[M'try] Still not quite gelled.
RL Date: 9/18/10
IC Date: 10/18/23
Herb Garden, Fort Weyr(#792RJs$)
The herb garden is a veritable feast for the eyes and nose. All manner of herbs from medicinal to edible are grown here and tended on a regular basis. The area is fenced in, separating it from the rest of the grounds around it, with a trellis arch over the gate leading into it. The pathways are lined with irregularly shaped stones that lead between the various plots and patches of exquisitely aromatic plants, each section labeled clearly. Pots and boxes provide alternative growing spaces for plants that do not thrive in Fort's native soil.
Benches scattered throughout the sprawling garden, provide places for quiet conversation or for gardeners to take a rest. In the southeastern corner of the garden is the shed where gardening tools and supplies are kept.
The weather is still fine enough at this time of the Turn that a person can be outside in the morning without being bundled to the point of immobility. As such, here's M'try-- looking more like he hasn't seen his bed yet than that he's recently left it, sitting on one of the benches with his portfolio leaning down by his feet, with his pencil behind his ear, evidently packing up his work. And pausing now and then to squint toward the early sun, all filtered and diffuse through the haze of an autumnal morning.
It really is nice, isn't it - that just-after-sunrise stillness with the lake as yet unstirred, the currants that drift through quiescent until the sun has a chance to warm the bowl. Mist curls and eddies across the surface, rising in ragged tatters that adds to the haze, lending the lakeshore and garden area an ethereal, isolated illusion and muting the sounds of the awakening Weyr. Swallows are silently zipping across the mirrored waters, feeding on insects and watching them as she strolls along with hands in the pockets of her light jacket is Vanissa. It seems there's finally been a restday called, for she's dressed not in leathers, but her trader's-style skirt and loose blouse just casually thrown on, from the looks of it without much attention given to her appearance or tumbled hair, but it works for her. The faint crunch of stones is the only sound that announces her arrival as she leaves the water's edge and takes the path into the garden. It's than that she turns her attention to the dew-silvered plants there and finds M'try with a pleased surprise coloring her, "Oh! Hey, Stranger."
There's really never any way of telling how long ago M'try noticed something; whether it's been five or six seconds or ten minutes or an hour, especially when he's got that whole 'sleep deprivation slowness' going on, green eyes rest calmly on their subject, now Vanissa. With everything packed and resting in between his feet, with his palms on his knees and his weight pitched slightly forward as if arrested in the moment when he might stand, he's slow to smile in response to the greeting, answering quietly, "Good morning." There's a pause just longer than normal for conversation, just enough to note it as being delayed, and he adds, "How are you?"
Although she's rather subdued herself, having been drained for so long thanks to T'kyn's wing management, Vanissa has been up for awhile and so she's alert enough to note the length of time it takes for M'try to return her greeting. The quiet way he greets her is nothing new, but her forward stride falters as faintly puzzled hazel meets green, trying to read him while she answers with an uncertain smile, "I'm good. Tired." It's the standard answer he's been getting all these weary weeks, though she can now add a hopeful, "But that'll get better now that T'rev's Weyrleader again." She hesitates, her gaze dropping to his packed supplies briefly, then back up to him, keeping disappointment from her tone, or trying to as she says lightly, "Ya must be goin' somewhere, I guess." As she steps nearer, she tilts her head, giving him a bit of closer scrutiny, tacking on bluntly, "Though I hope it's to bed."
Her assumption-- that he's going somewhere-- gives M'try a moment's pause, his brows coming together just enough to betray his confusion over that comment until his attention tracks to the reason for Vanissa's conclusion, and he looks down at the packed things between his feet. "That's debatable," he answers, his laugh literally dry, in the sense that he clears his throat afterward rather than his humor being dry. "Tell me," he continues, chuckling anew, "that you recognize the irony in admitting your weariness and ushering me off to my bed in all but the same breath?" Looking up at her for a spell, he clearly contemplates the idea of standing up to meet her, but instead shifts enough so that, if she sat, it would be side-by-side.
Well, since he doesn't make a move to leave that bench, Nissa takes the liberty of closing the last few feet and makes herself right at home by plopping down beside him with a sidelong twinkle as she settles. "Right. I forgot this is your summer cottage. You can sleep right here, can't ya?" Although, his chuckling earns a sway that brings her shoulder in a light bump against his and a mock-reproachful, "Aw, ironic, is it?" She pretends to pout, while lifting a finger to poke him gently in the side, "Ya look as if ya haven't slept in a week." And here she turns to give him a more direct look, "Somethin' keepin' ya awake more than the usual?" Tawny brows lift in enquiry, but under the casually-worded question there is genuine concern that lacks the expectation he'll say if there is.
