[M'try] The conversation that T'rev interrupted.
RL Date: 7/19/10
IC Date: 3/28/23
Nicked and Scratched High-Up Weyr(#1780Rs$)
Set high up in the bowl, this ledge is far from any neighbors. Not all that large and with a chunk missing, it looks like it a bite was taken from it; while the edges around the broken portion are a little sharp, the rest of the ledge is smooth and reasonably flat.
First impressions provided by the ledge also speak of the state of the weyr. Medium-sized, it's shaped in a neat, narrow rectangle, the walls rough with scattered grazing gouges. The dragon wallow sits in a precise strip along the far wall, with a view out to the ledge. The space is bright in the daylight, but, when lit by glows or the small hearth, the room hangs heavy with shadows that drip from slices and protrusions in the walls. Furniture is sparse, consistent of a bed that must have come with the weyr-- canopied with red curtains, tucked into the far corner-- a broad table mostly covered over with pages and pencils and ink, a deep-cushioned sofa with patches to the brown corduroy, chairs that don't match each other, a rug in front of the hearth with a bare spots, three easels standing in the recesses. Throughout are the trappings of an artist-- pots of paint, jars with brushes in them, canvases leaned against the walls, stacks of paper-- and of a young man-- discarded socks, a razor and shaving soap next to a basin of water, a comb cast wherever it landed, and often a coat that seems rather nice and new by comparison to the rest.
It's been a rather adventurous day, to say the least. When one generally prefers to sit at home and read and write in the evenings, it's understandably exhausting to come home at the end of the day with scratches and scrapes. M'try, having waited for Vanissa while occasionally dabbing at the scrape on his hand in a way that probably pisses off the Healers something fierce, finally arrives back in his weyr, leaving Mohraith to swoop on down and dunk himself in the lake without assistance. "Do you feel like having a drink, Nissa? I do."
Vanissa having stopped at the bathing caverns after seeing the healers in part to soak away the aches and well as suds all that grime from her person, arrives shortly after Mohraith drops from the ledge. Liath waits only until her rider drags her straps off to follow her brown friend with only a little mourning that the lake is no longer clear but muddied. She still likes swimming. Yay! Nissa is moving carefully, hair still damp from her bath, already pajama-clad in something borrowed from Levania - there's no WAY she's putting those muddy clothes back on - her scrapes and bruises thanking her for choosing soft shorts and overlarge shirt. Straps are loosely coiled and dumped somewhere out of the way at the same time she greets M'try with a brief, "Hey." It's clear from the way Nissa makes tracks for the couch she wants to sit down before she falls down. "Yeah? Whatcha got? I could use one I think."
M'try doesn't have a sister from whom he can borrow pajamas (and it would be weird if he did anyway, so best that way), but he does rummage around in a chest of drawers to find something suitably clean, staying pretty much out of sight and changing in slacker clothes-- more than socks and boxers, since he's company, durnit-- but nothing he might wear out into the world. Just pulling his shirt on, he fishes around among a cupboard to locate a bottle and two cups, both just sort of plain and likely lifted from the kitchens. "Brandy, though I'm not exactly sure how I acquired it. Still." Pouring, reaching over the back of the sofa to hand a cup down to the greenrider, he offers as a wry toast, "To mud."
Having decided against traipsing back out into the muddy bowl barefooted, Nissa has at least put her muddy boots back on, but these she leaves out on the ledge. Thus she pads to the couch barefooted to ease herself down and curl up on one end, dropping her head back with eyes closed. After a moment a thought comes to mind and there's a faint grin curling her lips. With eyes still closed, "For not proper furniture, it's comfy." Brandy he says and her eyes open, head turning back there where he's offering that cup, eyeing it a bit warily. Her hand lifts and she takes it, fingers curling 'round it, her echo, "To mud." is just as wry and perhaps a bit chagrined. It wrecked her wyer, after all. Her comment after taking a careful sip is, "Not as bad as whiskey." And yay! It doesn't make her eye-tic and tear up either.
"I sat on every sofa in the store rooms before settling on this one," M'try says, running his palm along the back of it as if stroking a fond pet rather than just patting the back of his couch. He does squint his eyes pretty hard while swallowing, but there's no tears on his part, either, just the glass resting between his palms with his forearms braced against the sofa-back. "Not as bad as whiskey, not as good as beer." Though his expression is soft, almost peaceful now that the day is winding down, his eyes also seem pretty firmly pinned to Vanissa while she relaxes, a quietly prompting, "Your brother interrupted something you were going to tell me earlier today, in case you'd like to finish the thought now."
One can only sit so long with neck and back twisted to see over the back of that beloved couch of his and Nissa's muscles are beginning to stiffen now that she's been still for awhile. While he's loving on his furniture (which would be likely so hurt if it knew he called it 'not proper'), she shifts carefully to face him more directly, the small of her back against the arm, her side snugged up into the couch-back. Over the rim of her cup she admits, "Usually stick with ale, myself." With a bit of a grin she adds, "This stuff is... numbing my lips." The tip of her tongue flicks out to tap them experimentally and she nods to herself. Yep, it really is. She's tired enough to be almost utterly limp but with that prompting, there's a faint tensing as she seeks to avoid his gaze, ducking her head to lean in one the couch and study her bare toes which are propped on the cushion she's sitting on. Brows knit, maybe trying to recall, perhaps stalling for time, she murmurs, "You said you were in to me... I mentions facing fears..."
