[M'try] Nissa's bad dreams.
RL Date: 7/30/10
IC Date: 5/8/23 --More log theivery.
Nicked and Scratched High-Up Weyr
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 quiet. Somewhere in the middle of the night. Out on the ledge Liath is curled up with Mohraith if he's there and agreeable with only an occasional twitch of green hide to reveal that her sleep is not a sweet as it might be. It's not enough to disturb Bruise, who is draped comfortably and snoozing away on his big green perch/bed. Inside, Nissa's sleep becomes increasingly restless, her soft breathing changes gradually with sounds of distress in her throat. She doesn't snore? But she has an occasional nightmare and this is, apparently one of those times.
M'try doesn't generally sleep very well, anyway, so it's no big surprise that the restlessness affects him. He's not what most people would call an insomniac, but he's a light sleeper, and being banished to the sofa instead of his own bed just exacerbates that. Mohraith, of course, sleeps like a damn log and remains utterly oblivious to all doings except his own peaceful snoring. After waking, after listening for a few minutes, the brownrider finally sits up, finds a drink of water, drags a shirt on over his head, and pads gingerly across to the bed. There, with a whispered, "Nissa. Wake up," he reaches tentatively to her shoulder to try to stir her from her bad dreams.
Laith's eyes pop open the same moment Nissa's do, but unlike her rider she doesn't move a muscle. Mindful of both Mohraith there beside her and Bruise, who would become nothing but a blue spot on the ledge if she rolled over onto her belly, she just listens and waits. Nissa's managed to tangle herself in the sheets enough so that when she jerks semi-awake and flails with her arm to throw the hand on her shoulder off she whacks his other hand instead, so if he's got still carrying his drink of water? It's enough to send it flying. Or spill it. Yay she's not paranoid and doesn't sleep with a knife under her pillow. Small blessings? Levering up on her elbows to peer wild-eyed through the tumble of hair in her face she mumbles at M'try, "I SAID I don't know anything about T'rev's plans!"
Yep, there goes the cup of water, with a splash and a clatter to the floor, neatly soaking M'try's socks. Oh well; the whole socks-and-underwear uniform isn't all that hot, anyway, so he looks down at the damp things for a moment before lifting his head back to try to fit himself into Vanissa's frame of vision. Mind, it's dark-- one half-shielded glow left for light and that's it-- so everything's all shadows anyway, but his eyes are round and peering and his face looks pale for the dark hair that frames it. "Nissa," with both hands now moving carefully toward her upper arms, an awkward angle for him, for sure, but better than getting punched. "Nissa, you're having a dream." And, yes, he can guess what that dream's about.
They know her name. Of course they do, that's why she's here. So hearing it spoken doesn't at first snap her out of it. That shadowy figure above her reaching for her upper arms has her instead growling as she lunges forward to head-butt at it. A soft (for a dragon anyway) whistle from Liath halts her, at least stopping her follow-through which would be a kick if her legs weren't sheet-tangled as well. Fully awake now, Nissa becomes still, blinking at M'try as the word dream confirmed from two sources penetrates the fog. She clears her throat, "M'try? I, oh sorry, sorry. Are ya alright? Did I hurt ya?" Because yeah, that clatter to the floor of crockery is dimly recalled and Liath, of course has filled her in.
M'try recoils to arm's length, his fingers slacking and softening on Vanissa's arms so that, if necessary, he can back away even further. But she seems to waken before that's necessary, and his hands drop to his sides once she's obviously conscious. "No, I'm fine. My toes are a bit damp, but I'll live." A but rusty from sleep, he still has a customary measure of aplomb in his voice, tinged with concern to ask in return, "Are you all right?" There's the hope that the whole dream dissolved on waking and she won't remember it, hence the lack of reminding her again that she was having a bad dream.
Liath has gone back to sleep and the dream-bubble has burst so unexpectedly that it's gone, leaving behind nothing but a nagging, uneasy confusion. Disoriented enough that it takes her muttered answer a few moments in coming while she casts about trying to figure out why he's asking if she's okay, forgetting she just asked him the same, "Yeah?" Wait. His toes are damp? Nissa wriggles enough to extricate her upper self from those binding sheets, rolls on her side to the edge of the mattress reaching down to patpat his sock feet. Then laughs sheepishly as she sits up, working her legs free so she can draw them up to curl them under her. "What are ya doin' wandering around in the middle of the night with wet feet?" And standing beside her- er, his bed? "Y'wanna sit down?"
And Mohraith slept through it all, lucky bastard, his soft snore unbroken even while M'try laughs a little weakly. "They were dry when I got up," is all the answer he has for the state of his feet, taking the offer to perch on the edge of the bed and peel the wet socks off. They land with a smack-plop on the ground, a careless pile of dampness, and he rubs his toes on the floor to help dry them. "You were talking in your sleep, so I thought I'd come and join the conversation," he answers. Half-truth.
"They were-" No, better that she doesn't ask, that cup she'd knocked from his hand forgotten along with the dream, but in the semi-dark both brows raise. Were Nissa more wide awake there'd surely be a smart-ass comment about how far away the lav is or something. Instead, she watches with sleepy concern while he's removing them. "Ya went out to the ledge, huh? Is it raining again?" It's while pushing her mass of tumbled hair from her face that she, slow-brained that she is catches his last statement and leans to peer at his face, trying to see through the shadows. "I woke ya up, didn't I?"
M'try shakes his head to answer those questions, the press of his feet to the floor enough to scoot him back a few inches from the very edge of the bed to the very edge of the mattress instead, no encroaching of Vanissa's space but his butt'll get sore if he tries to sit the way he was for too long. "You did, yes, it's nothing to worry about. I likely would have gotten up for a drink before much longer." He answers her peering look with a smile that doesn't seem so terribly tired, really, saying, "You should go back to sleep. It's late."
Wet socks are forgotten with that answer. And since his smile is unseen in the shadow, Nissa's contrite, but she's not like, going to beat herself up over it or anything, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." Finger-combing through the mess she's made of her hair, she frowns when he says she should go back to sleep. There's a touch of unease in the admission, "I'm- I can't. I'm wide awake." Beat. "I'll be quiet so you can, though." And she draws her legs up to prop her chin on them. This is her routine on such dream-nights. She'll begin her dawn vigil now.