"Except that I keep forgetting my pillow," M'try muses, as if that's the only reason he's not currently curled up right where he sits, even to the point that he pats around the immediate vicinity like he's looking for it. But, alas, no pillow to be found, so he settles his empty hand lightly onto the bench just behind Vanissa, leaning her way just marginally. "No more than the usual, no. I expect I'll go to sleep after a little while, though I admit to being in no particular rush. I quite enjoy autumn mornings, which brings us to why you're awake so early. I would think you might take your one restday--" Assuming that's why she's dressed so casually, yes. "--and sleep in."
Vanissa's chuckle while watching that pantomime is a short-lived thing, "I can offer my shoulder if ya wanna snooze in the sun?" Withdrawing her hand back to her own space when her playfulness draws no response, she pulls her other hand from her jacket pocket to join it, twining her fingers together absently while her gaze drifts lake-wards and the answer finally given is, "Woke up before dawn with stuff goin' thru my head and couldn't get back to sleep." There's a faint smirk on her lips when she adds dryly, "I blame T'kyn and his pre-dawn drills." She flickers him a curious look, "So how're your studies coming? Are ya gonna be walkin' the table soon?"
Lightly, "Oh, you most certainly /can/," M'try answers, reaching across his own chest to the greenrider's near shoulder and brushing the hair back from it with a quick pass of his fingers. "The question, my darling, is will you? And, if so, will you regret it afterward when you realize how tremendously uncomfortable it is to try to snooze under a bench?" As if he's the expert. "The studies are coming well enough, though I really don't know about walking the tables. At this point, I'm not even sure I have a basket into which I could put my metaphorical eggs." With a quick, heedless shrug. "Will you still care to be a pillow for me when I remain merely a brownrider indefinitely?" Yeah, joke.
Regret it? Amused, Nissa counters quickly, "I might! But ya could always snooze in your winter home instead." No clarification on whether she means the tables in the living cavern or his own weyr, but by the merriment in her eyes, she's thinking of the former. She's unlikely to ever let him forget this bench thing, although she doesn't keep it going. Instead she half-frowns, disappointed it seems, for reasons she gives voice to a moments later, while that shoulder he's swept clean slumps just a bit, "Ah, so then you'll be down there studyin' for who knows how long. Too bad." However, Nissa's attention is like a butterfly this morning, not landing on any one particular flower for long, she flits to the next subject, an impish gleam dawning in her eyes as she tries to look like she's giving his rank some serious thought. The slow grin that fights her attempt to keep it subdued give her away in spite of her doubtful, "I dunno, M'try. A lowly waystation gal has to think of her image, y'know."
M'try's mute sympathy answers that flash of regret, as though he can guess the reason for her disappointment, but-- if she's not voicing it-- neither is he. Fingers trickling off her shoulder, onto his knee, drumming there idly even while he issues a small laugh at her jest about his winter home. At least, to him, it's still moderately humorous. "You have a point, and I should hate to be the reason that your image was diminished. Association with a brownrider, tsk," with a particular quality of disgust over the word /brownrider/, ewgross. "Will you at least send me off to find a convenient rock under which I may crawl with a kiss?" Yeah, a rock's even more lowly than a garden bench, poor guy.
Perhaps her response would have followed along that same light vein of banter if it weren't for M'try's withdrawal. Some of Nissa's sparkle fades with that brownrider comment, the rest of it when his hand drops from her shoulder, her eyes tracking it to his knee where she watches that drumming in silent perplexity. Maybe she's misreading him, she's good at that, but there's 'uh oh' written in the look she gives it. With her attention still there, she finally notes slowly, "I must be the world's worst jester in that makin' an offer to be a pillow ends in me kickin' ya outta your lovely bench-home to find a rock." Yes, this would be why Nissa doesn't do clever all that often. Lifting her eyes to his, she questions plaintively with a mock pout, "Do I have to send ya off? I'd much rather kiss ya and keep ya." It ends on a hopeful note and a slight shift of brows upwards.