The added tension results in drawn brows on M'try's part, not the result he was looking for, though he doesn't try to change the course of the conversation this time, only adds a mild, "Eventually, it will numb your brain if you let it." Which might account for why he reaches one hand to reclaim her glass, should she be willing to surrender it. "You mentioned a few things. Among them, that you're nervous about someone getting to know /you/, which does make it difficult for me, as that's on my short list of things to do. Also, the words 'I want--' and then...?" He shrugs, helpless to try to guess where she was going. "Please talk to me, Nissa. I don't know what to do if you won't."
Oh, nono! Nissa -needs- that liquid courage, thankyouverymuch and thus twitches her cup out of his reach with the excuse that, "It'll relax my muscles," while flexing her neck experimentally. "One or two sips ain't helped it yet." Really, she hasn't had time for more than that. With a quick, nervous smile, she answers, "If you're willing to talk to me without hidin' behind clever talk, I can talk to ya, M'try. It works both ways, y'know." Silent after his plea, she mulls her words while peering down into that cup and it is to the brandy she says lowly, "I was gonna say I -want- to trust ya, M'try." Hazel eyes flash up at him, begging him to understand, "Ain't really ever done that with anyone before." Thinking perhaps that statement needs some clarification, she adds, "I mean, I trust ya to keep your promises. Believed ya when ya said ya wouldn't draw me, for example." And though she's retained that glass, she hasn't sipped from it again yet, eyes him where he's leaning on the couch, "Are you gonna stand up all night then?"
Her response to his efforts flickers a quick grin into place, has M'try's fingers grasping nothing but air before they slack their way back to the sofa. "If you say so," is where he leaves that, notably having done little more than finish a sip or two himself. As for the rest of what she says, there's a brief, guilty glance, foot shuffling on the floor while he notes, "I'm being as frank and cleverless as I can, though you should know that it's costing me a considerable effort. And the thought had occurred to me, yes," to stand up all night, though-- now that it's mentioned-- he does come around to take a seat, putting aside his glass, empty hands folded on his knees.
"Ya are now!" Nissa says with some asperity before relenting, "Clever's okay, fun even, just... you know." Since they've been over that, she doesn't repeat her sentiments, but surprise kicks in when she hear the rest of it, "Yeah? An' why's that, M'try, if we're bein' frank? It seems like the couch is but a visible version of the wall I'm puttin' up, hmm?" Her eyes track his route around to and while he takes his seat, she sips. Observing him for a long moment after, "Ya poured it, but don't want it, hmm?" Something about him, the way he's sitting... Softly,"I'm tryin'. I am. Tell me what I did? You're..." She can't define it. Struggles and finally come out with, "Remote."
"If you'd been doing something for more than twenty years," M'try begins with quick clear of his throat, "you would have a hard time giving it up as well." As for his drink, he does go to the extra trouble of picking up the glass and upending it, showing that there's a whopping droplet or two spilling out, landing on his knee; he poured it rather slim, in his case. Returning the glass, refolding his hands, he answers her look in silence for a long spell before finally saying, "I'm sorry, Nissa. You haven't done anything. I just... What can I do? I want something to work, to happen, but-- you are so completely out of my league that I have no idea how to make this work with you." There.
Thoughtful on the heels of that, Nissa takes a few more sips, allows the stuff to seep warmth into her, relaxing somewhat more as she muses, "Ain't been at runnin' for nearly that long, but I can relate. And ya don't have to give it up entirely." From under lashes she studies him while cradling her cup, hmms as that drop falls from his, chooses to leave her eyes veiled for the duration of his reply. The level in her cup lowers, but her cup is by no means empty when she leans to place it on the floor beside her. After she sits back up, she scoots down just a bit to get comfy, contemplates him over there, her eyes flickering from his folded hands back to his face with a hint of mischief as one long leg unfolds to poke at them with a toe. "Ain't either out of your league! Ya just think I am. I mean, really. What on Pern does that even mean? Ya ever think about it? I'm just as out of yours. I ain't silver-tongued and well-read like you." The words are sincere, carry a hint of teasing, but if he looks, he'll find her eyes open for him to see her vulnerability in that regard as well. As to what to do to make it work, she's got a self-deprecating laugh, "I ain't sure I can tell ya that, M'try. No one's ever managed it before, but does it help you to know I ain't runnin' from ya as fast and as hard as I done with the ones that tried?"
To be honest, "It means what it means. It means... that I just keep waiting for you to realize that you could have someone better, so why in the world are you here?" M'try pretends a stern frown at the poking toe, folding it in his palm with a tsk tsk, answering, "Mind where you put your feet, dear, I am not a welcome mat." It's an odd thing in the middle of everything else, but it does at least keep him from sitting with his hands folded like that, fingers instead curling lightly around Vanissa's ankle. "I hate to call it cold comfort, Nissa, but 'not running fast' is still running, isn't it? Can you tell me what you're afraid of, at least?" Pleaseprettyplease?