There's another shake of his head while M'try busies himself with straightening out the sheets, turned at the waist so he can first find a corner and start to unravel it from the twisty coil. "Don't worry about it. I'm up for a bit now, likely. Do you want something to drink? Or read? Or... do you want to talk?" He's making good progress with sorting the bedclothes while he asks, finding the corners and starting to stretch them, a quick shake helping to flatten out the sheets with a puff of cool air across the bed, all the while careful not to disturb where Vanissa's sitting.
There's a flash of cheek in Nissa's response, "Alrighty, won't worry then." She shakes her head while watching him straighten out the bed for a moment, follows it up with a verbal answer given the darkness, "No thanks, m'fine. And I probably couldn't concentrate to read. But if ya don't mind talking to me a little bit?" She unfolds, to turn and plump the pillows behind her, bracing them against the headboard and leans on them. Regarding him for a long moment without saying anything, the half-light from the glow reveals she's got something to say but just can't seem to make herself do it. Finally, "You're a puzzle, M'try."
On his feet long enough to finish straightening, M'try smooths everything back down into place, sheets and blankets falling neatly over Vanissa's legs, and then he climbs back up to sit again. With one leg hitched up just a little more, he can better face her across half the length of the bed, his head cocked expectantly during her long silence; he knows something must be coming, and he's ready to hear it. "I would argue to the contrary," he finally answers placid, hands laced around his drawn-up knee. "Tell me what puzzles you, Nissa, and I'll fill in what pieces I can."
"Thanks," Nissa helps where she can with those blankets before a soft snort of wry amusement from her fills the silence, "Course ya ain't a puzzle to yourself, silly. Ya know all the answers!" Then she folds her hands in her lap, stares at them for a beat, before she lifts one, wriggles empty fingers at him. "Well, this for starters. Ever since that day at the beach you've been... distant?" For lack of a better word by the way she says it; it wasn't really the one she wanted. "And, well, ya seem skittish as a newborn colt around me. What gives with that?" Simple curiosity tinged with a bit of hurt in the question.
With comical pragmatism, M'try offers, "Would you prefer that I climb into your lap? I have a feeling that might be uncomfortable for both of us." Which is why there's no gesture made to that end, his placidity unruffled. But Vanissa goes on to explain, and, briefly, it's clear that he's not sure what to say in response. Hence, a pause before-- "Please ignore the pun, but I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. I'm attracted to you, but there's no outlet for that, no momentum, no..." He shrugs, leaving off the whole 'reciprocation' part. "So it seems, perhaps, the best thing all around is to give you your space and maintain mine."
With a flash of a grin, "You'd crush me." But Nissa's humor vanishes in the wake of his explanation and her hand that had been in the process of being offered to him falls back to her lap. Yeah, she gets the pun and obediently ignores it. "No momentum? Butbut, M'try... on the beach when I went to swim, ya said-!" Oh she's confused and thus flounders to a halt. Thoughtful for a time, she finally asks carefully and maybe it's an answer in a roundabout way, "Did ya ever wonder why I accepted your offer to stay here, M'try? No, no ya probably didn't, bein' the gentleman ya are," she answers herself. She draws a breath and says, "Hattie told me a few days after the mudslide there were empty weyrs and I could move into one." Weeks ago now. And she leaves it to him to ask why she didn't go.
While it may be an answer, if roundabout, there are circumstances that remain unmitigated in M'try mind. "I have known you for almost three years, Vanissa." Which may be part of the problem, come to think of it. "You've never looked at me like... I don't know. Like you want me, I suppose. So whatever reason you have for preferring this weyr to an empty one." He glances around the immediate vicinity, seeing little in the shadows before his attention returns to Vanissa at the head of the bed. "Well, I don't think my endlessly pawing at you serves much purpose." So his hands stay neatly clasped around his knee, and there's logic for ya.
"I... see." Nissa is taken aback completely and thus silent on the heels of that, she drops her head trying to think. "If I can explain? Those three years... there was never -anyone- I wanted. I fooled around. Not-" hastily she adds before his coldness can slap her again, "-with any of my clutchmates - or wingmates if y'll note. At're, M'liam, B'kaiv, the rest never got those sort of looks either." She hunches her shoulders, steels herself to admit softly, "Things change though. But I can hide as well as you can, I guess, M'try. I am-" She's having a hard time with this, flicks a look up at him, then lifts her chin boldly, moisture glittering in her eyes, "-attracted to ya. But I'm also all mixed up with other feelings I don't know how to put a name to and tryin' not to hurt ya and- Damn, M'try! Doin' it anyway. I'm as good at puttin' on nonchalance as you are."
Never anyone, she says, and M'try issues a wry laugh; "We should all be so lucky." Daunted humor answers the moisture in her eyes, levity plain no matter how dim the room remains, as though the brownrider could slot this conversation into the comedy of his life. "Please don't worry about hurting me, Nissa. I assure you, I was well aware of how all of this might turn out." He does not take the time to qualify whatever that might mean, instead, "I'm sorry. I expressly intended not to put this on you as something you were doing wrong." And he makes a face at himself for how that turned out, go him!
Vanissa sucks in a breath, pained by his levity, hurt by his words and not bothering to try and hide it. "Well I don't think it's lucky at all - it's damn lonely Or it was. Wasn't when you... But you're wrong that I never look at ya like I want ya; I do it when you're not lookin my way. Call it self-protection." She's throwing this at him as she's crawling towards the edge of the bed, getting out. Those last two phrases, however, give her pause, "What do you mean 'how all of this might turn out'? And if it wasn't something I did then what?"
"I knew there was a reason I needed eyes in the back of my head. Though I suppose I'd have to keep my hair trimmed, in that case." And, as much because he's mentioned it as because he always does it when he's frustrated, M'try pulls his hand through his hair, tugging it back off his forehead through the tangles of his interrupted sleep. Her moving to get out of bed necessitates a little shift in his own posture, his knee lowered, his feet back on the floor though his weight remains resting on his hips on the bed, looking over at her occupation curiously. There's no answer to the first question, but the second is, "It's not something you did /wrong/." Operative word.
Vanissa has crawled near enough that he can see the angry hurt and confusion in her eyes when she leans close enough to his face in the dimness to be sure he can when she grits, "I. Am. Sorry-" She has to catch her breath, calm herself enough to slow it down, "-for whatever I did (using his word) right?" I'm sorry I was afraid to let on. And if ya can't accept I like ya, can't accept I want ya, I'll not force myself where I'm not wanted-" Her foot has tangled in the sheet during her migration and she gives it a quick jerk to try and free it, the movement causes her to lose her balance and she winds up in his lap, flailing with her foot and muttering when it won't come loose.