She's probably misreading him, but it's M'try, so it's not like he's an easy verse to interpret. Especially when he's been awake a considerable portion of the night and probably should have gone to bed some hours ago. Oh well. "You could keep me," he continues easily, missing Vanissa's uh-oh look entirely in the midst of a small, subdued laugh. "You could. Only, what would people say about you at that? Unless, perhaps, I was meant as some sort of pet you could show people, a novelty?"
If that isn't the truth! And Nissa hasn't had years of Harper training to assist her in reading, text or otherwise. Now if Jiella were here, the girl could return rapid-fire witty right back at M'try, but Nissa? She just fails at this point. It's hard to tell where he's trading smart remarks for self-denigration sometimes and this is one of those times. "I suppose," she says sounding bored and with a casual lift of that near shoulder, "they'd wonder why I didn't just stick with firelizards?" Uncertain whether it's the right answer to give or not.
Yeah, but M'try and Jiella? Would never have gelled. Not that M'try and Vanissa are exactly gelled at this point, more like a slightly thick pudding, but whatever. Anyway. Lightly, "Firelizards aren't exactly a novelty, are they? Certainly less of a conversation piece than your very own brownrider. As a pet." Important distinction. There's a short, serious pause before he tacks on, "I'm sorry. I'm very tired. I was trying to get you to kiss me, and I evidently took a way entirely too roundabout to make that obvious. So much for clever?"
While he may be all light and easy, Nissa's simply growing more somber. She shifts restlessly on the bench, tucks her chin to stare at her lap, her fingers untwine from each other to pluck at a fold of her skirt before finally forming a pleat, which is smoothed down her thigh absently. Her brow knits and she says, "If I had my very own brownrider, I dunno that I'd want folks thinkin' of it as a novelty." His last statement earns a swift, confused glance, "Oh. Huh." Long pause while she processes this. "Are we talking about reading between the lines again?" Because. Fail. "Why didn't you just kiss me instead of going through all that?" Not that it wasn't... interesting conversation, but.
Why didn't he just kiss her? "Why do you still think I might be inclined to do things in an even remotely straightforward manner?" M'try answers back, sounding comically daunted by the mere notion of it. "I find I need to ask permission to do things at least once when I'm at the top of my game. Presently, I am far from it, so it seemed smarter to see if you might do the kissing and save me--" He stops with a breath, folds his hands placidly together, and turns a smile to Vanissa presently. "I'm sorry," is the end result, tolerant of his idiocy. Hopefully, she's feeling generous as well.
Faranth knows why Nissa would think that, but her answer is a drawled, "Because I can't read your mind?" And well, that leaves body language, which most of the time, his screams 'keep away'. She gives her skirt a little twitch, undoing the pleat, brushing the material smooth, turning to eye him when he stops, then points out, "But ya were talkin' about crawlin' under a rock afterwards." She's not buying idiocy, shakes her head with a little exasperated breath out, "Look, M'try. I dunno what you want. Ya confuse me most of the time." She is generous by nature, but most often can't see beyond the walls he keep throwing up. Instead of saying more, she offers a hand if he'll take it, "It's alright."
M'try's sigh after her first comment, can't read his mind, is comically relieved, to the point that his shoulders droop with that relief; "Oh, thank goodness. It would be catastrophic if you could, for both of us." There's a brief glance to one side, at the portfolio still sitting off on the ground, and then he clears his throat with one of his twitchier smiles, watching the pleat fall out of Vanissa's skirt. He takes her hand readily, without reservation, and explains calmly, "It's not difficult to figure out what I want, Nissa. Rather like the fact that it's better that you can't read my mind, however, it's also better that we leave those things alone, I think. You?" As in, what does /she/ want.
Okay, right, yes. There are some things better left unsaid. Nissa doesn't miss the relief in both M'try's posture and his answer, has to shake her head and laugh briefly at the irony. Leave those things alone. The brownrider is awarded The. Most. Confused. Look. Ever. And Nissa's settling back against the back of the bench to eye him in faint disbelief and a little bewilderment. Her mouth opens but she can't answer for a long moment. "Trust," she finally manages.
She laughs, he smiles, shrugs lightly, simply, and folds her fingers into his palm. Which are smudged to hell today, so at least there's an answer: M'try has been painting, though long enough ago that he's obviously washed away the worst of it. There's no pause this time, his answer coming easily and honestly; "I do trust you. Why would I not? You must be one of the most honest and frank people I've ever known." With his brows knit, he turns a questioning look to the greenrider-- why would he not trust her?
