Well, this was inevitable. (Open post)

[quatreailes]

If anyone's looking for Joly, he's in his cabin. More precisely; stitting in a large overstuffed armchair, with a blanket thrown around his shoulders and a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. A fascinating (to him) book on late nineteenth-century medicine is open on his lap, but he isn't reading it-- instead he's staring fixedly at his bed as

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[joliaigle]

*pokes his head in, then frowns and goes over* Are you ill, petit?

[quatreailes]

*smiles at him as he comes in, self-effacing* A little.

[joliaigle]

Well, what is it this time? And what's so interesting about that bed?

[quatreailes]

All the sea air, perhaps. :P *glances back at the bed* ...Which way's north, do you know?

[joliaigle]

*tsks* Horrible air. We should ban it. *wraps an arm around him* --D'you know, I've no idea. Perhaps 'Ferre has a compass?

[quatreailes]

Mmm. *leans into him, and kisses his neck* I'll be sure to ask him, then.

[joliaigle]

*cuddles a bit* Oh, good. *and eyes the bed speculatively* What were you reading?