is certainly in a fine mood, still of a mind to tease him as she sits back down. If there's slightly more space between them, Percy has yet to notice.
And so that moment of concern is forgotten as quickly as it started. Shoving the parchment and pencil back into a pocket, he gives her an easy smile. "Why is that? Are we traveling to a city without beer tomorrow?"
The swig he takes is a judicious one despite the joke; if savoring is what she advises, he's willing to listen.
"Are you kidding? Grog would riot." To say nothing of the rest of them. They are, as a team, one that benefits from a little social lubrication. (A comment Vex would never say aloud out of caution Scanlan would hear.)
"But we will be leaving town, and we'll have several days sleeping rough before we get to the next town worth naming. Less comfort. Less booze. Less privacy."
He'd expect nothing less of a man called Grog, truthfully. Or of the ready of the group - his first impression hasn't been one of sobriety or moderation.
"Then we'll have to make the most of what we have tonight," Percy says. Easy to say and, he thinks, not much more difficult to accomplish. "I don't suppose we could commandeer a room while the others are occupied."
If they bar the door, that's privacy enough for the span of a night.
"Darling, I do appreciate your ingenuity, but you do have to realize we'd have a mutiny on our hands if we took one room all to ourselves." She says it lightly, like it's a joke. There's an airiness to it. Can you imagine?
She takes another drink, long and savoring.
"Besides, it would rather defeat the purpose of having privacy if they'd be able to guess what we were up to."
"Ah." His expression grows less open by degrees, the almost boyish smile slowly dissolving back into something more guarded. Without thinking, he reaches for his beer and takes another, longer sip. "Er - you're quite right."
She is, after all. It's common sense that their coin - the charity he's currently drinking away - will only stretch so far. And he's seen her glance over in her twin's direction repeatedly tonight. Even a bit inebriated - and God, does he suddenly wish he were more so - Percy can put the pieces together. She doesn't want the others to be aware, and she particularly doesn't want her brother to know. Any interest she might have is finite, its boundaries limited to the margins of the world where no one else is looking.
It's sensible and likely wise; it'll keep everyone happy and preserve all the interpersonal dynamics he doesn't know anything about. She's keeping him from making his time with her comrades a short one via his own stupidity. He really ought to be grateful.
It's a pity, then, that all he feels is a cold, heavy stone lodging itself in his chest.
"Well," he adds, trying and failing to summon back that elation of having been the subject of someone's affection, "I'll, uh, I'll look forward to our next town."
There's a little pang of guilt when she sees Percy's expression fall. Vex pushes it away ruthlessly. They've known each other a very short time—not enough time to get Percy's clothes properly laundered, let alone replaced. If he saw more in this than a fun little addition, something to make their—again, very new—arrangement as pleasant as possible, then that isn't her fault.
What harm is there in keeping things to a tryst here and there?
"No need to get so ahead of ourselves. We were just discussing breakfast after all."
There's no helping it: she's clearly seen right through him to the disappointment hiding behind his eyes. It's embarrassing - no, mortifying. No, it makes the prison cell seem downright cozy compared to the misery of having his own moronic hopes on display in full view of someone who doesn't share them.
The worst part of all of this isn't even the awareness that she'd rather not be more entangled than absolutely necessary. He can live with that. It's the fact that she finally seems to have noticed just how pitiful he is, and she's responding accordingly. Darling is a welcoming sound from her right up until it's meant to mollify him.
"It's fine, Vex'ahlia," he tells her, and in his attempt to sound even-handed, the words are slightly clipped. At the moment, he doesn't notice. The back of his neck is burning. "Please - forget I said anything."
Another sip of ale as punctuation. The sooner he can finish this pint, the sooner he can escape to whatever flea-ridden straw-tick mattress will be his tonight.
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pathography) wrote2004-12-29 06:14 pm
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But surely a little banter doesn't hurt.
She leans closer, propped on one elbow.
"And just how long do you think you can keep up?"
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All right, hours is likely pushing it. But the idea of remaining in her company makes him inclined towards hyperbole.
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To keep the conversation going.
To issue, however unseriously, a little bit of a challenge for him to prove it.
"Well, you do seem like the driven sort. I wonder if we ought to be getting you another bowl of stew to keep your strength up."
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"I could probably down another meal, too," he admits, "but it's not a dire emergency. I received my fair share of bread and water before you found me."
Not much more, but supper tonight made a dent in that ever-gnawing hunger that comes of being young, tall, and penniless. And he's still conscious of the fact that any money spent on him isn't really earned, at this point.
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Well.
Any kind of physical exertion.
"We'll see you get breakfast before we leave tomorrow." One brow lifts to lighten the tone again. "Or something to eat, at least."
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(How wonderful to receive tacit encouragement for another round of cunnilingus. Ever a sucker for evidence of a job well done, he's torn between embarrassment and preening.)
"I'd like that." As banter goes, it's far too earnest, but thus far, clear admissions of desire have served him well. "A slightly later start - or perhaps an earlier one. I could ask them to have some food sent up to us around sunrise."
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She doesn't see them having the morning alone upstairs.
And, implicitly, she doesn't see them getting a room alone tonight.
But...
"However, we may be able to sneak down while the others are sleeping off their hangovers. Keyleth aside, there are not many morning people in our little group."
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"Under most circumstances, I'm not much of a morning person." Ideally, if he's to be awake at daybreak, it's because he lost track of time in the course of a long night - though his time on the fishing boat certainly taught him to fake his way through early rises. "But if I'm going to get to sneak around with you, that sweetens the deal."