Nissa seems rather amazed that he seems to think he trusts her. It's a skeptical, "Really?" that meets his questioning look. Her fingers twitch within his hand while the wheels turn in her brain. Let's put this to the test! "So if ya trust me, why can't ya make this first move and take my hand or kiss me when ya want to instead of all that-" Her other hand lifts from her lap, waves generally to indicate the past 20 minutes of fluffy banter while she tilts her chin in and a 'dare ya' glints among the hazel of her eyes. "If I give ya blanket permission, you could take the risk?" They've been seeing each other for how long now and she has yet to smack him. Really now.
"Have you ever noted," M'try says with a quiet smirk, "that risk is a four-letter word?" His brows twitch challengingly, daring Vanissa in return to counter that one. Because it's a fact, hah! "That has nothing to do with trust, my dear. That's cowardice, which I believe we have discussed. /At length./" Thumb-tracing the bumps of her knuckles for a time, over and back, pausing in the dents between, he's quiet for a time before ultimately reaching across with his free hand to curl his index finger under her chin and lean for that kiss. A lot of effing effort, yes, so hopefully it'll be a respectable payoff.
"So?" This is the best Nissa can counter with, unfortunately. She's not about to argue words with a Harper. His comment on cowardice versus trust earns a long, level look, a quirk of disagreement to her lips, but no words, not after that emphasis he puts on those last two words. She's quiet, allowing the silence to stretch between them while his thumb moves, her thoughtful attention is on his face rather than their hands. She's just taking a breath to say something when his finger lifts her chin for that kiss, her eyes quit trying to search out his, she gives up trying to make sense of things and simply surrenders to the moment, leans into that kiss with the warmth he'd said he wanted awhile back. So what if the bowl activity is picking up and there might be a wolf whistle or two to taunt them? She can deal with it this once. Besides, she's busy concentrating on teasing his lips with tickles and nips. Worth the risk? That's for him to decide.
M'try's not really all there anyway, so toss in the distraction of a very good kiss and those wolf-whistles exist in a plane of existence (ie, reality) where he does not-- which is to say, they fall on deaf ears at the moment. He's so rapt that, in the retelling of this interlude, he'd never actually be able to remember when he moved to draw an arm around Vanissa or press for less teasing and more /kissing/. The moment he will be able to recall, however, is the one where he leans away slightly, exhaling a muddled sigh made of equal parts enjoyment, wishful thinking, and the frustrations of his own conscience. "Kiss is also a four-letter word," he points out by and by, notably breathless and brushing the hair back from her temple with his fingers.
But teasing is quite fun when done the right way, Nissa's lips managing to juuuuust evade by moving in barely-there whispers around the edges of his until that arm pulls her in and her eyes drift shut, the teasing stops and kissing is more earnestly begun. She'll allow that retreat reluctantly with one final, playful nip. "Hmmm," is her agreement accompanying his announcement her eyes opening slowly as his fingers brush her hair back. She just smiiiiles a bit smugly, "Kiss is but one letter off from risk, y'know." As for his conscience, well, she wouldn't know. She's busy playing with the hair at the back of his neck, her fingertips making idle, slow flicks to the tips she can reach without having to lift her hands, which have somehow managed to find their way around the back of his neck during that kiss.
M'try, distracted, "Is it? I hadn't noticed." Briefly, he rests his forehead against Vanissa's, fingertip tracing the shape of her ear, highlighting her cheekbone, touching the corner of her mouth, following the curve of her lower lip, and he takes a breath that shakes on the exhale. "It's time for me to go home now," he explains with a less shaky, more resolute sigh, taking his fingers away from her face before he manages to transfer any residual paint from the one to the other, his forehead removed from hers with lips aiming to brush her hairline while he straightens.
"It is," Nissa assures gravely but with a dance to the glance she directs upwards while their foreheads touch. She manages a lip nip to the tip of his nose before he leans back, her hands slip from around his neck, releasing him to take his leave. "Home is also a four letter word," she can't resist quipping as he makes ready to go. And then she's giving him a saucy wink, "Unfortunately sleep is not, but I hope you get some."
"Thank you," M'try answers as if in all seriousness, absently pulling a hand through his hair till, rather than being settled, it's thoroughly out of whack, in keeping with the rest of his person. "I think the possibility that I will sleep is..." While he's collecting his things, slinging the portfolio across his shoulder, checking the immediate vicinity to be sure nothing is left behind; the coast, as they say, is clear. "...relatively high. I hope you enjoy your restday, Nissa." And he's off down the path, rubbing the back of his neck while he goes.