M'try has a problem. No, seriously. When a beautiful woman toward whom he professes attraction literally falls into his lap, his reaction is not to take advantage of this situation, but to help her up. Although he does loop an arm loosely around her waist, his other hand is promptly set to the business of helping untangle her foot, trying to be useful, certainly incongruous with the intensity of Vanissa's actions immediately prior to the entanglement. In a customary attempt to lighten the moment, he notes, "This is not exactly suiting actions to words, Nissa. Ah, there." He's unraveled her foot for her, how nice of him. "Though. You could stay here."
Having none of the mood-lightening he's trying for, Nissa's sullen response is a muttered, "Was an accident." She has the sense not to keep flailing when he's leaning over to untangle her foot, so he doesn't get kicked in the face. How nice of /her/. She's still in his lap, half on her back when she squints at him suspiciously, calmer now but only marginally, "Why would ya say I can stay? Didn't ya just say me being here was hard for ya?" Emotion overriding the self-caution that guarded her tongue these past weeks, "Y'wanna know why I stayed, M'try? I stayed because I wanted to know if y're as genuinely sweet as ya seem to be. And ya are. I wanted to know if ya were just like all the rest or... or some different."
"Yes, I gathered." That it was an accident. To that end, and because she's clearly not finding him funny (which he's really not, so no surprise there), M'try offers a hand to help her up properly, tossing the perilous sheet off to one side. After all his effort to see it smoothed, oh well. "I wish that I knew what to say to that," he adds, genuinely muddled by her words-- is being sweet a good thing? A bad thing? It certainly doesn't seem to be /helping/ matters, does it?
Vanissa stands when he helps her up, blinking at his confusion, "I told ya before- nevermind. It's a very good thing. But I don't think ya wanna hear that." She takes a deep breath, pulling some dignity from somewhere, calming herself, "If ya want me to go, I'll go. But ya at least owe me some answers. I've asked ya several questions and you're ignoring them. What do you mean by ya weren't surprised at 'how all of this might turn out'? What did I do /right/ (said with obvious sarcasm) that... that... ended up so wrong? And why did ya kiss me in the first place? Why did ya tell me ya liked me, didn't want to jump right into the 'proverbial sack' but now y're frustrated that there's no outlet? What happened to the 'I can wait patiently?'" By now she's crying (sorry - it's a girl thing) with frustration and gets right up in his face to ask him, "What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?"
For starters, there's the requisite, quippy, "I'm not ignoring them, I'm just not answering them. There's a difference." Watch: he'll do it again. It's like a magic show, misdirection, poof! By the time she's crying and very much in his face, though, M'try's cleverness dissolves and very nearly takes his spine with it, leaving him blinking owlishly at her outburst of emotion, taking a long spell before he just breathes out the words, "I'm sorry." Clearing his throat, he manages to keep looking at her only because there's really no alternative; "I'm not asking you to go to bed with me, just. Some sort of warmth. Also." Another clearing of his throat, brows knit now. "I've got nothing in my repertoire for coping with sudden emotional outbursts, just so you're aware."
Growled, "I KNOW ya ain't answerin' 'em," Nissa says (still in his face) and all the while she's never raised her voice once, in spite of the tears, though her Neratian accent has thickened. Warmth he says (again with the bypassing all her other questions) and she closes her eyes, counts to ten. Out loud, so he can hear her. When she opens them again, she says in a softer tone, "Wasn't nothin' sudden about it, M'try. That was an hour in the making while we got past your repertoire? Maybe if y'll stop throwin' up walls to keep me out, I could stop being so guarded myself?" Suddenly very weary, she just lifts her arms to him, "I'm tired of all this. Ya wanna know the truth? I've fallen for ya quite hard. I dunno how to handle that."
M'try sits quietly through the counting. Far be it for him to interrupt someone mastering her temper. "I think we could spin our wheels on that matter indefinitely," he points out delicately to the matter of her guardedness and his walls, his smile sketchy-- in case the counting didn't work and she lashes out or something. "I don't know how to tell you to handle it, Nissa, I'm sorry. I'm-- I so want closeness with you, but you never..." There's some irony while he looks at her arms, reaches from his seat toward her waist in an effort to draw her nearer. "You rarely," he rephrases, "seem to reach out to me. And so I feel like my wanting to touch you is just a pain in the ass."
For that sketchy smile, there's a look askance, she's never hit him yet? "Ain't askin' ya to tell me how, just lettin' ya know what I've been floundering with?" Nissa's arms settle around M'try's neck, drawn into him willingly and ends up by taking a seat back on his lap, leaning her forehead against his. "You want closeness? I've had turns of reaching out to fellas without that. I can't do that anymore. If you could- try? -not to evade I can reach out to ya more. I just... told ya I never did this before." Whatever 'this' is. Who knew it would be this hard? Her eyes widen in surprise at his last admission, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across that way. But after the day on the island..." she shrugs, "I felt all sorts of stupid. I guess I took your comment about making things hard for you a little too literally?"
There's no fidgety shifting this time, just M'try resting his forehead back against Vanissa's, his arms looped lightly at her waist. "No. No, you probably didn't take it too literally. As a general rule, if there's the possibility that a comment has more than one implication, then I probably meant it that way." His nose twitches comically where it touches Vanissa's cheek, has him adding, "I spend a lot of time thinking about the most perverted things I can imagine, it's a hard habit to break sometimes. I am sorry, though, for making things more difficult than they have to be."
Vanissa tries again, "Nono. I meant, I thought ya -wanted- me to back off?" Her fingers play with the hair at the back of his neck and she laughs quietly, "As a general rule if there's the possibility that a comment has more than one implication? Then I probably will miss it." But he knows that already, which is probably why he delights in using them around her then grins when she doesn't get it. She'll just leave the topic of his thoughts alone - no questions there. "Here ya are sayin' sorry for making things more difficult all the while wantin' me to make them more so for ya. Y’re a study of contradictions, M'try." But well, if he wants life more difficult... she'll start by tilting her head and nipping at his ear. Without warning. So there!
"I just, uhmn." Yes, M'try said 'uhmn.' Don't expect to hear it often, as he generally takes a great deal of pride in seldom stuttering over speech. He has clearly forgotten where he was going with that, based on the long pause that follows the ear-nipping, the fact that it's fully ten seconds before the 'uhmn' and anything else. Now then; "Just so long as you keep your clothes on, I'll find some way to survive." And no effort to hide the fact that he likes the whole hair-playing, ear-nipping thing, eyes closed happily and all.