Slowly, as if she's helping him remember, "Be...cause ya invited me here?" Haha, isn't she funny? Nissa wriggles her foot admonishingly at him, "Ya keep sayin' that. Someone better. Define better?" It's really meant, rhetorically. She snorts and adds helpfully, "I couldn't stand R'lis. Never even said yes to him!" He knows her former wingleader his status, his face, his reputation, his...flock. Cold comfort he says and Nissa winces, one arm lifting to pillow the back of her head where it rests on the arm of the couch, "Nothin' I say helps, does it?" Her brow furrows, hazel eyes grow vague as she wrestles to give voice to the vague restlessness that drove her, "Hmm... Before I ran because of... them?" She hesitates, makes a decision and blurts, "Liath says now I want to run... because of me, not you." Her eyes lift to him with a clear-eyed openness, answers him finally with a barely audible, "Afraid of hurtin' ya, M'try." There! She said it.
"Ah, now who's being clever? Try to take the only thing that I have going for me, my dear, and I will summarily uninvite you." M'try issues another injured sniff, though the tail-end of it isn't so much playful as starting to turn into a sigh, his knuckles lifted to rub at his forehead, fingers just reaching into his hairline and tugging their way backward before they clap back down onto his lap. He meets Vanissa's eyes openly in return, exhaling a slow breath to ask with some mixture of humor and frustration, "Because this is painless as it is? I don't want you to want to run, not from you. Not from me." Rather like it's more a daydream than any practical list, he explains, "I want you... to come here, to curl up close to me. I want to hold you, and relax with you, and get to know you."
There's concern there in Nissa's eyes for his frustration, guiltily unsure if she's making it worse or better trying to open up and answer him and she jumps slightly when his hand claps into his lap. It's with a rather dazed expression that she hears him out, and when he finishes, she skips over the first few statements, "You want... to get to know me?" Slowly, like she can't really absorb it, "You know, you are the first man to ever say that to me?" Really, she's looking quite stunned. It's a wonder she can move, but she slowly tugs her ankle from his fingers, folds her leg back under her to reverse her position, crawling across the space on that couch that separates them, pausing just shy of him with a half smile, letting him see the vulnerability in her eyes at such a thought as letting him know her. "Mind some company then?"
At least frankness is finding its way back into things, for M'try answers promptly to her dazed question, albeit with a touch of customary glibness, "Will it make it easier to accept if you know that it's driving me crazy, absolutely insane, that you're sleeping in my bed and I'm not? I'm reminding myself that we'll get to that eventually, theoretically." These are the kinds of thoughts he ought to keep to himself, but if she wants him to chat, that's what she's gonna get. He lifts an arm at that point, making room for her to tuck in alongside him, even reaches to her shoulders to help draw her over. "I would love," with conviction, "your company, Vanissa."
That comment does more to reassure Nissa than anything else he could have said and there's a slow grin in response to it. She drawls, "How ever do ya sleep at night?" And while he's making to tuck her alongside him, she just twinkles mischief into his eyes, ducks his arm and heads for his lap instead, curling up there and snuggling her head on his shoulder. "How about a chair instead of a welcome mat then?" She laughs softly, purposely tickling his chin with her hair, "I think you answered your own question about what you can do to make this work, by the way. So Harper-Boy. What do ya want to know, eh?"
M'try exhales around a slight laugh and answers, "Poorly. I sleep poorly, generally speaking." There are certain facts about being male, especially one that doesn't see a lot of action on a regular basis, that cannot be hidden when a girl climbs into one's lap. With the chin-tickling hair. Hence, shifting rather fruitlessly for a second, the brownrider finally just says, "You're not helping." And buries a sigh into that hair, drawing his arms around her, more laughter than anything in him now that the crisis seems to have been averted. "What would have become of you if you hadn't Impressed?" he asks as a good starting point.
Laughter-laced after his shifting, "I could sing you to sleep maybe? T'rev taught me how..." She's kind enough at least to sit still and not make things worse, although she does slip her arms around him in return as she's hmming thoughtfully, "M'not sure? If I -had- been able to run from Laith..." Speaking of which, the drippy green swoops in to land lightly on the ledge outside, trilling a greeting to those inside, while Bruise butterflies in, smacks into the back of the couch and scrambles to a perch. He's wet too, yay! "I think," Nissa says finally (apparently never having thought this through), "I'd've tried T'rev's walkabout method with the traders, seen if it got the restlessness out." Leaving her head on his shoulder, but tipping it back where she can see his face, "And you? Back to the Hall for more training or no?"
"Are you expecting me to decline the offer?" M'try asks, brows lifted though, the way Vanissa's tucked in, she can't really see that. "Because, while I certainly haven't got the love of music that some possess, I won't say no." He lifts his arm from around the greenrider long enough to flick his fingers at Bruise's feet, as if his couch-- already rather dilapidated-- doesn't need to suffer the additional indignity of firelizard talons poking holes in it. Or maybe he just doesn't like them. "A trader, you think? I've always thought of them as rather a dishonest bunch, or at least not entirely honest, and you don't seem to fit that bill." Hmmn. "Back to the Hall? No, they sent me here to get me out from underfoot. I should have walked the tables in a few more months, I'm fairly sure."
"Nah. Cos if you've heard some of T'rev's- and I'm sure you have... " She's amused, to say the least. That finger flick drives Bruise off with an indignant squeak. Fine, if he's unwanted, he'll just go check out that fancy curtained bed. He flitters off the couch to drop onto the coverlet, almost purring as he wriggle-rolls around drying himself off on it. Nissa eyes M'try with amusement, trying her best to look all shifty with trader-like face-making, "Don't I?" Her shoulders lift and fall slightly under his arms, "They're a lot of fun though. But the Hall sent you away." She's silent while she absorbs this, hesitates then instead of asking why, finally asks quietly, "Were you very upset?"
