Long promised [RP for Cait and Robin]

[ifwebefriends]

The quiet of the apartment that Cait and Abby share is broken by the ringing of Cait's mobile phone. On his end of the line, Robin grimaces as the phone rings, and rings again, the sound coming through faint to him even with the volume turned up as loud as possible. The phone has a bit of competing to do with the other sounds around him, of course

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[ifwebefriends]

"I can. I can tell you that. Shan't though. Pardon me, going to hang up, I need my hands free for this next bit." He lets the phone drop without waiting for an answer.

The manual-- that is to say, the mundane-- controls he is dealing with are the easy ones, you essentially set them and let go. Dealing with a leather bag of winds is a bit harder; Robin gives up in disgust on fine control and just loosens the drawstrings with a vague attempt at aiming.

Nearly loses his balance, too, in the ensuing rocking.

But this does propel him right directly where he wants to go, at Cait standing there so fair and... betoweled. Lord, does he ever have splendid timing. The Puck congratulates himself, and is grinning as he leans precariously forward, waiting until closer, closer, close enough...

There! One arm hooked around Cait's towel-y midriff, ignoring her startled noise, and one quick lift pulls her off the balcony and tumbling into the passenger basket of the hot air balloon he's currently occupying.

The basket smacks against the railing, rebounds slowly off. Thank goodness for his foresight in charming the balloon's envelope not to break.

Robin's still grinning, partly for the view, as they disentangle limbs.

"Well, Cait--" he says with as expansive a gesture as one can make in the cramped quarters, "--I believe the exact words were 'sweep you off your feet.' Barring the use of a broom, how do you think I did?"

[a_chaitlin]

Cait's normal vocal range doesn't lend itself all that well to squeaking in surprise, but her short yelp at being unexpectedly yanked off her balcony definitely hits the higher registers. In that instant two things happen by pure reflex: Her eyes fly open to find Robin's mere inches away, and she finds a new use for that particularly púca spell of sticking a rider to one's back.

In short, her towel will be going nowhere until she says it can.

And then she's falling, though not far, her sprawl into the bottom of the basket tangling with that of her puckish friend, since she managed to take him over with her. Robin's grin blazes brighter than the balloon's burner, which she manages to identify from her flat-on-her-back perspective. By the time her cheerful abductor asks his question, she's just regaining both breath and bearings.

"Good God, Robin, how on earth did you--" A spurt of laughter interrupts her as she recalls the entry he made on his PDA weeks ago. Sweep Cait Off Her Feet. "Never mind. You did magnificently, darling, as usual."

She finally looks out over the basket's rim as the balloon clears the surrounding buildings, giving her an increasingly panoramic view of the Big Apple. Were her companion anyone else, she'd be asking a torrent of questions about how they managed to arrange all this and wouldn't there be trouble later. Since it's Robin, she throws him a smile over her shoulder, dark eyes wide and sparkling.

"So where are we going? Other than where the wind takes us, of course."

[ifwebefriends]

Robin's perhaps the teensiest bit disappointed she doesn't ask any 'hows'-- he does love bragging. That's the problem with non-humans, you never get that delicious moment of wide-eyed "How did you do that?" which he dearly enjoys. Ah well.

He busies himself with the burner feed, sending more fuel to fiery immolation, heating the balloon further, letting them rise, rise, rise above the city. The bag of wind, a gift from darling Zee, is retied so not everything escapes. Right now altitude is of more importance than direction.

"Where we're going? Love, I never think that far ahead," Robin clucks. "But I'm delighted you think I did well."

He bows, one hand over his heart, then leans back against the basket wall with his arms crossed and watches their upwards progress as measured against New York's tall buildings.

"Really, I don't have much of a destination in mind. What I do have is you all to myself, and nothing but the sky for ambience. I can't imagine a better setting, can you? Fancy ball or hot spot nightclub, none of it could really compare. And of course you'd be wearing something other than that, which would be tragic."

The Puck taps his foot against the small picnic basket that occupies one little corner of the basket. "There's things to eat, if you fancy. All sorts of delicious tempting things to occupy your tongue and mouth and lovely lips with, should you desire. Just say the word, I'll disrobe. Oh, and there's food too, I suppose."

[a_chaitlin]

Smirking sweetly at Robin's cheeky offer, Cait rests a fingertip against her lips and appears to consider the matter. "A little later, I think, darling," she replies at last, following up with, "And yes, I am referring to the picnic basket."

With that she faces front once more ... and actually does consider the matter.

The difficulty with past adolescent crushes, thinks Cait, is that they tend to leave one susceptible to teasing and temptation from the object of said crush. Particularly when the crush-ee is as incorrigibly charming as the man behind her. Still, she's managed to turn Robin down one way or another for thirty-five years and a bit; surely she can continue to do so for the space of a balloon ride. Even if she has been caught out wardrobe-wise.

Right. All well and good then. Cait joins Robin at the back of the basket (if a balloon can actually be said to have a front and back) and gives him another brilliant smile. "I must say you've outdone yourself, Mr. Fellowes. I've never been ballooning before." Leaning next to him, she enjoys the unfolding landscape. "Will poor Bernard have to deal with a stack of citations caused by this jaunt?"