IC Date: 10/18/23
Herb Garden, Fort Weyr(#792RJs$)
The herb garden is a veritable feast for the eyes and nose. All manner of herbs from medicinal to edible are grown here and tended on a regular basis. The area is fenced in, separating it from the rest of the grounds around it, with a trellis arch over the gate leading into it. The pathways are lined with irregularly shaped stones that lead between the various plots and patches of exquisitely aromatic plants, each section labeled clearly. Pots and boxes provide alternative growing spaces for plants that do not thrive in Fort's native soil.
Benches scattered throughout the sprawling garden, provide places for quiet conversation or for gardeners to take a rest. In the southeastern corner of the garden is the shed where gardening tools and supplies are kept.
The weather is still fine enough at this time of the Turn that a person can be outside in the morning without being bundled to the point of immobility. As such, here's M'try-- looking more like he hasn't seen his bed yet than that he's recently left it, sitting on one of the benches with his portfolio leaning down by his feet, with his pencil behind his ear, evidently packing up his work. And pausing now and then to squint toward the early sun, all filtered and diffuse through the haze of an autumnal morning.
It really is nice, isn't it - that just-after-sunrise stillness with the lake as yet unstirred, the currants that drift through quiescent until the sun has a chance to warm the bowl. Mist curls and eddies across the surface, rising in ragged tatters that adds to the haze, lending the lakeshore and garden area an ethereal, isolated illusion and muting the sounds of the awakening Weyr. Swallows are silently zipping across the mirrored waters, feeding on insects and watching them as she strolls along with hands in the pockets of her light jacket is Vanissa. It seems there's finally been a restday called, for she's dressed not in leathers, but her trader's-style skirt and loose blouse just casually thrown on, from the looks of it without much attention given to her appearance or tumbled hair, but it works for her. The faint crunch of stones is the only sound that announces her arrival as she leaves the water's edge and takes the path into the garden. It's than that she turns her attention to the dew-silvered plants there and finds M'try with a pleased surprise coloring her, "Oh! Hey, Stranger."
There's really never any way of telling how long ago M'try noticed something; whether it's been five or six seconds or ten minutes or an hour, especially when he's got that whole 'sleep deprivation slowness' going on, green eyes rest calmly on their subject, now Vanissa. With everything packed and resting in between his feet, with his palms on his knees and his weight pitched slightly forward as if arrested in the moment when he might stand, he's slow to smile in response to the greeting, answering quietly, "Good morning." There's a pause just longer than normal for conversation, just enough to note it as being delayed, and he adds, "How are you?"
Although she's rather subdued herself, having been drained for so long thanks to T'kyn's wing management, Vanissa has been up for awhile and so she's alert enough to note the length of time it takes for M'try to return her greeting. The quiet way he greets her is nothing new, but her forward stride falters as faintly puzzled hazel meets green, trying to read him while she answers with an uncertain smile, "I'm good. Tired." It's the standard answer he's been getting all these weary weeks, though she can now add a hopeful, "But that'll get better now that T'rev's Weyrleader again." She hesitates, her gaze dropping to his packed supplies briefly, then back up to him, keeping disappointment from her tone, or trying to as she says lightly, "Ya must be goin' somewhere, I guess." As she steps nearer, she tilts her head, giving him a bit of closer scrutiny, tacking on bluntly, "Though I hope it's to bed."
Her assumption-- that he's going somewhere-- gives M'try a moment's pause, his brows coming together just enough to betray his confusion over that comment until his attention tracks to the reason for Vanissa's conclusion, and he looks down at the packed things between his feet. "That's debatable," he answers, his laugh literally dry, in the sense that he clears his throat afterward rather than his humor being dry. "Tell me," he continues, chuckling anew, "that you recognize the irony in admitting your weariness and ushering me off to my bed in all but the same breath?" Looking up at her for a spell, he clearly contemplates the idea of standing up to meet her, but instead shifts enough so that, if she sat, it would be side-by-side.
Well, since he doesn't make a move to leave that bench, Nissa takes the liberty of closing the last few feet and makes herself right at home by plopping down beside him with a sidelong twinkle as she settles. "Right. I forgot this is your summer cottage. You can sleep right here, can't ya?" Although, his chuckling earns a sway that brings her shoulder in a light bump against his and a mock-reproachful, "Aw, ironic, is it?" She pretends to pout, while lifting a finger to poke him gently in the side, "Ya look as if ya haven't slept in a week." And here she turns to give him a more direct look, "Somethin' keepin' ya awake more than the usual?" Tawny brows lift in enquiry, but under the casually-worded question there is genuine concern that lacks the expectation he'll say if there is.