With amused tolerance, M'try points out, "Vanissa. Do you really think your brother's bawdies are going to upset my delicate sensibilities?" /Pornographer./ "I'm very fond of that bed, though, so you might better call off the idiot firelizard or I'll tell Mohraith that he's in here wrecking an otherwise romantic mood, and he'll answer to my dragon." Who is still off swimming and being loud-- << SAFRIATH HAD A CONVERSATION WITH ME. >> "No, not at all. I wasn't sent away in exile or anything of the sort. I think they mostly wanted to know if I'd crumble without the familiar walls of the Hall around me, and, as it turned out, I just never came back." Their loss? "Do you think you would have been happy at it? As a trader?"
Nonchalant, "Not at all. I think you'd like 'em." Nissa taps her chin while studying the ceiling, reconsiders, "They might not help ya sleep better though?" She's so into pretty much ignoring Bruise that it takes her a moment to locate the lizard, grimacing at the blue when she sees where he's gotten to. "Sorry. Liath, will ya call that wretched creature? He spends most of his time with her." This last bit to M'try apologetically. Bruise is dry now - yay! And he missed Laith anyway, sniff. That word crumble earns a look, "So they traded bowl walls for Harper. Go figure. Guess there's worse places they could have sent ya." She drops her chin to his shoulder, gazing over the back of the couch absently. Finally, "For sure, at least for awhile. Dunno that I've ever been unhappy. Except when I was in that hole." She shivers involuntarily, then turns his question back on him, "Were ya happy at the Hall, M'try?"
M'try concedes a chuckle and, nose in her hair for a moment, comments, "That's a good point, though I think that it may be a lost cause tonight anyway." Not that he's complaining, mind-- though amusement is short-lived when she mentions that hole, his arms tightening around Vanissa of their own accord. Simply; "I wish that had never happened to you." Straightforward as the remark is, it probably counts among the more earnest things he's ever said to her, his hug drawing her close on the heels of her shiver to answer her question, trying not to get bogged down by darker topics. "I suppose. It was all that I'd ever known, so I didn't really think of it in terms of happy or unhappy. It was simply what I was meant to be doing, and so I did it. Funny, I was talking to Isandre about this not so long ago."
For a moment Nissa says nothing, just buries her face in his neck like a child hiding from imaginary monsters. When she replies although her voice muffled from down there, the words are lightly spoken, "It could have been worse? They didn't touch me." She lets the thought pass, relaxed, safe, content, moves her head back to that spot on his shoulder, musing for a time on his answer. "I can't imagine just sort of... existing like that. It ain't really living, in my book." After a moment, she lifts her head to give him a questioning look, asking as if it should matter to him and certainly does to her, "Are ya happy with your lot now, M'try?"
It's an agreement, yes, but it's not exactly a thrilled one when M'try echoes, "It could have been worse, yes." For her unspoken thoughts, he's quiet, only brushing his hand absently along the length of her arm in a slow back and forth. Finally, mellowly, "It wasn't so bad. I could have been perfectly happy as a Harper, I think." He leans his head back enough from Vanissa's to answer her look with his own, eyes brightening after dark thoughts. "Extremely happy. I'd ask you the same, but I think I'd rather kiss you instead, if it's all the same."
"I think..." Nissa says and some would be certainly very surprised to find that she does, "that a person can go their whole life settling for 'content' without ever knowing they're missing the greater thing." Her eyes waver with her effort to see both of his, making sure he's not simply deflecting her probing. She smiles, content for now with his answer (but he may be sure she'll likely return to this topic). "Would ya?" The twinkle in her look leaves no doubt she worded that last bit ambiguously.
M'try reiterates with certainty, "I could have been perfectly /happy/ as a Harper, Nissa, though I certainly wouldn't want to change the way things have turned out for me." With the same certainty, though perhaps a little more levity behind the answer, he replies, "I would. Because I think it would make me happi/er/, even, and it would make you happier. And, so long as we're on the subject of happiness anyway, it seems pertinent." This while he leans nearer, reaching a hand to find her cheek in a hopeful way. That is, hopeful she's not going to scamper away before he gets there.
"Alrighty." Nissa accepts at face value what he's saying, done philosophizing, at least with words. When his hand finds her cheek, she leans into it, cupping the back of his hand with hers. Her lips curve and it's with an amused drawl, "Is that so, Harper? Then far beit from me to stand in your way." Nevermind that she's sitting.
Given the opportunity, after a quick, "Brownrider, actually. But for you? I'll answer to either," M'try will spend the next little while kissing her, really. It's not really going to do him any good when it comes to that whole 'not getting much sleep' issue, but it's a better way to spend the evening than reading-- even by his standards. Eventually, conscientiously, considering that he's insisting he wants to get to /know/ her, he will suggest retiring to separate corners to sleep things off. With some effort to muster that suggestion.
With a little wriggle, and faked squeal of awe, "Such power!" Nissa will spend the next little while kissing him back, not at all adverse to spending the evening in this way. He may or may not be surprised that she goes willingly, leaving him to the embrace of his couch, but she's going to see yet, if he means what he's said. So far... Besides that brandy, not to mention the earlier body slam (still hurts) has actually made her want to sleep.
