[ Her head tilts up, where her body is turned away, lets him, lets him, lets him, as she feels her fingers curl around his, the other at her side comes up to him, to catch against his shoulder, twisting herself like she might just be ready to give up everything else along with it. Dipping her toes into deeper waters, little by little. Like she ever knew how to go this easy into anything.
He plays it so well that she cannot tell to the truth of it - he might just be a drunk besotted with a woman he's just met in the middle of a war that certainly makes it seem like a good idea. Because it does feel good, she'd be lying to say otherwise, the firmer brush that has her want to respond to just the same. Push back, see how much he would relent - do as he said he wanted and - oh, put him on his knees. See how he looked there. Holds him just - just so. Hand flat to his shoulder, still in his hold as if she wouldn't dream of doing anything else than stay fast to him. A mimicry of years ago, when she had been a young woman capable of soft humming words.
Then she shoves him, hard, pushing him off him as if his considerable height were nothing to her and the softness is gone. Every bit of her replaced in the half second of blinking. There's nothing but a hard line, vicious, the set of muscles from her so many years of fighting and she holds him away from her like she might a weapon. That holds him back like he's nothing and she takes a deep breath, all quick and high. Regards him like something to be torn down - perhaps she should. She would pick the bits of him, honeyed as they were, out of her teeth. ] Did you honestly think, that a good enough offer would ever tempt me? [ It's hissed, low, she has no want to draw attention to them from any other groomsmen passing through. Especially when he's Barrayan, and she's a woman and an outsider imposing her insistence to take her seriously on them. ]
You feign at supplication to me, [ it's so low, so quiet, murmured like lover's words and she's at her worst, always, like this. Her laughter isn't sweet, it's mockingly bladed. ] as if you can grasp at so much. My maids offered nothing less than their lives, their valour - at their least, they fought tigers with nothing but sticks and at their most, they laughed in the face of our enemies even unto death rather than betray me.
[ and she drops him like he is nothing to her at all. ] When you have something more than convenience to give, my lord, come find me.
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He plays it so well that she cannot tell to the truth of it - he might just be a drunk besotted with a woman he's just met in the middle of a war that certainly makes it seem like a good idea. Because it does feel good, she'd be lying to say otherwise, the firmer brush that has her want to respond to just the same. Push back, see how much he would relent - do as he said he wanted and - oh, put him on his knees. See how he looked there. Holds him just - just so. Hand flat to his shoulder, still in his hold as if she wouldn't dream of doing anything else than stay fast to him. A mimicry of years ago, when she had been a young woman capable of soft humming words.
Then she shoves him, hard, pushing him off him as if his considerable height were nothing to her and the softness is gone. Every bit of her replaced in the half second of blinking. There's nothing but a hard line, vicious, the set of muscles from her so many years of fighting and she holds him away from her like she might a weapon. That holds him back like he's nothing and she takes a deep breath, all quick and high. Regards him like something to be torn down - perhaps she should. She would pick the bits of him, honeyed as they were, out of her teeth. ] Did you honestly think, that a good enough offer would ever tempt me? [ It's hissed, low, she has no want to draw attention to them from any other groomsmen passing through. Especially when he's Barrayan, and she's a woman and an outsider imposing her insistence to take her seriously on them. ]
You feign at supplication to me, [ it's so low, so quiet, murmured like lover's words and she's at her worst, always, like this. Her laughter isn't sweet, it's mockingly bladed. ] as if you can grasp at so much. My maids offered nothing less than their lives, their valour - at their least, they fought tigers with nothing but sticks and at their most, they laughed in the face of our enemies even unto death rather than betray me.
[ and she drops him like he is nothing to her at all. ] When you have something more than convenience to give, my lord, come find me.