moonlitscholar | (no subject)

(no subject)

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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[ 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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