"Except that I keep forgetting my pillow," M'try muses, as if that's the only reason he's not currently curled up right where he sits, even to the point that he pats around the immediate vicinity like he's looking for it. But, alas, no pillow to be found, so he settles his empty hand lightly onto the bench just behind Vanissa, leaning her way just marginally. "No more than the usual, no. I expect I'll go to sleep after a little while, though I admit to being in no particular rush. I quite enjoy autumn mornings, which brings us to why you're awake so early. I would think you might take your one restday--" Assuming that's why she's dressed so casually, yes. "--and sleep in."
Vanissa's chuckle while watching that pantomime is a short-lived thing, "I can offer my shoulder if ya wanna snooze in the sun?" Withdrawing her hand back to her own space when her playfulness draws no response, she pulls her other hand from her jacket pocket to join it, twining her fingers together absently while her gaze drifts lake-wards and the answer finally given is, "Woke up before dawn with stuff goin' thru my head and couldn't get back to sleep." There's a faint smirk on her lips when she adds dryly, "I blame T'kyn and his pre-dawn drills." She flickers him a curious look, "So how're your studies coming? Are ya gonna be walkin' the table soon?"
Lightly, "Oh, you most certainly /can/," M'try answers, reaching across his own chest to the greenrider's near shoulder and brushing the hair back from it with a quick pass of his fingers. "The question, my darling, is will you? And, if so, will you regret it afterward when you realize how tremendously uncomfortable it is to try to snooze under a bench?" As if he's the expert. "The studies are coming well enough, though I really don't know about walking the tables. At this point, I'm not even sure I have a basket into which I could put my metaphorical eggs." With a quick, heedless shrug. "Will you still care to be a pillow for me when I remain merely a brownrider indefinitely?" Yeah, joke.
Regret it? Amused, Nissa counters quickly, "I might! But ya could always snooze in your winter home instead." No clarification on whether she means the tables in the living cavern or his own weyr, but by the merriment in her eyes, she's thinking of the former. She's unlikely to ever let him forget this bench thing, although she doesn't keep it going. Instead she half-frowns, disappointed it seems, for reasons she gives voice to a moments later, while that shoulder he's swept clean slumps just a bit, "Ah, so then you'll be down there studyin' for who knows how long. Too bad." However, Nissa's attention is like a butterfly this morning, not landing on any one particular flower for long, she flits to the next subject, an impish gleam dawning in her eyes as she tries to look like she's giving his rank some serious thought. The slow grin that fights her attempt to keep it subdued give her away in spite of her doubtful, "I dunno, M'try. A lowly waystation gal has to think of her image, y'know."
M'try's mute sympathy answers that flash of regret, as though he can guess the reason for her disappointment, but-- if she's not voicing it-- neither is he. Fingers trickling off her shoulder, onto his knee, drumming there idly even while he issues a small laugh at her jest about his winter home. At least, to him, it's still moderately humorous. "You have a point, and I should hate to be the reason that your image was diminished. Association with a brownrider, tsk," with a particular quality of disgust over the word /brownrider/, ewgross. "Will you at least send me off to find a convenient rock under which I may crawl with a kiss?" Yeah, a rock's even more lowly than a garden bench, poor guy.
Perhaps her response would have followed along that same light vein of banter if it weren't for M'try's withdrawal. Some of Nissa's sparkle fades with that brownrider comment, the rest of it when his hand drops from her shoulder, her eyes tracking it to his knee where she watches that drumming in silent perplexity. Maybe she's misreading him, she's good at that, but there's 'uh oh' written in the look she gives it. With her attention still there, she finally notes slowly, "I must be the world's worst jester in that makin' an offer to be a pillow ends in me kickin' ya outta your lovely bench-home to find a rock." Yes, this would be why Nissa doesn't do clever all that often. Lifting her eyes to his, she questions plaintively with a mock pout, "Do I have to send ya off? I'd much rather kiss ya and keep ya." It ends on a hopeful note and a slight shift of brows upwards.
She's probably misreading him, but it's M'try, so it's not like he's an easy verse to interpret. Especially when he's been awake a considerable portion of the night and probably should have gone to bed some hours ago. Oh well. "You could keep me," he continues easily, missing Vanissa's uh-oh look entirely in the midst of a small, subdued laugh. "You could. Only, what would people say about you at that? Unless, perhaps, I was meant as some sort of pet you could show people, a novelty?"