[ifwebefriends]

"Only if I've done an amazingly shite job with my glamours," Robin says crisply.

"Called in a few favors as well. I must say, this would have been easier to do before September 11th of a few years ago. You have atrocious timing, Cait."

The peeved irrational testiness he delivers that line has, of course, dropped utterly with his next words. "But yes, I rather have, haven't I? And I am so utterly rewarded when you smile like that, Cait. Good heavens, if we aim your face at the bottom of the balloon I imagine we could get a thousand feet of altitude just on the blazing warmth of your smile. You look lovely, did I mention that yet? I'm sorry to have taken you from your bath though. I imagine you looked even lovelier there."

No, Robin's not bothering at all to hide the fact that his eyes are wandering the boundaries of towel and Cait's skin.

[a_chaitlin]

Cait, in turn, cannot hide the light hint of pink that creeps over her non-toweled skin in response to -- not Robin staring, no. Surely she isn't blushing under a man's eyes at her age, no matter how amazingly blue those eyes might be. It must be the wind, blowing more sharply the higher they go.

"Why thank you ever so, dear heart. You're looking rather smashing yourself." When outflanked, go on the offensive ... is that one of Sun Tzu's or Musashi's? Never mind. She doubts there exists an aphorism on strategy that Robin can't monkey-wrench, anyway.

A sudden thought triggers an equally sudden fit of giggles. In response to Robin's inquiring look, Cait at last gets out, "Sh-shame about the glamours in some ways. I mean, here we have Kate Stanton, promising novelist, swept off her balcony and into a hot-air balloon wearing nothing but a towel! And by no less than Robbie Fellowes, music mogul of considerable reputation!"

She stifles a fresh round of chuckles against her folded fingers. "The entire publicity department of my publishing house would faint with glee over the press. Or just faint."

[ifwebefriends]

Robin laughs at the image her words conjure, being who and what he is and loving spectacle for its own sake. "It would be the talk of, well, of literary circles at any rate. I'm afraid nobody in popular entertainment would so much as blink. You only have to compete with the social lives of folk like, oh, Nicholas Sparks-- I've got to try and make waves against the likes of Angelina Jolie and my very dear Miss Spears." The Puck is smiling as if something privately amuses him, but then, he is often smiling like that.

Thoughtfully, Robin adds, "If it publicity you'd like, I'm sure I can arrange something suitably dramatic that won't tax Bernard's abilities to keep me from getting arrested. You have but to say the word, my lovely."

He leans forward, arms still crossed, concern-or-at-least-the-semblance-of-it flickering across his feature. "Are you cold? I am as you know a source of considerable hot air, even if I am not personally propelling our balloon at the moment."

[a_chaitlin]

Something suitably dramatic. Imagining what that phrase could mean in Robin-terms entrances and appalls Cait by turns. When she applies those imaginings to her career ... oh. My. "I'll keep that in mind, pet. For right now I'm ready to just enjoy the day."

And she is. She's spent weeks watching so many who are dear to her hurt, feeling powerless to do much to help them. Surely no one would begrudge her a little time to herself, time to savor a fun new experience, a new perspective on the sights and sounds of the city she lives in, and the warm company of an old friend.

Robin's question catches her in the middle of delightedly watching Central Park draw nearer. "Well, I didn't exactly have a chance to grab a jacket, m'dear," she says absently. Her eyes widen as she hears her own words, and she hastily tacks on, "But I'm sure I'll be fine."

Of course just then the wind chooses to gust, plucking at the hem of her towel and making her shiver and wrap her arms around herself before she can curb the impulse.

[ifwebefriends]

Robin notes the shiver, and gives Cait a deeply reproachful look.

"You mustn't lie to me, dearheart," he says somberly. "For one, you're not very good at it. Bad trait in a writer, you know. Tsk."

With that, he promptly slings an arm around her shoulder and tugs her gently closer. "You're just going to have to huddle with me for warmth, seeing as I neglected to bring a jacket," he says with sweet sincerity, accompanying with a flutter of his lashes down at Cait.

[a_chaitlin]

"Oh I have to, have I?" Cait mutters, both chagrined at being caught out (again) and wondering if perhaps a certain sylph of the West Wind contributed to that timely blast of air. Zee being Zee, however, she's more likely to read Robin the riot act for consorting with a "stinky púca" than assist him in any seduction attempts.

Not that this qualifies as a seduction attempt just yet ... does it? She looks up at the Puck through her long, dark lashes. The hint of wickedness gleaming through the azure of his eyes can't really be used as a guide, ever-present as it is. Be serious, girl. When is the man not on the make, really?

He is warm, though.

Cait sighs, recognizing her body's minor mutiny as she reflexively snuggles a little closer under Robin's arm. Her arms unfold from her chest, and if one of them takes the opportunity to inch its way around her abductor's lean waist, she's not about to argue. Enjoying the day, right?

She certainly can't deny that cuddling with Robin Goodfellow in the gondola of a hot-air balloon is very enjoyable. Her púca-eyes sparkle as she looks up at him again. "Thank you, pet," she murmurs, sugar and mischief dripping from her own tone. "You're always so considerate."