bakerstreet | over a drink

( I’ve never been able to leave well enough alone, she nearly says, but he carries on and — probably that’s obvious from knowing her even ten minutes, anyway. does it need saying? varric hadn’t picked her up just fucking around, after all.

(and what she’d been in the middle of, well, that’s another story. for another bottle, maybe, or never.) )

I think we’re being a bit spoiled, ( she suggests, wryly. ) I know it might not seem that way, but they’re— refreshingly willing to listen.

( accusations of corpsebothering notwithstanding. or, well, including those; he might have the edge on her here, in the necropolis and nevarra proper, but she’s spent more time outside of both than he has, she’s almost certain. and without a title like professor to assert some authority, usually preferring to keep specifically being of the mourn watch under her hat in the circumstances it most often might come up.

she takes a sip, observes: )

I think to some, there’s too much blood in our magic to trust.

( that there is not, in fact, blood in their magic— yes. but what is a corpse if not a great deal of it? it isn’t the shape of everyone’s suspicion or distaste, but it’s often there. )

[He exhales, shaking his head.]

I wish people were more willing to listen and learn. What we do is so far from blood magic!

[Yes, corpses meant blood, but they weren't using the blood. It and the flesh were extraneous once the original user was done with the body. Unfortunately, it was easy to fear what was unknown, and a vast majority of the work they do is unseen by outsiders.]

It feels like a small ask when you're in Nevarra, but outside of it and Tevinter even asking people to not be afraid of magic is a task.

[And Tevinter has its own flaws. Significant ones. Including actually using blood magic.]

On paper our group might in fact be one of the most confusing and frightening ones there are. Two necromancers, a mage from Tevinter, a famed assassin, and so on.

[A famed, possessed assassin, a fire-breathing qunari, a magical Dwarf, but some things should not be spoken of outside of the Lighthouse. Bellara and Davrin might well be the only ones in the party whose nature wouldn't be worrying to some, save for the discovery of where Elves came from.]

We are perhaps quite spoiled.

[And not just because he's here drinking a very fine wine in a comfortable seat with company he wouldn't trade for anyone else.]

Edited 2024-11-24 01:42 (UTC)

( beneath the table, athénaïs bumps her knee against emmrich’s thigh— )

And we’re all learning so much about each other, so— it’s possible. Well, maybe not you and I, ( she allows. and then: ) Well, not in the same way, ( a bit more hastily, before he can think she means she’s paid him not a bit of heed this whole time. she laughs, mostly at herself, into her glass, )

I mean, we already know not to be afraid of one another.

( it rather frees them up to be interested in other things. )

[He laughs at the bump and hasty stumbling -- not at her, but more with her because he understands how easy it is to only hear what one is saying after it's already spoken.]

I'd like to believe we're not afraid of each other.

[This tavern is far more private than most and Emmrich's feeling relaxed. They're even already rather close to each other so no time seems more fitting than now to put an arm around her shoulders.]

And I do hope we're not learning about others in the same way.

[Flirtation everywhere is perfectly understandable. The world is full of people who are fun to flirt with, and were he younger he would still be doing the same. Which truly begs the question of why she started flirting in his direction to begin with. Not that he's complaining. Or daring to ask said question.]

( if he had any reservations about his welcome, the slightly boneless way she sinks into the side of him must be reassuring; it can’t entirely be the drink. she’s holding hers quite well, all things (and sizes) being equal. her free hand, between them, settles on his knee, and the necessity of tipping her head back against his shoulder to smile at him is not unpleasant at all.

she had, it must be said, been awfully free with her flirtatious attention in the early days of gathering their companions to the lighthouse. a sly remark, a sidelong look, a raised eyebrow. playful, more play than intent, but—

that’s dropped off, increasingly, and the way she holds emmrich’s gaze longer than most hasn’t. seeks him out more regularly; occupies his time, endeavouring to occupy his mind. she can often be found nearby him, even leaving him entirely to his own devices, to the point where one might as well check his balcony first. and now she is smiling, relaxed, )

I think there are things we don’t need to share with them, ( she says, arch, ) necessarily.

[His smile changes from its usual warmth to something softer and stronger as she fits herself to him and rests her hand there. Of late there's been much more of a charge to her attention, something that he's been starting to think edges into intention and he's not averse in the least.

There's a distraction to his thoughts these days, and a near-constant awareness of where she is because he wants her company more than is platonic. Thankfully she seems to feel similarly. Thankfully, and bewilderingly.]