If that isn't the truth! And Nissa hasn't had years of Harper training to assist her in reading, text or otherwise. Now if Jiella were here, the girl could return rapid-fire witty right back at M'try, but Nissa? She just fails at this point. It's hard to tell where he's trading smart remarks for self-denigration sometimes and this is one of those times. "I suppose," she says sounding bored and with a casual lift of that near shoulder, "they'd wonder why I didn't just stick with firelizards?" Uncertain whether it's the right answer to give or not.
Yeah, but M'try and Jiella? Would never have gelled. Not that M'try and Vanissa are exactly gelled at this point, more like a slightly thick pudding, but whatever. Anyway. Lightly, "Firelizards aren't exactly a novelty, are they? Certainly less of a conversation piece than your very own brownrider. As a pet." Important distinction. There's a short, serious pause before he tacks on, "I'm sorry. I'm very tired. I was trying to get you to kiss me, and I evidently took a way entirely too roundabout to make that obvious. So much for clever?"
While he may be all light and easy, Nissa's simply growing more somber. She shifts restlessly on the bench, tucks her chin to stare at her lap, her fingers untwine from each other to pluck at a fold of her skirt before finally forming a pleat, which is smoothed down her thigh absently. Her brow knits and she says, "If I had my very own brownrider, I dunno that I'd want folks thinkin' of it as a novelty." His last statement earns a swift, confused glance, "Oh. Huh." Long pause while she processes this. "Are we talking about reading between the lines again?" Because. Fail. "Why didn't you just kiss me instead of going through all that?" Not that it wasn't... interesting conversation, but.
Why didn't he just kiss her? "Why do you still think I might be inclined to do things in an even remotely straightforward manner?" M'try answers back, sounding comically daunted by the mere notion of it. "I find I need to ask permission to do things at least once when I'm at the top of my game. Presently, I am far from it, so it seemed smarter to see if you might do the kissing and save me--" He stops with a breath, folds his hands placidly together, and turns a smile to Vanissa presently. "I'm sorry," is the end result, tolerant of his idiocy. Hopefully, she's feeling generous as well.
Faranth knows why Nissa would think that, but her answer is a drawled, "Because I can't read your mind?" And well, that leaves body language, which most of the time, his screams 'keep away'. She gives her skirt a little twitch, undoing the pleat, brushing the material smooth, turning to eye him when he stops, then points out, "But ya were talkin' about crawlin' under a rock afterwards." She's not buying idiocy, shakes her head with a little exasperated breath out, "Look, M'try. I dunno what you want. Ya confuse me most of the time." She is generous by nature, but most often can't see beyond the walls he keep throwing up. Instead of saying more, she offers a hand if he'll take it, "It's alright."
M'try's sigh after her first comment, can't read his mind, is comically relieved, to the point that his shoulders droop with that relief; "Oh, thank goodness. It would be catastrophic if you could, for both of us." There's a brief glance to one side, at the portfolio still sitting off on the ground, and then he clears his throat with one of his twitchier smiles, watching the pleat fall out of Vanissa's skirt. He takes her hand readily, without reservation, and explains calmly, "It's not difficult to figure out what I want, Nissa. Rather like the fact that it's better that you can't read my mind, however, it's also better that we leave those things alone, I think. You?" As in, what does /she/ want.
Okay, right, yes. There are some things better left unsaid. Nissa doesn't miss the relief in both M'try's posture and his answer, has to shake her head and laugh briefly at the irony. Leave those things alone. The brownrider is awarded The. Most. Confused. Look. Ever. And Nissa's settling back against the back of the bench to eye him in faint disbelief and a little bewilderment. Her mouth opens but she can't answer for a long moment. "Trust," she finally manages.
She laughs, he smiles, shrugs lightly, simply, and folds her fingers into his palm. Which are smudged to hell today, so at least there's an answer: M'try has been painting, though long enough ago that he's obviously washed away the worst of it. There's no pause this time, his answer coming easily and honestly; "I do trust you. Why would I not? You must be one of the most honest and frank people I've ever known." With his brows knit, he turns a questioning look to the greenrider-- why would he not trust her?