M'try, totally not surprised. It is, after all, the story of his life.
IC Date: 3/28/23
Nicked and Scratched High-Up Weyr(#1780Rs$)
Set high up in the bowl, this ledge is far from any neighbors. Not all that large and with a chunk missing, it looks like it a bite was taken from it; while the edges around the broken portion are a little sharp, the rest of the ledge is smooth and reasonably flat.
First impressions provided by the ledge also speak of the state of the weyr. Medium-sized, it's shaped in a neat, narrow rectangle, the walls rough with scattered grazing gouges. The dragon wallow sits in a precise strip along the far wall, with a view out to the ledge. The space is bright in the daylight, but, when lit by glows or the small hearth, the room hangs heavy with shadows that drip from slices and protrusions in the walls. Furniture is sparse, consistent of a bed that must have come with the weyr-- canopied with red curtains, tucked into the far corner-- a broad table mostly covered over with pages and pencils and ink, a deep-cushioned sofa with patches to the brown corduroy, chairs that don't match each other, a rug in front of the hearth with a bare spots, three easels standing in the recesses. Throughout are the trappings of an artist-- pots of paint, jars with brushes in them, canvases leaned against the walls, stacks of paper-- and of a young man-- discarded socks, a razor and shaving soap next to a basin of water, a comb cast wherever it landed, and often a coat that seems rather nice and new by comparison to the rest.
It's been a rather adventurous day, to say the least. When one generally prefers to sit at home and read and write in the evenings, it's understandably exhausting to come home at the end of the day with scratches and scrapes. M'try, having waited for Vanissa while occasionally dabbing at the scrape on his hand in a way that probably pisses off the Healers something fierce, finally arrives back in his weyr, leaving Mohraith to swoop on down and dunk himself in the lake without assistance. "Do you feel like having a drink, Nissa? I do."
Vanissa having stopped at the bathing caverns after seeing the healers in part to soak away the aches and well as suds all that grime from her person, arrives shortly after Mohraith drops from the ledge. Liath waits only until her rider drags her straps off to follow her brown friend with only a little mourning that the lake is no longer clear but muddied. She still likes swimming. Yay! Nissa is moving carefully, hair still damp from her bath, already pajama-clad in something borrowed from Levania - there's no WAY she's putting those muddy clothes back on - her scrapes and bruises thanking her for choosing soft shorts and overlarge shirt. Straps are loosely coiled and dumped somewhere out of the way at the same time she greets M'try with a brief, "Hey." It's clear from the way Nissa makes tracks for the couch she wants to sit down before she falls down. "Yeah? Whatcha got? I could use one I think."
M'try doesn't have a sister from whom he can borrow pajamas (and it would be weird if he did anyway, so best that way), but he does rummage around in a chest of drawers to find something suitably clean, staying pretty much out of sight and changing in slacker clothes-- more than socks and boxers, since he's company, durnit-- but nothing he might wear out into the world. Just pulling his shirt on, he fishes around among a cupboard to locate a bottle and two cups, both just sort of plain and likely lifted from the kitchens. "Brandy, though I'm not exactly sure how I acquired it. Still." Pouring, reaching over the back of the sofa to hand a cup down to the greenrider, he offers as a wry toast, "To mud."
Having decided against traipsing back out into the muddy bowl barefooted, Nissa has at least put her muddy boots back on, but these she leaves out on the ledge. Thus she pads to the couch barefooted to ease herself down and curl up on one end, dropping her head back with eyes closed. After a moment a thought comes to mind and there's a faint grin curling her lips. With eyes still closed, "For not proper furniture, it's comfy." Brandy he says and her eyes open, head turning back there where he's offering that cup, eyeing it a bit warily. Her hand lifts and she takes it, fingers curling 'round it, her echo, "To mud." is just as wry and perhaps a bit chagrined. It wrecked her wyer, after all. Her comment after taking a careful sip is, "Not as bad as whiskey." And yay! It doesn't make her eye-tic and tear up either.
"I sat on every sofa in the store rooms before settling on this one," M'try says, running his palm along the back of it as if stroking a fond pet rather than just patting the back of his couch. He does squint his eyes pretty hard while swallowing, but there's no tears on his part, either, just the glass resting between his palms with his forearms braced against the sofa-back. "Not as bad as whiskey, not as good as beer." Though his expression is soft, almost peaceful now that the day is winding down, his eyes also seem pretty firmly pinned to Vanissa while she relaxes, a quietly prompting, "Your brother interrupted something you were going to tell me earlier today, in case you'd like to finish the thought now."
One can only sit so long with neck and back twisted to see over the back of that beloved couch of his and Nissa's muscles are beginning to stiffen now that she's been still for awhile. While he's loving on his furniture (which would be likely so hurt if it knew he called it 'not proper'), she shifts carefully to face him more directly, the small of her back against the arm, her side snugged up into the couch-back. Over the rim of her cup she admits, "Usually stick with ale, myself." With a bit of a grin she adds, "This stuff is... numbing my lips." The tip of her tongue flicks out to tap them experimentally and she nods to herself. Yep, it really is. She's tired enough to be almost utterly limp but with that prompting, there's a faint tensing as she seeks to avoid his gaze, ducking her head to lean in one the couch and study her bare toes which are propped on the cushion she's sitting on. Brows knit, maybe trying to recall, perhaps stalling for time, she murmurs, "You said you were in to me... I mentions facing fears..."