Between nips, "Does that," nip, "mean," nip, "swimming is out then?" Nissa stops to peer at him as though this is of great concern to her. Well, maybe it is who knows? Her fingers, meanwhile keep moving, but dance playfully up the back of his scalp. "Ya have nice hair, M’try." There's rich laughter for him surviving, "The truth is, I'm more worried about ya bein' able to sleep."
M'try has nice hair, this is true. When it's clean. Which it is right now, if only because he's spent a lot of time out of his weyr lately, doing things like taking baths and just finding ways to kill time in general. The brief, "Yes, at least for now," is in response to swimming, a touch distracted but-- hey. He's answering her question, so let's don't look gift horses in mouths. Answering with a quiet laugh for her rich one, he points out, "I don't need a great deal of sleep, anyway. This is much better than sleep would be, trust me."
"Awww," Nissa's disappointed in the swimming but brightly, "Well, thanks for that." Her appreciation for answering the question comes complete with a teasing kiss, barely brushed on his lips before she ducks away, "Ya let me know when, k? Cos there's these neat cliffs we can jump from in Nerat..." After his reaction to the fish, that's a deliberate jab there, yes. But oh, he doesn't need sleep? "Do ya... ah, plan on keeping me awake too?" Plaintive.
"Do you really think," M'try begins with a climbing of one brow, "that I'm going to be jumping off any cliffs? I'm a self-professed coward, Nissa, and I'd prefer to stay that way." The plaintive question meets with a brief laugh, with a brush of his fingers to push tousled hair back off her cheeks and tuck it behind her ears, fingers just grazing along her earlobes and the curve of her neck in the progress. "I recall suggesting that you go to sleep, actually. Should I suggest it again?"
All the bounce leaves Nissa's voice. "No, I was teasing," she clarifies, sounding very disappointed indeed that he didn't play along. As for sleeping, she just sits there for a moment trying to think of something clever to say and fails. "Well, no, I guess ya don't." Confused, she moves to slip away while saying in a small voice, "I'm sorry."
"No," M'try says quickly, pulling his arms tighter around Vanissa, even shaking his head quickly. "No, no going backward. Stay. I thought you were saying you were getting tired, not that you wanted..." Before things spiral into the land of misunderstanding and confusion yet again, he hurriedly tries to catch her for a kiss, as if he can back-track. "Stay, stay, stay," he adds, quiet, fervent, quick.
"I-" Nissa turns back only to have her words stopped by lips on hers, giving in to his arms, yes, but it's that plea that holds her there (hard to resist that - it's heart-melting) while she returns that kiss. "Okay. No going backwards," she whispers trying to overcome chagrin as her arms slip back around him, "I was askin' cos you were just sittin' there... " a snort of pretended pique but there's a smile in the words, "Lettin' me do all the work." Soft laughter, "I was playin'. Haven't you... ever..." Unsure if she should be asking him that, she just stops there.
"I wasn't /letting/ you so much as /enjoying/ it?" M'try offers this up helpfully while he taps the end of her nose with the pad of his thumb, charmed by the pique rather than rasped by it. From her nose, that thumb traipses down over the apple of her cheek, around the outline of her ear, and then his fingers comb up a collection of hair again to sweep it back from her face. "Haven't I ever...?" He doesn't exactly return the favor, no nipping on his part, but he does proceed to do some very serious kissing of that ear, single-minded. The kid's got some serious focus.
It's a wry note to self, "Never argue semantics with a harper, Nissa." Spoken as her eyes throw glimmers of laughter into his reflected from the half-light from that glow. All thought flies out the window (well it would if he had one) when he starts with her ear and her neck becomes pretty well boneless. Little help here? Hopefully his hand is holding her head up. "Mmhm, ah... haven't you, uhh..." Her fingers slide up to the back of his shoulders, tighten there, more like hanging on to keep from falling ker-splat backwards onto the bed. Focus? She doesn't have it at all at the moment. All she can manage is a mutter, "Isobel was a fool."
Nodding, M'try nuzzles just below her earlobe to answer that first comment, exactly what he would have said if he wasn't otherwise occupied. Semantics. Harper. He agrees. Vanissa's lost question clearly has his curiosity, and he draws her hair up from the back of her neck, holding it carefully with one hand, though he otherwise pauses; "Finish the thought, Nissa. Now I'm eager to know what you think I've never done." One thing he's not doing: talking about Isobel at the moment.
He's going to be so disappointed, alas. He's the writer, she's just a simple country girl. Nissa's eyes open reluctantly to refocus on him and she swallows, collecting her thoughts. "That was the thought, just haven't ya ever played before? Like...I...was...." Referring to that teasing kiss and duck away back there before it fell so flat and ended in a near misunderstanding. Yep, that's exactly why she didn't finish the thought, too.
"Generally speaking?" M'try pauses for a moment, brushing a kiss against the back of her neck in the interlude. "No. I haven't." He lets the hair fall back down the way it was before, smoothing it lightly, and then puts an almost chaste-- by comparison-- kiss to her cheek afterward. "You have to keep in mind, most of the girls I knew," to put it delicately, "were at Harper Hall." Or Isobel. Which isn't much different, hah.
"I see," the imp in Nissa comes to the fore, but she dips her chin to hide the dance in her eyes, allows herself a pause to shiver when his lips touch the back of her neck. Striving for something of a serious tone, she says, "Well. Of course, the Hall. All that 'serious' (hear the air quotes in there) studying to be done." Cough. "Now you're free to play, hmm? Although," and she leans to as if press her lips to his but stops a breath away, twinkles mischief into his eyes, "you'll have to take a dare now and then." And Nissa, the tease, stays right there blowing lightly on his lips. Mean. Yes.
M'try answers the dance in her eyes directly, laughter brightening his own, lightening his tone; "Studying. Yes. Precisely." He thinks he's going to get kissed, of course, and when he doesn't, he leans toward it, toward it, toward it, and finally just about falls off the bed in his efforts to reach her. Thankfully, instead of dumping them both on the floor, he folds his arms almost firmly around her and waits, nuzzling nose-to-nose. Eventually, something has to give, and he'll get his kiss-- and a few more to boot, and likely a few more. Sometime between the middle of the night and the early morning, things cool down and everyone can adjourn to their separate beds. Sofas. Whatever. And at least get a little shut-eye.