It's the most overt flirting he's committed himself to in years, possibly ever.
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Percival is an interesting man.
"I suppose I'll simply have to think of a way to energize you."
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In fact - he can't resist pushing his luck, reasoning that she'd made similar overtures earlier, before they'd thoroughly debauched themselves. "Enough so that waiting for the morning might be torture."
...All right, as overtures go, it's still rather subtle. He'd rather not come right out and say it, I'm willing to give it another go if you are.
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And the idea that waiting for her is torture is flattering when he's more or less just come from having her is quite flattering.
"And is there anything that might ease your hardship?"
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It's a dangerous game to play, deception, but he's gotten better at it over the last few years.
Also dangerous: overtures. He's can tell he's trifling with fire here, and yet he can't resist the opportunity to burn his hands. "The, ah, pleasure of your company?"
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This entire night has taken a wonderful, surprising turn, and things feel like they're continuing to move in his favor. And why not pursue that? Her interest feels limitless at the moment, even with the way her gaze shifts toward her brother occasionally. He's still occupied with his cards, so far as Percy knows - and his opinion hardly matters anyway, under the circumstances.
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The evening has been fun. More than fun, if Vex takes the time to examine it. (Which she'd rather not.) Percy's company fills a space in their little party that Vex hadn't realized was sorely missing: someone smart, sharp, someone she could see herself holding a real conversation with, who could keep her interest. His inexperience and occasional awkwardness lend an air of authenticity to him, and soften the edges that could be called pompous or abrasive.
The fact he's so willing to be fascinated by her doesn't hurt—him, so obviously coming from money and respectability, fascinated by her. It might say something unflattering about her just how much she is flattered by it.
But that arm is a step forward, and it might leave both of them in empty air.
"You know, I think I could use another round myself," she says, slipping away before the limb in question has time to settle, to become a restraint.
To be seen.
"Do you want another while I'm up?"
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It's reasonable for her to get up and kind of her to fetch the next round. Nothing about this should be a concern to him. The slightly unsettled sensation in his chest isn't an instinct worth listening to - but it is there.
And so he lets her go without hesitation and only looks a little nonplussed, and when shes away, he only gives his shirt collar a single, surreptitious sniff. (Awful, as he'd expected. Perhaps that's the problem.) By the time she returns, he's pulled out a scrap of parchment and the stub of a charcoal pencil from among his things. The beginnings of a sketch - likely abstract to anyone not intimately familiar with the inner workings of a pepperbox - are taking shape, if more shaggily than usual.
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Just slightly farther away than before. Enough that it's inconvenient to put his arm around her again.
At the same time, she leans toward him, her head tipped forward conspiratorially.
"There we are. You're very welcome, darling. Best enjoy it while we can."
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And so that moment of concern is forgotten as quickly as it started. Shoving the parchment and pencil back into a pocket, he gives her an easy smile. "Why is that? Are we traveling to a city without beer tomorrow?"
The swig he takes is a judicious one despite the joke; if savoring is what she advises, he's willing to listen.
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"But we will be leaving town, and we'll have several days sleeping rough before we get to the next town worth naming. Less comfort. Less booze. Less privacy."
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"Then we'll have to make the most of what we have tonight," Percy says. Easy to say and, he thinks, not much more difficult to accomplish. "I don't suppose we could commandeer a room while the others are occupied."
If they bar the door, that's privacy enough for the span of a night.
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She takes another drink, long and savoring.
"Besides, it would rather defeat the purpose of having privacy if they'd be able to guess what we were up to."
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She is, after all. It's common sense that their coin - the charity he's currently drinking away - will only stretch so far. And he's seen her glance over in her twin's direction repeatedly tonight. Even a bit inebriated - and God, does he suddenly wish he were more so - Percy can put the pieces together. She doesn't want the others to be aware, and she particularly doesn't want her brother to know. Any interest she might have is finite, its boundaries limited to the margins of the world where no one else is looking.
It's sensible and likely wise; it'll keep everyone happy and preserve all the interpersonal dynamics he doesn't know anything about. She's keeping him from making his time with her comrades a short one via his own stupidity. He really ought to be grateful.
It's a pity, then, that all he feels is a cold, heavy stone lodging itself in his chest.
"Well," he adds, trying and failing to summon back that elation of having been the subject of someone's affection, "I'll, uh, I'll look forward to our next town."
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There's a little pang of guilt when she sees Percy's expression fall. Vex pushes it away ruthlessly. They've known each other a very short time—not enough time to get Percy's clothes properly laundered, let alone replaced. If he saw more in this than a fun little addition, something to make their—again, very new—arrangement as pleasant as possible, then that isn't her fault.
What harm is there in keeping things to a tryst here and there?
"No need to get so ahead of ourselves. We were just discussing breakfast after all."
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The worst part of all of this isn't even the awareness that she'd rather not be more entangled than absolutely necessary. He can live with that. It's the fact that she finally seems to have noticed just how pitiful he is, and she's responding accordingly. Darling is a welcoming sound from her right up until it's meant to mollify him.
"It's fine, Vex'ahlia," he tells her, and in his attempt to sound even-handed, the words are slightly clipped. At the moment, he doesn't notice. The back of his neck is burning. "Please - forget I said anything."
Another sip of ale as punctuation. The sooner he can finish this pint, the sooner he can escape to whatever flea-ridden straw-tick mattress will be his tonight.
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