The added tension results in drawn brows on M'try's part, not the result he was looking for, though he doesn't try to change the course of the conversation this time, only adds a mild, "Eventually, it will numb your brain if you let it." Which might account for why he reaches one hand to reclaim her glass, should she be willing to surrender it. "You mentioned a few things. Among them, that you're nervous about someone getting to know /you/, which does make it difficult for me, as that's on my short list of things to do. Also, the words 'I want--' and then...?" He shrugs, helpless to try to guess where she was going. "Please talk to me, Nissa. I don't know what to do if you won't."
Oh, nono! Nissa -needs- that liquid courage, thankyouverymuch and thus twitches her cup out of his reach with the excuse that, "It'll relax my muscles," while flexing her neck experimentally. "One or two sips ain't helped it yet." Really, she hasn't had time for more than that. With a quick, nervous smile, she answers, "If you're willing to talk to me without hidin' behind clever talk, I can talk to ya, M'try. It works both ways, y'know." Silent after his plea, she mulls her words while peering down into that cup and it is to the brandy she says lowly, "I was gonna say I -want- to trust ya, M'try." Hazel eyes flash up at him, begging him to understand, "Ain't really ever done that with anyone before." Thinking perhaps that statement needs some clarification, she adds, "I mean, I trust ya to keep your promises. Believed ya when ya said ya wouldn't draw me, for example." And though she's retained that glass, she hasn't sipped from it again yet, eyes him where he's leaning on the couch, "Are you gonna stand up all night then?"
Her response to his efforts flickers a quick grin into place, has M'try's fingers grasping nothing but air before they slack their way back to the sofa. "If you say so," is where he leaves that, notably having done little more than finish a sip or two himself. As for the rest of what she says, there's a brief, guilty glance, foot shuffling on the floor while he notes, "I'm being as frank and cleverless as I can, though you should know that it's costing me a considerable effort. And the thought had occurred to me, yes," to stand up all night, though-- now that it's mentioned-- he does come around to take a seat, putting aside his glass, empty hands folded on his knees.
"Ya are now!" Nissa says with some asperity before relenting, "Clever's okay, fun even, just... you know." Since they've been over that, she doesn't repeat her sentiments, but surprise kicks in when she hear the rest of it, "Yeah? An' why's that, M'try, if we're bein' frank? It seems like the couch is but a visible version of the wall I'm puttin' up, hmm?" Her eyes track his route around to and while he takes his seat, she sips. Observing him for a long moment after, "Ya poured it, but don't want it, hmm?" Something about him, the way he's sitting... Softly,"I'm tryin'. I am. Tell me what I did? You're..." She can't define it. Struggles and finally come out with, "Remote."
"If you'd been doing something for more than twenty years," M'try begins with quick clear of his throat, "you would have a hard time giving it up as well." As for his drink, he does go to the extra trouble of picking up the glass and upending it, showing that there's a whopping droplet or two spilling out, landing on his knee; he poured it rather slim, in his case. Returning the glass, refolding his hands, he answers her look in silence for a long spell before finally saying, "I'm sorry, Nissa. You haven't done anything. I just... What can I do? I want something to work, to happen, but-- you are so completely out of my league that I have no idea how to make this work with you." There.
Thoughtful on the heels of that, Nissa takes a few more sips, allows the stuff to seep warmth into her, relaxing somewhat more as she muses, "Ain't been at runnin' for nearly that long, but I can relate. And ya don't have to give it up entirely." From under lashes she studies him while cradling her cup, hmms as that drop falls from his, chooses to leave her eyes veiled for the duration of his reply. The level in her cup lowers, but her cup is by no means empty when she leans to place it on the floor beside her. After she sits back up, she scoots down just a bit to get comfy, contemplates him over there, her eyes flickering from his folded hands back to his face with a hint of mischief as one long leg unfolds to poke at them with a toe. "Ain't either out of your league! Ya just think I am. I mean, really. What on Pern does that even mean? Ya ever think about it? I'm just as out of yours. I ain't silver-tongued and well-read like you." The words are sincere, carry a hint of teasing, but if he looks, he'll find her eyes open for him to see her vulnerability in that regard as well. As to what to do to make it work, she's got a self-deprecating laugh, "I ain't sure I can tell ya that, M'try. No one's ever managed it before, but does it help you to know I ain't runnin' from ya as fast and as hard as I done with the ones that tried?"
To be honest, "It means what it means. It means... that I just keep waiting for you to realize that you could have someone better, so why in the world are you here?" M'try pretends a stern frown at the poking toe, folding it in his palm with a tsk tsk, answering, "Mind where you put your feet, dear, I am not a welcome mat." It's an odd thing in the middle of everything else, but it does at least keep him from sitting with his hands folded like that, fingers instead curling lightly around Vanissa's ankle. "I hate to call it cold comfort, Nissa, but 'not running fast' is still running, isn't it? Can you tell me what you're afraid of, at least?" Pleaseprettyplease?