IC Date: 5/8/23 --More log theivery.
Nicked and Scratched High-Up Weyr
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 quiet. Somewhere in the middle of the night. Out on the ledge Liath is curled up with Mohraith if he's there and agreeable with only an occasional twitch of green hide to reveal that her sleep is not a sweet as it might be. It's not enough to disturb Bruise, who is draped comfortably and snoozing away on his big green perch/bed. Inside, Nissa's sleep becomes increasingly restless, her soft breathing changes gradually with sounds of distress in her throat. She doesn't snore? But she has an occasional nightmare and this is, apparently one of those times.
M'try doesn't generally sleep very well, anyway, so it's no big surprise that the restlessness affects him. He's not what most people would call an insomniac, but he's a light sleeper, and being banished to the sofa instead of his own bed just exacerbates that. Mohraith, of course, sleeps like a damn log and remains utterly oblivious to all doings except his own peaceful snoring. After waking, after listening for a few minutes, the brownrider finally sits up, finds a drink of water, drags a shirt on over his head, and pads gingerly across to the bed. There, with a whispered, "Nissa. Wake up," he reaches tentatively to her shoulder to try to stir her from her bad dreams.
Laith's eyes pop open the same moment Nissa's do, but unlike her rider she doesn't move a muscle. Mindful of both Mohraith there beside her and Bruise, who would become nothing but a blue spot on the ledge if she rolled over onto her belly, she just listens and waits. Nissa's managed to tangle herself in the sheets enough so that when she jerks semi-awake and flails with her arm to throw the hand on her shoulder off she whacks his other hand instead, so if he's got still carrying his drink of water? It's enough to send it flying. Or spill it. Yay she's not paranoid and doesn't sleep with a knife under her pillow. Small blessings? Levering up on her elbows to peer wild-eyed through the tumble of hair in her face she mumbles at M'try, "I SAID I don't know anything about T'rev's plans!"
Yep, there goes the cup of water, with a splash and a clatter to the floor, neatly soaking M'try's socks. Oh well; the whole socks-and-underwear uniform isn't all that hot, anyway, so he looks down at the damp things for a moment before lifting his head back to try to fit himself into Vanissa's frame of vision. Mind, it's dark-- one half-shielded glow left for light and that's it-- so everything's all shadows anyway, but his eyes are round and peering and his face looks pale for the dark hair that frames it. "Nissa," with both hands now moving carefully toward her upper arms, an awkward angle for him, for sure, but better than getting punched. "Nissa, you're having a dream." And, yes, he can guess what that dream's about.
They know her name. Of course they do, that's why she's here. So hearing it spoken doesn't at first snap her out of it. That shadowy figure above her reaching for her upper arms has her instead growling as she lunges forward to head-butt at it. A soft (for a dragon anyway) whistle from Liath halts her, at least stopping her follow-through which would be a kick if her legs weren't sheet-tangled as well. Fully awake now, Nissa becomes still, blinking at M'try as the word dream confirmed from two sources penetrates the fog. She clears her throat, "M'try? I, oh sorry, sorry. Are ya alright? Did I hurt ya?" Because yeah, that clatter to the floor of crockery is dimly recalled and Liath, of course has filled her in.
M'try recoils to arm's length, his fingers slacking and softening on Vanissa's arms so that, if necessary, he can back away even further. But she seems to waken before that's necessary, and his hands drop to his sides once she's obviously conscious. "No, I'm fine. My toes are a bit damp, but I'll live." A but rusty from sleep, he still has a customary measure of aplomb in his voice, tinged with concern to ask in return, "Are you all right?" There's the hope that the whole dream dissolved on waking and she won't remember it, hence the lack of reminding her again that she was having a bad dream.
Liath has gone back to sleep and the dream-bubble has burst so unexpectedly that it's gone, leaving behind nothing but a nagging, uneasy confusion. Disoriented enough that it takes her muttered answer a few moments in coming while she casts about trying to figure out why he's asking if she's okay, forgetting she just asked him the same, "Yeah?" Wait. His toes are damp? Nissa wriggles enough to extricate her upper self from those binding sheets, rolls on her side to the edge of the mattress reaching down to patpat his sock feet. Then laughs sheepishly as she sits up, working her legs free so she can draw them up to curl them under her. "What are ya doin' wandering around in the middle of the night with wet feet?" And standing beside her- er, his bed? "Y'wanna sit down?"
And Mohraith slept through it all, lucky bastard, his soft snore unbroken even while M'try laughs a little weakly. "They were dry when I got up," is all the answer he has for the state of his feet, taking the offer to perch on the edge of the bed and peel the wet socks off. They land with a smack-plop on the ground, a careless pile of dampness, and he rubs his toes on the floor to help dry them. "You were talking in your sleep, so I thought I'd come and join the conversation," he answers. Half-truth.
"They were-" No, better that she doesn't ask, that cup she'd knocked from his hand forgotten along with the dream, but in the semi-dark both brows raise. Were Nissa more wide awake there'd surely be a smart-ass comment about how far away the lav is or something. Instead, she watches with sleepy concern while he's removing them. "Ya went out to the ledge, huh? Is it raining again?" It's while pushing her mass of tumbled hair from her face that she, slow-brained that she is catches his last statement and leans to peer at his face, trying to see through the shadows. "I woke ya up, didn't I?"
M'try shakes his head to answer those questions, the press of his feet to the floor enough to scoot him back a few inches from the very edge of the bed to the very edge of the mattress instead, no encroaching of Vanissa's space but his butt'll get sore if he tries to sit the way he was for too long. "You did, yes, it's nothing to worry about. I likely would have gotten up for a drink before much longer." He answers her peering look with a smile that doesn't seem so terribly tired, really, saying, "You should go back to sleep. It's late."
Wet socks are forgotten with that answer. And since his smile is unseen in the shadow, Nissa's contrite, but she's not like, going to beat herself up over it or anything, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." Finger-combing through the mess she's made of her hair, she frowns when he says she should go back to sleep. There's a touch of unease in the admission, "I'm- I can't. I'm wide awake." Beat. "I'll be quiet so you can, though." And she draws her legs up to prop her chin on them. This is her routine on such dream-nights. She'll begin her dawn vigil now.