Mm, perhaps not.

[Obviously more than perhaps. He sets down his glass so he can rest his hand over hers on his leg and thread their fingers together.]

I feel no shame in being selfish in this one area.

[It's a delicate balance, this thing that's blooming between them. There isn't advantage to be taken, though sometimes it feels like he's at risk of doing so none the less. It makes his moves more careful and cautious.]

May I say I'm glad we chose to relocate? This is far nicer than I'd thought this evening could be.

( with his fingers threaded through hers, his rings are now all in remarkably easy reach— she slides her thumb against the nearest, loosest one, rolling it in a slow circle around his finger. it’s too automatic to be the first time it’s ever occurred to her, )

To tell you the truth, ( she says, wry, ) it’s a lot lovelier than what I was envisioning when I made the remark.

( who among them has never wanted to get blackout drunk and fuck a stranger about their problems. just her? cool, cool, cool.

well— she’s never preferred a stranger, to be fair. the night is young and she’s in a better mood than she was before. )

I’m glad, too. It almost feels— every minute that’s not chasing down the next thing feels stolen back.

[He watches with a mix of amusement and bemusement as she plays with one of his rings. There'd been not a single shred of hesitation there. Granted, he's not known for having a temper or being particularly volatile, but that takes unexpected boldness.

He is... not objecting.

Especially as she seems to be enjoying the evening the way he is.]

It does, doesn't it. There's a great deal of pressure, but there are some moments when we can do nothing and it's almost a waste to not enjoy them. We must take care of ourselves as we help take care of the world.

[He is not as bold as her. He is unsure about what she wants or how much she means her flirtation, and so his responding move is a gentle brush of her hair off her shoulder where he's holding her. It's a smaller, more subtle gesture that could as easily be ignored as responded to.]

( it must be said:

she has an absolutely absurd amount of hair. so many fine violet strands as to make up a not insignificant portion of her total weight; hair by the handful, constantly worn loose mostly because she’d never mastered anything else and never been as interested in devoting time to that as all of the other interesting things she could be doing with her time. she’s hit as many enemies in the face with her hair as with her blade or orb, but she must be doing something right for how soft it feels beneath his fingers.

it is a subtler gesture than hers, but that doesn’t mean she misses it. athénaïs is so conscious of her personal space at any given time — even as she’s making free with someone else’s — and that hyper-awareness serves her well, her gaze settling on him thoughtfully as her hand settles, linking their fingers and tucking hers beneath his palm. )

What’s that they say about pouring from an empty cup? I don’t know if they scaled for apocalypses, of course.

( probably solas will be in her ear later, yapping about focus. that was probably going to be true anyway. )

[Playing with rings could be seen as idle boldness, a shiny thing catching her eye as she fidgets. Threading their fingers together, holding hands, that says something more, something with intent. Emmrich can't ignore the greater context of this either, the comments she's made of late and the way she's looked at him.

There is a choice here.

It is not a difficult one.

Emmrich relaxes where he holds her and gives her hand a squeeze. There are several responses he could make, and he settles upon the one that is perhaps a little ridiculous, but therefore perfectly suitable for the evening.]

In case of apocalypses, perhaps one must fill their cup all the more when they've opportunity to do so. And if you need assistance in doing so...

( he is quite frankly asking for it when her smile sharpens into sly amusement and she asks— )

Did you want to pour into my cup, Emmrich?

( in a way that definitely would have got them both reprimanded if she’d ever been one of his students. )

[He'd deliberately opened the door to that and he knows it. He knows her enough to be aware that she'd never miss an opportunity quite like that, no less.

Emmrich smiles down at her with mischief and warmth.]

You do seem to have a taste for the more expensive vintages.

[Finer, older, the last one fits the best but he won't give in to his own self-doubt right in this moment. He moves his hand from her shoulder to her chin, encouraging just the right angle so he can brush his lips against hers.

How very, very good she'd never been one of his students.]

( satisfied with her terrible choices — the quip, not the man — athénaïs tilts obligingly as directed, the grip of her hand still entwined with his between them tightening. it is a sweet, even chaste kiss for a moment, and a breath parts them, and when she shifts closer again the second kiss has a decisive thoroughness— she tastes like the expensive vintage only one of them can actually afford, and the sweet she’d eaten at the previous establishment before he joined her, and some other thing that’s just her, probably, magic and elven and individual.

heroically, when they part, she manages not to crack wise about his being expensive. (though it may be too much to hope that she won’t be workshopping the funniest way to retell that, later, when she’s up late drinking something lucanis-approved with neve when everyone’s meant to be sleeping.) )

I know what I like, ( she says, instead, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. ) And what I want.