Slowly, as if she's helping him remember, "Be...cause ya invited me here?" Haha, isn't she funny? Nissa wriggles her foot admonishingly at him, "Ya keep sayin' that. Someone better. Define better?" It's really meant, rhetorically. She snorts and adds helpfully, "I couldn't stand R'lis. Never even said yes to him!" He knows her former wingleader his status, his face, his reputation, his...flock. Cold comfort he says and Nissa winces, one arm lifting to pillow the back of her head where it rests on the arm of the couch, "Nothin' I say helps, does it?" Her brow furrows, hazel eyes grow vague as she wrestles to give voice to the vague restlessness that drove her, "Hmm... Before I ran because of... them?" She hesitates, makes a decision and blurts, "Liath says now I want to run... because of me, not you." Her eyes lift to him with a clear-eyed openness, answers him finally with a barely audible, "Afraid of hurtin' ya, M'try." There! She said it.
"Ah, now who's being clever? Try to take the only thing that I have going for me, my dear, and I will summarily uninvite you." M'try issues another injured sniff, though the tail-end of it isn't so much playful as starting to turn into a sigh, his knuckles lifted to rub at his forehead, fingers just reaching into his hairline and tugging their way backward before they clap back down onto his lap. He meets Vanissa's eyes openly in return, exhaling a slow breath to ask with some mixture of humor and frustration, "Because this is painless as it is? I don't want you to want to run, not from you. Not from me." Rather like it's more a daydream than any practical list, he explains, "I want you... to come here, to curl up close to me. I want to hold you, and relax with you, and get to know you."
There's concern there in Nissa's eyes for his frustration, guiltily unsure if she's making it worse or better trying to open up and answer him and she jumps slightly when his hand claps into his lap. It's with a rather dazed expression that she hears him out, and when he finishes, she skips over the first few statements, "You want... to get to know me?" Slowly, like she can't really absorb it, "You know, you are the first man to ever say that to me?" Really, she's looking quite stunned. It's a wonder she can move, but she slowly tugs her ankle from his fingers, folds her leg back under her to reverse her position, crawling across the space on that couch that separates them, pausing just shy of him with a half smile, letting him see the vulnerability in her eyes at such a thought as letting him know her. "Mind some company then?"
At least frankness is finding its way back into things, for M'try answers promptly to her dazed question, albeit with a touch of customary glibness, "Will it make it easier to accept if you know that it's driving me crazy, absolutely insane, that you're sleeping in my bed and I'm not? I'm reminding myself that we'll get to that eventually, theoretically." These are the kinds of thoughts he ought to keep to himself, but if she wants him to chat, that's what she's gonna get. He lifts an arm at that point, making room for her to tuck in alongside him, even reaches to her shoulders to help draw her over. "I would love," with conviction, "your company, Vanissa."
That comment does more to reassure Nissa than anything else he could have said and there's a slow grin in response to it. She drawls, "How ever do ya sleep at night?" And while he's making to tuck her alongside him, she just twinkles mischief into his eyes, ducks his arm and heads for his lap instead, curling up there and snuggling her head on his shoulder. "How about a chair instead of a welcome mat then?" She laughs softly, purposely tickling his chin with her hair, "I think you answered your own question about what you can do to make this work, by the way. So Harper-Boy. What do ya want to know, eh?"
M'try exhales around a slight laugh and answers, "Poorly. I sleep poorly, generally speaking." There are certain facts about being male, especially one that doesn't see a lot of action on a regular basis, that cannot be hidden when a girl climbs into one's lap. With the chin-tickling hair. Hence, shifting rather fruitlessly for a second, the brownrider finally just says, "You're not helping." And buries a sigh into that hair, drawing his arms around her, more laughter than anything in him now that the crisis seems to have been averted. "What would have become of you if you hadn't Impressed?" he asks as a good starting point.
Laughter-laced after his shifting, "I could sing you to sleep maybe? T'rev taught me how..." She's kind enough at least to sit still and not make things worse, although she does slip her arms around him in return as she's hmming thoughtfully, "M'not sure? If I -had- been able to run from Laith..." Speaking of which, the drippy green swoops in to land lightly on the ledge outside, trilling a greeting to those inside, while Bruise butterflies in, smacks into the back of the couch and scrambles to a perch. He's wet too, yay! "I think," Nissa says finally (apparently never having thought this through), "I'd've tried T'rev's walkabout method with the traders, seen if it got the restlessness out." Leaving her head on his shoulder, but tipping it back where she can see his face, "And you? Back to the Hall for more training or no?"
"Are you expecting me to decline the offer?" M'try asks, brows lifted though, the way Vanissa's tucked in, she can't really see that. "Because, while I certainly haven't got the love of music that some possess, I won't say no." He lifts his arm from around the greenrider long enough to flick his fingers at Bruise's feet, as if his couch-- already rather dilapidated-- doesn't need to suffer the additional indignity of firelizard talons poking holes in it. Or maybe he just doesn't like them. "A trader, you think? I've always thought of them as rather a dishonest bunch, or at least not entirely honest, and you don't seem to fit that bill." Hmmn. "Back to the Hall? No, they sent me here to get me out from underfoot. I should have walked the tables in a few more months, I'm fairly sure."
"Nah. Cos if you've heard some of T'rev's- and I'm sure you have... " She's amused, to say the least. That finger flick drives Bruise off with an indignant squeak. Fine, if he's unwanted, he'll just go check out that fancy curtained bed. He flitters off the couch to drop onto the coverlet, almost purring as he wriggle-rolls around drying himself off on it. Nissa eyes M'try with amusement, trying her best to look all shifty with trader-like face-making, "Don't I?" Her shoulders lift and fall slightly under his arms, "They're a lot of fun though. But the Hall sent you away." She's silent while she absorbs this, hesitates then instead of asking why, finally asks quietly, "Were you very upset?"