There's another shake of his head while M'try busies himself with straightening out the sheets, turned at the waist so he can first find a corner and start to unravel it from the twisty coil. "Don't worry about it. I'm up for a bit now, likely. Do you want something to drink? Or read? Or... do you want to talk?" He's making good progress with sorting the bedclothes while he asks, finding the corners and starting to stretch them, a quick shake helping to flatten out the sheets with a puff of cool air across the bed, all the while careful not to disturb where Vanissa's sitting.
There's a flash of cheek in Nissa's response, "Alrighty, won't worry then." She shakes her head while watching him straighten out the bed for a moment, follows it up with a verbal answer given the darkness, "No thanks, m'fine. And I probably couldn't concentrate to read. But if ya don't mind talking to me a little bit?" She unfolds, to turn and plump the pillows behind her, bracing them against the headboard and leans on them. Regarding him for a long moment without saying anything, the half-light from the glow reveals she's got something to say but just can't seem to make herself do it. Finally, "You're a puzzle, M'try."
On his feet long enough to finish straightening, M'try smooths everything back down into place, sheets and blankets falling neatly over Vanissa's legs, and then he climbs back up to sit again. With one leg hitched up just a little more, he can better face her across half the length of the bed, his head cocked expectantly during her long silence; he knows something must be coming, and he's ready to hear it. "I would argue to the contrary," he finally answers placid, hands laced around his drawn-up knee. "Tell me what puzzles you, Nissa, and I'll fill in what pieces I can."
"Thanks," Nissa helps where she can with those blankets before a soft snort of wry amusement from her fills the silence, "Course ya ain't a puzzle to yourself, silly. Ya know all the answers!" Then she folds her hands in her lap, stares at them for a beat, before she lifts one, wriggles empty fingers at him. "Well, this for starters. Ever since that day at the beach you've been... distant?" For lack of a better word by the way she says it; it wasn't really the one she wanted. "And, well, ya seem skittish as a newborn colt around me. What gives with that?" Simple curiosity tinged with a bit of hurt in the question.
With comical pragmatism, M'try offers, "Would you prefer that I climb into your lap? I have a feeling that might be uncomfortable for both of us." Which is why there's no gesture made to that end, his placidity unruffled. But Vanissa goes on to explain, and, briefly, it's clear that he's not sure what to say in response. Hence, a pause before-- "Please ignore the pun, but I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. I'm attracted to you, but there's no outlet for that, no momentum, no..." He shrugs, leaving off the whole 'reciprocation' part. "So it seems, perhaps, the best thing all around is to give you your space and maintain mine."
With a flash of a grin, "You'd crush me." But Nissa's humor vanishes in the wake of his explanation and her hand that had been in the process of being offered to him falls back to her lap. Yeah, she gets the pun and obediently ignores it. "No momentum? Butbut, M'try... on the beach when I went to swim, ya said-!" Oh she's confused and thus flounders to a halt. Thoughtful for a time, she finally asks carefully and maybe it's an answer in a roundabout way, "Did ya ever wonder why I accepted your offer to stay here, M'try? No, no ya probably didn't, bein' the gentleman ya are," she answers herself. She draws a breath and says, "Hattie told me a few days after the mudslide there were empty weyrs and I could move into one." Weeks ago now. And she leaves it to him to ask why she didn't go.
While it may be an answer, if roundabout, there are circumstances that remain unmitigated in M'try mind. "I have known you for almost three years, Vanissa." Which may be part of the problem, come to think of it. "You've never looked at me like... I don't know. Like you want me, I suppose. So whatever reason you have for preferring this weyr to an empty one." He glances around the immediate vicinity, seeing little in the shadows before his attention returns to Vanissa at the head of the bed. "Well, I don't think my endlessly pawing at you serves much purpose." So his hands stay neatly clasped around his knee, and there's logic for ya.
"I... see." Nissa is taken aback completely and thus silent on the heels of that, she drops her head trying to think. "If I can explain? Those three years... there was never -anyone- I wanted. I fooled around. Not-" hastily she adds before his coldness can slap her again, "-with any of my clutchmates - or wingmates if y'll note. At're, M'liam, B'kaiv, the rest never got those sort of looks either." She hunches her shoulders, steels herself to admit softly, "Things change though. But I can hide as well as you can, I guess, M'try. I am-" She's having a hard time with this, flicks a look up at him, then lifts her chin boldly, moisture glittering in her eyes, "-attracted to ya. But I'm also all mixed up with other feelings I don't know how to put a name to and tryin' not to hurt ya and- Damn, M'try! Doin' it anyway. I'm as good at puttin' on nonchalance as you are."
Never anyone, she says, and M'try issues a wry laugh; "We should all be so lucky." Daunted humor answers the moisture in her eyes, levity plain no matter how dim the room remains, as though the brownrider could slot this conversation into the comedy of his life. "Please don't worry about hurting me, Nissa. I assure you, I was well aware of how all of this might turn out." He does not take the time to qualify whatever that might mean, instead, "I'm sorry. I expressly intended not to put this on you as something you were doing wrong." And he makes a face at himself for how that turned out, go him!
Vanissa sucks in a breath, pained by his levity, hurt by his words and not bothering to try and hide it. "Well I don't think it's lucky at all - it's damn lonely Or it was. Wasn't when you... But you're wrong that I never look at ya like I want ya; I do it when you're not lookin my way. Call it self-protection." She's throwing this at him as she's crawling towards the edge of the bed, getting out. Those last two phrases, however, give her pause, "What do you mean 'how all of this might turn out'? And if it wasn't something I did then what?"
"I knew there was a reason I needed eyes in the back of my head. Though I suppose I'd have to keep my hair trimmed, in that case." And, as much because he's mentioned it as because he always does it when he's frustrated, M'try pulls his hand through his hair, tugging it back off his forehead through the tangles of his interrupted sleep. Her moving to get out of bed necessitates a little shift in his own posture, his knee lowered, his feet back on the floor though his weight remains resting on his hips on the bed, looking over at her occupation curiously. There's no answer to the first question, but the second is, "It's not something you did /wrong/." Operative word.
Vanissa has crawled near enough that he can see the angry hurt and confusion in her eyes when she leans close enough to his face in the dimness to be sure he can when she grits, "I. Am. Sorry-" She has to catch her breath, calm herself enough to slow it down, "-for whatever I did (using his word) right?" I'm sorry I was afraid to let on. And if ya can't accept I like ya, can't accept I want ya, I'll not force myself where I'm not wanted-" Her foot has tangled in the sheet during her migration and she gives it a quick jerk to try and free it, the movement causes her to lose her balance and she winds up in his lap, flailing with her foot and muttering when it won't come loose.
