moonlitscholar | (no subject)

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I know it looks a little strange, but my grandmother swears by this.

["This" being a pestle full of strange herbs and other things Briona apparently had lying around in her pack, mashed into a paste that has turned frightfully orange. It smells distinctly of almonds.

They're settled into their room at a rather posh inn for the night. It's far out of their usual budget, but Briona is footing the bill, and insisted that one more night at a campsite would surely kill her. The proper lighting of an inn also gives her the opportunity to get some journaling done, and to play around with all the strange new ingredients she's been able to gather on their travels.

She offers Garson the pestle in one hand, and a roll of gauze bandages with the other. Dressed down in a silky white shift, she looks a little more like the princess she is than the rugged, traveling scholar she seems in the daylight.]

A little of this and a bandage on top should stop the discomfort. May I?

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[ He nods, and the two chairs are relocated to the fireside. He sets them a respectable distance apart — a distance which has come to shrink in the time he's spent with her, true, but it's still a foot or so. A companionable distance, he thinks. That done, he stands to the side to let her have her pick of chairs. ]

Anything I can help with?

[Bri curls up in the chair with her feet up on the seat, setting her journal in her lap and setting to scribbling.]

Yes, actually. Do you remember that one plant you showed me? With the purple marks on it? What was that called, again?

[She's been through these parts before, but with someone along for the trip, she gets to worry less about getting attacked on her own and more about finding plants that she missed last time.]

[ He does, actually, and brightens a little to be able to be helpful. ]

Evening Bell. [ He says it with pleased authority. He's only passingly familiar with this region, but flowers are one of the things he's pretty good with. He has his mother to thank for this particular pearl of wisdom: ] And its secondary use, diced and dried in a tea for chronic pains.

Evening Bell. Thank you. I took some samples, too, to dry and press.

[Bri quickly writes that down, along with the other details he mentions about it. Amazing how there is always more to discover, even after she's passed through this area so many times before.

Journaling holds little interest for her tonight, though, aside from that one little thing to fix. She holds her toes towards the fire to warm them, leaning on an elbow and watching Garson for a moment with a contented smile on her face.

She may be plotting something. Maybe, she tells herself, to calm the voice in her head that's wary of admitting it.]

[ While she writes, Garson slides his whittling knife and the block of wood he's been working out out of their respective pouches. It's a new piece, only barely just starting to take shape — that it's something stoutly cylindrical is all that can be said of it so far.

He's not unaware of her attention, though, and shortly he glances up. It's a peaceful evening, and his contentedness of the moment warms his fond gaze toward her. ]

Something on your mind?

Yes. I suppose.

[She smiles, glancing away self-consciously. What's on her mind, exactly, is currently her own private joke, and she isn't sure whether she should let him in on it.]

You'll probably think I'm being silly.

[ Well, now he has to know, doesn't he? Who could resist a lead in like that? He huffs his amusement quietly, the knife going still for a moment against the wood. ]

I'd think nothing out of the ordinary, then.

[She regards him with a shocked expression, then laughs.]

Very funny!

[She folds her arms and leans over the arm of her chair towards him.]

Well, if I'm always silly, then you'd have no reason to make fun of me now. Promise?

[ He shifts his elbow to the chair's armrest nearest her, to lean in in turn, and offers a solemn nod. ]

No reason at all. I promise.

[Bri pauses a moment to think about it, then rests her chin in her hands.]

Do you ever...

[Reconsiders.]

Garson, do you ever think about me? And you?

[ Of all the possible responses, a question like this isn't one he was expecting. Garson blinks, then frowns. It's a puzzled frown, one that struggles to understand the context, and he has to ask — ]

Frequently, but I... in what way do you mean?

[ Because he knows how that question sounds to him, but that must be a misread. She wouldn't mean in that way. ]

You know.

[She tilts her head and purses her lips slightly, suggestively.]

In the way that I'm a woman, and you're a man...

[A little color rises in her face.]

You know. That sort of way.

[ Oh. Gods, she did mean in that way. Briona isn't the only one with color rising to her face, and Garon's can be seen even through the green hue of his skin. He clears his throat awkwardly, shifts in his seat, and glances away. ]

That wouldn't be my place.

[ Which isn't a no, exactly. ]

[She's carefully watching him for any sign she may have just embarrassed herself completely. The reaction she gets is... not promising. But typically stoic for Garson.]

I'm not asking about places, Garson. I don't care about that. I just...

[With a huff, she looks back towards the fire, beet red.]

I've thought about it.

You should care about it. [ There's a beat, and very carefully, pointedly, he adds: ] Your Highness.

[ There is a long, long list of people that would be very, very unhappy with him if he and Briona ever behaved... well, inappropriately to their stations. Garson is a bodyguard, hired as such, and no more. But... as his gaze slides back toward her while she watches the fire, he absolutely can't deny that he has thought about it. Fleetingly, guiltily, but he's thought about it. Those thoughts are returning to him with an astonishing and embarrassing speed. ]

[A scoff escapes her at the dropping of her title.] Oh, don't play that card. You never care about it otherwise.

And neither do I. I'm not some stuck-up elven noble holed up in my magical glade looking down on everyone else. I know what I want, and...

[She folds her arms.]

Well. If you don't, then that's alright. I didn't mean to make things awkward.

[ That's true, he rarely takes notice of her title at all. especially recently. He'd abided it at first, when they were strangers to each other, but it had dropped pretty quickly. Still, it doesn't feel unfair to lean on it now.

But nonetheless, quickly: ] I don't don't. [ That... hardly make sense. He winces at his own mangled sentence, sighs, and continues a little more gruffly. ] You're a beautiful woman, to be sure. My concern is for... how things might change, between us.

You- [What in the world kind of phrasing is that? But Bri translates it rather quickly, and her eyes widen curiously as he goes on.

Well. He does have a point there. Things are different when they become physical, but...]

I... suppose that's true. I know that I respect you greatly, and consider you a true friend. I don't think that would change, if...

[She looks up at him again, chewing her lip.]

I have thought about this more than I should admit.

[ The frown that furrows his brow remains, and his gaze drops down to the woodwork and knife in his lap, held close together and nowhere near seeing use at the moment. ]

I think... [ That he'd love to, that he has pushed away the thought more times than he could count. His frown darkens. ] You're a true friend as well, my lady. But some thoughts should stay thoughts.

[ It pains him to say it, but it would pain him even more to break something between them. ]

[Well. That seems quite final. Some bratty side of her wants to protest and get him to explain himself, but she knows he's offered as much of an explanation as he needs to give. To whine or pressure or cajole him at all would be hideous behavior, truly unbecoming of not just a princess, but a decent person.]

Alright. I understand.

[She gazes at her hands down in her lap. She will not pout, she vows.]

You're probably right. It's better not to push our luck.

[ Guilt hits him hard, and the uncertainty that he'd really offered the correct answer. But — it is. It has to be. They shouldn't, and that's simply all there is to it. He drops his attention to that piece of wood, and finally the knife begins its careful edging work into it. ]

You'll find a better prospect. And when you do, best not to be tied up elsewhere.

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ffff sorry, i disappear every so often when i fall off the tag wagon :'|

no worries, me too! >>

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