Nissa seems rather amazed that he seems to think he trusts her. It's a skeptical, "Really?" that meets his questioning look. Her fingers twitch within his hand while the wheels turn in her brain. Let's put this to the test! "So if ya trust me, why can't ya make this first move and take my hand or kiss me when ya want to instead of all that-" Her other hand lifts from her lap, waves generally to indicate the past 20 minutes of fluffy banter while she tilts her chin in and a 'dare ya' glints among the hazel of her eyes. "If I give ya blanket permission, you could take the risk?" They've been seeing each other for how long now and she has yet to smack him. Really now.
"Have you ever noted," M'try says with a quiet smirk, "that risk is a four-letter word?" His brows twitch challengingly, daring Vanissa in return to counter that one. Because it's a fact, hah! "That has nothing to do with trust, my dear. That's cowardice, which I believe we have discussed. /At length./" Thumb-tracing the bumps of her knuckles for a time, over and back, pausing in the dents between, he's quiet for a time before ultimately reaching across with his free hand to curl his index finger under her chin and lean for that kiss. A lot of effing effort, yes, so hopefully it'll be a respectable payoff.
"So?" This is the best Nissa can counter with, unfortunately. She's not about to argue words with a Harper. His comment on cowardice versus trust earns a long, level look, a quirk of disagreement to her lips, but no words, not after that emphasis he puts on those last two words. She's quiet, allowing the silence to stretch between them while his thumb moves, her thoughtful attention is on his face rather than their hands. She's just taking a breath to say something when his finger lifts her chin for that kiss, her eyes quit trying to search out his, she gives up trying to make sense of things and simply surrenders to the moment, leans into that kiss with the warmth he'd said he wanted awhile back. So what if the bowl activity is picking up and there might be a wolf whistle or two to taunt them? She can deal with it this once. Besides, she's busy concentrating on teasing his lips with tickles and nips. Worth the risk? That's for him to decide.
M'try's not really all there anyway, so toss in the distraction of a very good kiss and those wolf-whistles exist in a plane of existence (ie, reality) where he does not-- which is to say, they fall on deaf ears at the moment. He's so rapt that, in the retelling of this interlude, he'd never actually be able to remember when he moved to draw an arm around Vanissa or press for less teasing and more /kissing/. The moment he will be able to recall, however, is the one where he leans away slightly, exhaling a muddled sigh made of equal parts enjoyment, wishful thinking, and the frustrations of his own conscience. "Kiss is also a four-letter word," he points out by and by, notably breathless and brushing the hair back from her temple with his fingers.
But teasing is quite fun when done the right way, Nissa's lips managing to juuuuust evade by moving in barely-there whispers around the edges of his until that arm pulls her in and her eyes drift shut, the teasing stops and kissing is more earnestly begun. She'll allow that retreat reluctantly with one final, playful nip. "Hmmm," is her agreement accompanying his announcement her eyes opening slowly as his fingers brush her hair back. She just smiiiiles a bit smugly, "Kiss is but one letter off from risk, y'know." As for his conscience, well, she wouldn't know. She's busy playing with the hair at the back of his neck, her fingertips making idle, slow flicks to the tips she can reach without having to lift her hands, which have somehow managed to find their way around the back of his neck during that kiss.
M'try, distracted, "Is it? I hadn't noticed." Briefly, he rests his forehead against Vanissa's, fingertip tracing the shape of her ear, highlighting her cheekbone, touching the corner of her mouth, following the curve of her lower lip, and he takes a breath that shakes on the exhale. "It's time for me to go home now," he explains with a less shaky, more resolute sigh, taking his fingers away from her face before he manages to transfer any residual paint from the one to the other, his forehead removed from hers with lips aiming to brush her hairline while he straightens.
"It is," Nissa assures gravely but with a dance to the glance she directs upwards while their foreheads touch. She manages a lip nip to the tip of his nose before he leans back, her hands slip from around his neck, releasing him to take his leave. "Home is also a four letter word," she can't resist quipping as he makes ready to go. And then she's giving him a saucy wink, "Unfortunately sleep is not, but I hope you get some."
"Thank you," M'try answers as if in all seriousness, absently pulling a hand through his hair till, rather than being settled, it's thoroughly out of whack, in keeping with the rest of his person. "I think the possibility that I will sleep is..." While he's collecting his things, slinging the portfolio across his shoulder, checking the immediate vicinity to be sure nothing is left behind; the coast, as they say, is clear. "...relatively high. I hope you enjoy your restday, Nissa." And he's off down the path, rubbing the back of his neck while he goes.