M'try has a problem. No, seriously. When a beautiful woman toward whom he professes attraction literally falls into his lap, his reaction is not to take advantage of this situation, but to help her up. Although he does loop an arm loosely around her waist, his other hand is promptly set to the business of helping untangle her foot, trying to be useful, certainly incongruous with the intensity of Vanissa's actions immediately prior to the entanglement. In a customary attempt to lighten the moment, he notes, "This is not exactly suiting actions to words, Nissa. Ah, there." He's unraveled her foot for her, how nice of him. "Though. You could stay here."
Having none of the mood-lightening he's trying for, Nissa's sullen response is a muttered, "Was an accident." She has the sense not to keep flailing when he's leaning over to untangle her foot, so he doesn't get kicked in the face. How nice of /her/. She's still in his lap, half on her back when she squints at him suspiciously, calmer now but only marginally, "Why would ya say I can stay? Didn't ya just say me being here was hard for ya?" Emotion overriding the self-caution that guarded her tongue these past weeks, "Y'wanna know why I stayed, M'try? I stayed because I wanted to know if y're as genuinely sweet as ya seem to be. And ya are. I wanted to know if ya were just like all the rest or... or some different."
"Yes, I gathered." That it was an accident. To that end, and because she's clearly not finding him funny (which he's really not, so no surprise there), M'try offers a hand to help her up properly, tossing the perilous sheet off to one side. After all his effort to see it smoothed, oh well. "I wish that I knew what to say to that," he adds, genuinely muddled by her words-- is being sweet a good thing? A bad thing? It certainly doesn't seem to be /helping/ matters, does it?
Vanissa stands when he helps her up, blinking at his confusion, "I told ya before- nevermind. It's a very good thing. But I don't think ya wanna hear that." She takes a deep breath, pulling some dignity from somewhere, calming herself, "If ya want me to go, I'll go. But ya at least owe me some answers. I've asked ya several questions and you're ignoring them. What do you mean by ya weren't surprised at 'how all of this might turn out'? What did I do /right/ (said with obvious sarcasm) that... that... ended up so wrong? And why did ya kiss me in the first place? Why did ya tell me ya liked me, didn't want to jump right into the 'proverbial sack' but now y're frustrated that there's no outlet? What happened to the 'I can wait patiently?'" By now she's crying (sorry - it's a girl thing) with frustration and gets right up in his face to ask him, "What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?"
For starters, there's the requisite, quippy, "I'm not ignoring them, I'm just not answering them. There's a difference." Watch: he'll do it again. It's like a magic show, misdirection, poof! By the time she's crying and very much in his face, though, M'try's cleverness dissolves and very nearly takes his spine with it, leaving him blinking owlishly at her outburst of emotion, taking a long spell before he just breathes out the words, "I'm sorry." Clearing his throat, he manages to keep looking at her only because there's really no alternative; "I'm not asking you to go to bed with me, just. Some sort of warmth. Also." Another clearing of his throat, brows knit now. "I've got nothing in my repertoire for coping with sudden emotional outbursts, just so you're aware."
Growled, "I KNOW ya ain't answerin' 'em," Nissa says (still in his face) and all the while she's never raised her voice once, in spite of the tears, though her Neratian accent has thickened. Warmth he says (again with the bypassing all her other questions) and she closes her eyes, counts to ten. Out loud, so he can hear her. When she opens them again, she says in a softer tone, "Wasn't nothin' sudden about it, M'try. That was an hour in the making while we got past your repertoire? Maybe if y'll stop throwin' up walls to keep me out, I could stop being so guarded myself?" Suddenly very weary, she just lifts her arms to him, "I'm tired of all this. Ya wanna know the truth? I've fallen for ya quite hard. I dunno how to handle that."
M'try sits quietly through the counting. Far be it for him to interrupt someone mastering her temper. "I think we could spin our wheels on that matter indefinitely," he points out delicately to the matter of her guardedness and his walls, his smile sketchy-- in case the counting didn't work and she lashes out or something. "I don't know how to tell you to handle it, Nissa, I'm sorry. I'm-- I so want closeness with you, but you never..." There's some irony while he looks at her arms, reaches from his seat toward her waist in an effort to draw her nearer. "You rarely," he rephrases, "seem to reach out to me. And so I feel like my wanting to touch you is just a pain in the ass."
For that sketchy smile, there's a look askance, she's never hit him yet? "Ain't askin' ya to tell me how, just lettin' ya know what I've been floundering with?" Nissa's arms settle around M'try's neck, drawn into him willingly and ends up by taking a seat back on his lap, leaning her forehead against his. "You want closeness? I've had turns of reaching out to fellas without that. I can't do that anymore. If you could- try? -not to evade I can reach out to ya more. I just... told ya I never did this before." Whatever 'this' is. Who knew it would be this hard? Her eyes widen in surprise at his last admission, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across that way. But after the day on the island..." she shrugs, "I felt all sorts of stupid. I guess I took your comment about making things hard for you a little too literally?"
There's no fidgety shifting this time, just M'try resting his forehead back against Vanissa's, his arms looped lightly at her waist. "No. No, you probably didn't take it too literally. As a general rule, if there's the possibility that a comment has more than one implication, then I probably meant it that way." His nose twitches comically where it touches Vanissa's cheek, has him adding, "I spend a lot of time thinking about the most perverted things I can imagine, it's a hard habit to break sometimes. I am sorry, though, for making things more difficult than they have to be."
Vanissa tries again, "Nono. I meant, I thought ya -wanted- me to back off?" Her fingers play with the hair at the back of his neck and she laughs quietly, "As a general rule if there's the possibility that a comment has more than one implication? Then I probably will miss it." But he knows that already, which is probably why he delights in using them around her then grins when she doesn't get it. She'll just leave the topic of his thoughts alone - no questions there. "Here ya are sayin' sorry for making things more difficult all the while wantin' me to make them more so for ya. Y’re a study of contradictions, M'try." But well, if he wants life more difficult... she'll start by tilting her head and nipping at his ear. Without warning. So there!
"I just, uhmn." Yes, M'try said 'uhmn.' Don't expect to hear it often, as he generally takes a great deal of pride in seldom stuttering over speech. He has clearly forgotten where he was going with that, based on the long pause that follows the ear-nipping, the fact that it's fully ten seconds before the 'uhmn' and anything else. Now then; "Just so long as you keep your clothes on, I'll find some way to survive." And no effort to hide the fact that he likes the whole hair-playing, ear-nipping thing, eyes closed happily and all.