[The second kiss is much better than the first, though the look in her eyes that comes after says he may have miscalculated with his comments after all. He's not certain how, but it's likely he'll find out one way or another.]

And I am touched to fall into both those categories, my dear.

[Emmrich runs a thumb along her chin, considering, before glancing over toward the counter.]

Shall I pay and we relocate again, or would you care to linger here longer?

( neve may not be able to keep a straight face around him for a solid forty-eight hours. don’t worry about it. )

I like the sound of what relocation might entail, ( she says, after a moment where he might be able to see the wheels turning in her head while she decides whether or not she’s going to argue with him about who’s paying. (he’ll be glad to know: she decides against, but it wasn’t a done deal until the moment she decided it.) ) The Lighthouse, or...?

( the novelty of actually being allowed back in nevarra hasn’t entirely worn off, her complicated feelings about the mourn watch notwithstanding. and she finds herself curious about what emmrich’s own home might be like, wherever he stays when he isn’t being scooped up by adventurers on mad quests against madder gods.

she doesn’t quite pose the question directly, but it flavours the curiosity with which she leaves the possibilities open-ended. )

[He waits, knowing full well what the battle is. She cannot possibly expect to afford this, though. Even as a friend of the owner.

Thankfully she makes the practical choice, but then it's his turn to debate. The Lighthouse is familiar, but carries the not-insignificant risk of interruption, whether by messenger, teammate, or Manfred. He's also not certain if his soul can survive a declaration of them "doing it" should certain people be in the library when they go from the eluvian to one of their rooms. Not the first or only time, at least, whichever this winds up being.]

The Necropolis is lovely this time of night, if you're comfortable going there? Though I don't know that my place is quite in order. I packed with some haste and wasn't expecting to entertain.

[By most people's definition it isn't a mess. He would never let it get there. But he is hyperaware of how many books he'd left unshelved when sorting out what to bring. There are also a few of his nicer coats on the couch; he'd taken a little time trying to decide which to bring before settling on the one he most often wore. First impressions were tricky things and he'd wanted to look his best.

While he awaits her answer Emmrich gives her hand another squeeze and starts to straighten a little. He's not pulling away, but he can't get out of the booth without her moving and he wasn't a fan of prolonged canoodling in bars.]

( taking the hint and the cue, athénaïs hums as she slips out of the booth they’d taken up, gathering her cloak and shrugging it back about her shoulders. it’s something of a process as she moves out of his way, hauling all of her hair over one shoulder and out of the way so she can attach the cloakpin closures to her coat beneath without strangling herself in the process— )

I promise it looks better than the disaster area I left behind, ( she says, warmly, glancing up mid-manoeuvre. ) Would it help if I promised to have only eyes for you and not your housekeeping?

( because it’s likely that was going to be the case anyway. )

[He watches her move in a way he hasn't before, eyes drifting over her as she moves even as he gets up. Her glance back may mean she catches it, but he's not ashamed. Not with what she's saying.

It's also very easy to believe she left quite the chaos in her wake, but that's not here, just there.]

Yes, I believe it does.

[There's a time and a place for flattery and this is definitely both. Emmrich settles the bill with the owner, paying less than he'd expected. Apparently her discount extends to her company. As soon as that's done he's offering her his arm.]

Shall we?

[The way to the eluvian is familiar, which is still a wonder sometimes. The world is truly at their fingertips. Once through he guides her down to the faculty quarters, deep underground and peaceful.]

Somewhat the opposite of the Lighthouse, [he says as he opens the door. The front room is a couch, a coffee table, and bookcases filled with books and notes and skulls, along with a few other bones here and there. Past there is the dining area, as well as an open door to his bedroom.]

Please, come in.