With amused tolerance, M'try points out, "Vanissa. Do you really think your brother's bawdies are going to upset my delicate sensibilities?" /Pornographer./ "I'm very fond of that bed, though, so you might better call off the idiot firelizard or I'll tell Mohraith that he's in here wrecking an otherwise romantic mood, and he'll answer to my dragon." Who is still off swimming and being loud-- << SAFRIATH HAD A CONVERSATION WITH ME. >> "No, not at all. I wasn't sent away in exile or anything of the sort. I think they mostly wanted to know if I'd crumble without the familiar walls of the Hall around me, and, as it turned out, I just never came back." Their loss? "Do you think you would have been happy at it? As a trader?"
Nonchalant, "Not at all. I think you'd like 'em." Nissa taps her chin while studying the ceiling, reconsiders, "They might not help ya sleep better though?" She's so into pretty much ignoring Bruise that it takes her a moment to locate the lizard, grimacing at the blue when she sees where he's gotten to. "Sorry. Liath, will ya call that wretched creature? He spends most of his time with her." This last bit to M'try apologetically. Bruise is dry now - yay! And he missed Laith anyway, sniff. That word crumble earns a look, "So they traded bowl walls for Harper. Go figure. Guess there's worse places they could have sent ya." She drops her chin to his shoulder, gazing over the back of the couch absently. Finally, "For sure, at least for awhile. Dunno that I've ever been unhappy. Except when I was in that hole." She shivers involuntarily, then turns his question back on him, "Were ya happy at the Hall, M'try?"
M'try concedes a chuckle and, nose in her hair for a moment, comments, "That's a good point, though I think that it may be a lost cause tonight anyway." Not that he's complaining, mind-- though amusement is short-lived when she mentions that hole, his arms tightening around Vanissa of their own accord. Simply; "I wish that had never happened to you." Straightforward as the remark is, it probably counts among the more earnest things he's ever said to her, his hug drawing her close on the heels of her shiver to answer her question, trying not to get bogged down by darker topics. "I suppose. It was all that I'd ever known, so I didn't really think of it in terms of happy or unhappy. It was simply what I was meant to be doing, and so I did it. Funny, I was talking to Isandre about this not so long ago."
For a moment Nissa says nothing, just buries her face in his neck like a child hiding from imaginary monsters. When she replies although her voice muffled from down there, the words are lightly spoken, "It could have been worse? They didn't touch me." She lets the thought pass, relaxed, safe, content, moves her head back to that spot on his shoulder, musing for a time on his answer. "I can't imagine just sort of... existing like that. It ain't really living, in my book." After a moment, she lifts her head to give him a questioning look, asking as if it should matter to him and certainly does to her, "Are ya happy with your lot now, M'try?"
It's an agreement, yes, but it's not exactly a thrilled one when M'try echoes, "It could have been worse, yes." For her unspoken thoughts, he's quiet, only brushing his hand absently along the length of her arm in a slow back and forth. Finally, mellowly, "It wasn't so bad. I could have been perfectly happy as a Harper, I think." He leans his head back enough from Vanissa's to answer her look with his own, eyes brightening after dark thoughts. "Extremely happy. I'd ask you the same, but I think I'd rather kiss you instead, if it's all the same."
"I think..." Nissa says and some would be certainly very surprised to find that she does, "that a person can go their whole life settling for 'content' without ever knowing they're missing the greater thing." Her eyes waver with her effort to see both of his, making sure he's not simply deflecting her probing. She smiles, content for now with his answer (but he may be sure she'll likely return to this topic). "Would ya?" The twinkle in her look leaves no doubt she worded that last bit ambiguously.
M'try reiterates with certainty, "I could have been perfectly /happy/ as a Harper, Nissa, though I certainly wouldn't want to change the way things have turned out for me." With the same certainty, though perhaps a little more levity behind the answer, he replies, "I would. Because I think it would make me happi/er/, even, and it would make you happier. And, so long as we're on the subject of happiness anyway, it seems pertinent." This while he leans nearer, reaching a hand to find her cheek in a hopeful way. That is, hopeful she's not going to scamper away before he gets there.
"Alrighty." Nissa accepts at face value what he's saying, done philosophizing, at least with words. When his hand finds her cheek, she leans into it, cupping the back of his hand with hers. Her lips curve and it's with an amused drawl, "Is that so, Harper? Then far beit from me to stand in your way." Nevermind that she's sitting.
Given the opportunity, after a quick, "Brownrider, actually. But for you? I'll answer to either," M'try will spend the next little while kissing her, really. It's not really going to do him any good when it comes to that whole 'not getting much sleep' issue, but it's a better way to spend the evening than reading-- even by his standards. Eventually, conscientiously, considering that he's insisting he wants to get to /know/ her, he will suggest retiring to separate corners to sleep things off. With some effort to muster that suggestion.
With a little wriggle, and faked squeal of awe, "Such power!" Nissa will spend the next little while kissing him back, not at all adverse to spending the evening in this way. He may or may not be surprised that she goes willingly, leaving him to the embrace of his couch, but she's going to see yet, if he means what he's said. So far... Besides that brandy, not to mention the earlier body slam (still hurts) has actually made her want to sleep.
M'try, totally not surprised. It is, after all, the story of his life.