Between nips, "Does that," nip, "mean," nip, "swimming is out then?" Nissa stops to peer at him as though this is of great concern to her. Well, maybe it is who knows? Her fingers, meanwhile keep moving, but dance playfully up the back of his scalp. "Ya have nice hair, M’try." There's rich laughter for him surviving, "The truth is, I'm more worried about ya bein' able to sleep."
M'try has nice hair, this is true. When it's clean. Which it is right now, if only because he's spent a lot of time out of his weyr lately, doing things like taking baths and just finding ways to kill time in general. The brief, "Yes, at least for now," is in response to swimming, a touch distracted but-- hey. He's answering her question, so let's don't look gift horses in mouths. Answering with a quiet laugh for her rich one, he points out, "I don't need a great deal of sleep, anyway. This is much better than sleep would be, trust me."
"Awww," Nissa's disappointed in the swimming but brightly, "Well, thanks for that." Her appreciation for answering the question comes complete with a teasing kiss, barely brushed on his lips before she ducks away, "Ya let me know when, k? Cos there's these neat cliffs we can jump from in Nerat..." After his reaction to the fish, that's a deliberate jab there, yes. But oh, he doesn't need sleep? "Do ya... ah, plan on keeping me awake too?" Plaintive.
"Do you really think," M'try begins with a climbing of one brow, "that I'm going to be jumping off any cliffs? I'm a self-professed coward, Nissa, and I'd prefer to stay that way." The plaintive question meets with a brief laugh, with a brush of his fingers to push tousled hair back off her cheeks and tuck it behind her ears, fingers just grazing along her earlobes and the curve of her neck in the progress. "I recall suggesting that you go to sleep, actually. Should I suggest it again?"
All the bounce leaves Nissa's voice. "No, I was teasing," she clarifies, sounding very disappointed indeed that he didn't play along. As for sleeping, she just sits there for a moment trying to think of something clever to say and fails. "Well, no, I guess ya don't." Confused, she moves to slip away while saying in a small voice, "I'm sorry."
"No," M'try says quickly, pulling his arms tighter around Vanissa, even shaking his head quickly. "No, no going backward. Stay. I thought you were saying you were getting tired, not that you wanted..." Before things spiral into the land of misunderstanding and confusion yet again, he hurriedly tries to catch her for a kiss, as if he can back-track. "Stay, stay, stay," he adds, quiet, fervent, quick.
"I-" Nissa turns back only to have her words stopped by lips on hers, giving in to his arms, yes, but it's that plea that holds her there (hard to resist that - it's heart-melting) while she returns that kiss. "Okay. No going backwards," she whispers trying to overcome chagrin as her arms slip back around him, "I was askin' cos you were just sittin' there... " a snort of pretended pique but there's a smile in the words, "Lettin' me do all the work." Soft laughter, "I was playin'. Haven't you... ever..." Unsure if she should be asking him that, she just stops there.
"I wasn't /letting/ you so much as /enjoying/ it?" M'try offers this up helpfully while he taps the end of her nose with the pad of his thumb, charmed by the pique rather than rasped by it. From her nose, that thumb traipses down over the apple of her cheek, around the outline of her ear, and then his fingers comb up a collection of hair again to sweep it back from her face. "Haven't I ever...?" He doesn't exactly return the favor, no nipping on his part, but he does proceed to do some very serious kissing of that ear, single-minded. The kid's got some serious focus.
It's a wry note to self, "Never argue semantics with a harper, Nissa." Spoken as her eyes throw glimmers of laughter into his reflected from the half-light from that glow. All thought flies out the window (well it would if he had one) when he starts with her ear and her neck becomes pretty well boneless. Little help here? Hopefully his hand is holding her head up. "Mmhm, ah... haven't you, uhh..." Her fingers slide up to the back of his shoulders, tighten there, more like hanging on to keep from falling ker-splat backwards onto the bed. Focus? She doesn't have it at all at the moment. All she can manage is a mutter, "Isobel was a fool."
Nodding, M'try nuzzles just below her earlobe to answer that first comment, exactly what he would have said if he wasn't otherwise occupied. Semantics. Harper. He agrees. Vanissa's lost question clearly has his curiosity, and he draws her hair up from the back of her neck, holding it carefully with one hand, though he otherwise pauses; "Finish the thought, Nissa. Now I'm eager to know what you think I've never done." One thing he's not doing: talking about Isobel at the moment.
He's going to be so disappointed, alas. He's the writer, she's just a simple country girl. Nissa's eyes open reluctantly to refocus on him and she swallows, collecting her thoughts. "That was the thought, just haven't ya ever played before? Like...I...was...." Referring to that teasing kiss and duck away back there before it fell so flat and ended in a near misunderstanding. Yep, that's exactly why she didn't finish the thought, too.
"Generally speaking?" M'try pauses for a moment, brushing a kiss against the back of her neck in the interlude. "No. I haven't." He lets the hair fall back down the way it was before, smoothing it lightly, and then puts an almost chaste-- by comparison-- kiss to her cheek afterward. "You have to keep in mind, most of the girls I knew," to put it delicately, "were at Harper Hall." Or Isobel. Which isn't much different, hah.
"I see," the imp in Nissa comes to the fore, but she dips her chin to hide the dance in her eyes, allows herself a pause to shiver when his lips touch the back of her neck. Striving for something of a serious tone, she says, "Well. Of course, the Hall. All that 'serious' (hear the air quotes in there) studying to be done." Cough. "Now you're free to play, hmm? Although," and she leans to as if press her lips to his but stops a breath away, twinkles mischief into his eyes, "you'll have to take a dare now and then." And Nissa, the tease, stays right there blowing lightly on his lips. Mean. Yes.
M'try answers the dance in her eyes directly, laughter brightening his own, lightening his tone; "Studying. Yes. Precisely." He thinks he's going to get kissed, of course, and when he doesn't, he leans toward it, toward it, toward it, and finally just about falls off the bed in his efforts to reach her. Thankfully, instead of dumping them both on the floor, he folds his arms almost firmly around her and waits, nuzzling nose-to-nose. Eventually, something has to give, and he'll get his kiss-- and a few more to boot, and likely a few more. Sometime between the middle of the night and the early morning, things cool down and everyone can adjourn to their separate beds. Sofas. Whatever. And at least get a little shut-eye.