( athénaïs is not immune to the particular thrill of finding herself somewhere previously forbidden, or at least off-limits to her; it can come as no surprise that she hasn’t been invited to the private spaces of senior mourn watch faculty before now. (but however preferable this is to sneaking past taash: there is not a snowball’s chance with a rage demon that they weren’t seen strolling arm in arm down here, and even less of one that it won’t be all over the usual grapevines by tomorrow at the latest.) that curiosity is tempered by her own earlier promise not to be,

but it is there, as she soaks in the familiarity of the necropolis and the new route of a path she’s never needed to walk, the particular spaces it leads to. and she does take in his space, too, with a lopsided smile for what emmrich volkarin thinks is untidy enough to warrant warning his companion about. )

This is much cosier than what we’ve stolen you away to, ( she notes, not bothering to unfasten her cloak from her coat when she can just shrug both off together, discarding them on his (already be-coated) couch.

it’s easy to imagine him here without the audience of her, how the space fits him, what he might have chosen to take from it, or to leave. )

[There are always eyes watching in the Necropolis. Far fewer tongues, but gossip did spread, and Emmrich was used to it. He couldn't imagine she'd be bothered by it either. Athénaïs is not one to fret about such things.]

Ah, but on most days the view in the Lighthouse is far superior.

[It's not mere flattery. In part he adores the view of the Fade, being able to walk up a few steps and watch the flow of magic, but he's far from unaware of her as well. She's gorgeous, warm shades of purple and brown that reflect the bright, sparkling spirit within. It's simply that he's never let himself linger on her charms before.

Emmrich shuts down the part of his brain that's yelling at him to hang up all the coats and cloaks and removes his to add it to the pile. His fingers only twitch a little, and they're easily stilled by him sliding his hands around her waist.

This does make the height difference very apparent, though. There can be no drawing her close to kiss her, which... means the couch and the coats. His housekeeping couldn't have fallen short at a more inconvenient time, truly. With regret in his eyes he releases her.]

One moment, my dear.

[There's no time to hang them up, or rather, this is no time for that. Emmrich scoops up the garments and carefully lay them on top of the books on top of the table and actively pushes that from his mind as he reaches for her again, this time seeking to guide them both down to the couch.]

( the bump of her knees to back him up into it — she almost certainly has some practise at navigating the gap in their heights, kneeing down across his lap as he sits. the more compelling part of that, immediately, is how much better it is, immediately, to squeezing into even the plushest corner booth. )

I know, ( she says, a warm joke, bringing her hands up to his face, thumbs finding the edges of his jaw: ) you imagined me taller.

( her personality is at least six feet. )

[He breathes out as she straddles him, gaze heavy. This is so much better. Her hold is light and inviting and Emmrich relaxes into the touch even as a smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth.]

You do have quite the presence.

[Emmrich turns his head a little to kiss one of her fingers, and slowly slides his hands up her sides.]

But you are exactly as tall as you should be. It suits you.

[Tiny, but fierce. She is sized to be underestimated, and her enemies do that to their very short-lived regret. As his palms brush her breasts he uses his fingers to urge her forward and more against him; he feels it's long past time to resume kissing.]

( her thumb swoops across his jaw before she slides her hand into his hair and leans, gladly, into the pursuit of further kissing; he can feel the shape of her smile press against his mouth before her lips part and he just has to assume the degree of smugness that might have otherwise been indicated.

it’s a safe bet. she’s warm and a little tipsy and very pleased with herself, following his urging closer and letting her weight settle high across his thighs. of all the possible ways her night could have gone, this is definitely the best outcome—

even if first thing in the morning she’s going to panic and go looking for something to bring back to the lighthouse for manfred. )

It seems, ( she murmurs, arch, against his mouth, ) to suit you.

[Emmrich laughs, warm and fond. Her confidence is a treasure, and one of the many things about her that draws him.]

And if I said you looked good on me?

[The revelation that she means her flirtation, that she's not just having fun, changes everything. It also makes this one of the best nights he's had in years, and it's still young.

His scalp tingles lightly where she's touching, and it reminds him of a long-held question that now he can get the answer to. Emmrich slowly slides his fingers through her hair, taking in exactly how smooth and cool the strands feel. He'd always thought they'd feel warmer, but perhaps that was his own impression of how he'd feel if he had to deal with even half as much.]

( it’s heavy, that much is immediately obvious, too; hair by the handful, spilling over her shoulders and his hands— almost improbably well kept, all things considered. then again, it can come as no surprise that she takes such pains with her appearance as her lipstick smudges across his mouth,

she smears it there with her thumb. decides she likes it: marking her territory. making a bit of a mess of him. )

I’d say how big’s the mirror in your bedroom?

( so she can check. for science. )

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