[The sound he makes could mean a dozen things. It almost certainly is a placeholder, a dogear to himself: watch this space.]
I'd be curious, [is what he says at last across the lip of his cup, taking a drink of the slightly too tart contents] if he would say the same, were he asked. In spirit at least, if not the letter.
[Is it insulting to wonder out loud where Madame de Cedoux's ambition ends and the Enchanter'a begins? Or is it just reasonable? He knows very little about the man in question, practically speaking.]
Do I lean over his shoulder in the night with my breasts pressed to his shoulder and whisper my dreams into being? ( she offers, droll. ) He asked me once if this— ( she leans into his side, offers him doe-eyes above the improbably long line of her nude body when she is so very small, ) —is how I meant to radicalize him.
( and she had asked him if he thought it would work, which is neither here nor there. )
I appreciate the faith you both have in me, (very dry, as she settles back with her drink, ) but he is no more an old fool led around by my finger than I am bedazzled by the first man to wonder if I might still exist when he closes his eyes and I am not there.
( marriage was great. )
If I am persuasive, it is because my arguments are sound. And when they are not, I am not.
( she laughs, which suits her, and then holds her cup as she rolls to the side of the bed to rifle through her belongings— )
I should tell him not to expect me, ( as if it has indeed just now occurred to her. it isn't late enough for it to have mattered, yet, though if they were reasonable people who worked and slept at reasonable hours then it probably would be overdue. )
[Which, for a second or two, shifts the temperature of the room by a series of marginal degrees. Never mind what she and the Enchanter have discussed, it must be natural to feel some momentum's hesitation over the prospect of being accessory to whatever conversation is about to occur once she unearths her crystal. There is the theoretical reality of a thing, and then there is the practical one and practically he cannot imagine what Enchanter Julius sounds like on the other end of the crystal while Madame de Cedoux is leaning naked out of his own bed.
He downs the rest of his drink without much thought, setting the old stoneware cup aside.]
Should I pretend I'm not here? [is an entirely legitimate question, undermined by the impulse he indulges by slipping his hand between her thighs. It would be a shame if she were to lean too far out of the bed and slide from it, someone might rationalize.]
( the slight amusement that tilts her mouth when she casts a look back over her shoulder is lopsided, and fond, and not oblivious to the complicated undercurrents of what she has determined to make simple. )
No, ( she says, but: ) and neither are you obligated to join the conversation, had you rather not.
( her crystal's chain around her fist as she sits back up, following the grip of his hand back to the warmth of his side, she says, thoughtful: ) What neither of us could abide would be deceit. And certainly it would be preferable for anything explored to be...shared, where possible, but ultimately the most important thing is what we share, the two of us. Honesty.
( it's more than what he asked, but it's matter of fact. )
I wouldn't care to have him sneaking around with someone ignorant of me any more than he would care to think I might hide you in a closet. ( a quirk of one eyebrow: ) Perhaps under my desk. A negotiation for another day.
[A ghost of this conversation is looking at him from the corner of his vision. His eye slides compulsively away from the shadow it casts.]
I'll take it up with my knees.
[he says; if there had been less laughter this evening, it might sound light as he settles against the headboard. It isn't a withdrawal - his hand lingers there between her legs -, but it is a hand span of space, a slight distance from which to watch her.]
( for all her—sincere—talk of honesty, it is easier when the matter is a practical one hand in hand with sentiment. she speaks little of her husband to her lover, and she has allowed julius more silence than another woman might have done on the subject of his father. if she notices that hand span of distance (and she must; she does), she allows him have it.
if he would prefer to imagine the brush of her fingers against his wrist is merely a new habit and not acknowledgment, she will not stop him. if he looks at that consideration in the eye, she will not deny it, either. )
How I have come to be surrounded by men so concerned with their knees, I am sure I don't know. ( it's funny because julius isn't much younger than flint, see. but then, to her crystal— )
[His fingertips press quietly into Petrana's soft inner thigh.
It's a thoughtless thing, distant like the concept that he'd prefer to be wearing more than just his own skin for this and almost as involuntary as the thing he can feel his face do. What the thing is, he can't say exactly. Instead, he catalogues some carved edge of the headboard and where it draws a line against his back. He regards her bare knee and thinks he won't listen too closely to what either of them has to say, as something in the sound isn't so different from a hand pressing on bruised ribs and he's sore.]
( it is as natural to bend her knee, to fold the two of them comfortably together while she speaks with that warm voice at the other end of the crystal, as it is to answer with the same fondness; she had spoken with him only briefly and by crystal in the whirlwind of polite farewells earlier in hightown, and so there is no need now to be too elaborate in explaining— )
As it happens. (most satisfactory. ) I wouldn't have you wait up for me—I shall remain with the Commander for the night.
[The warmth of his laugh isn't so different from his public persona, but that small difference is marked for someone in a position to observe. A glimpse at something he rarely lets slip elsewhere.]
I was. Though only tangentially for work; it's a rather fanciful account of dragon-hunting that makes better bedtime reading than research material, it turns out. Frustrating on a professional level, but otherwise entertaining.
I'm glad things went well, though. You should take more chances to relax, when you can.
( if she might have been inclined to make brief the conversation and spare awkwardness, flint joining in does slightly shift the weight of consideration; though so does moving his hand. is she relaxed, or is she carefully scrutinizing the smallest shifts in the tide to stay afloat them, )
[Said as if Madame de Cedoux is staying late to continue some discussion they are only partly through, as if this conversation is being held across a desk and not with Petrana warm against his naked side. Certainly it isn't a conversation which requires some investment of meaning or familiarity, or to inspire any ache made remote to travel the length of his spine.
Flint leans to fetch the the pitcher and his cup, refilling it. He offers to do the same with her cup.]
[It's fondly said, in part because he loves her as she is, and in part because he's aware he wouldn't have a leg to stand on if she chose to turn the tables on him.]
Well. I am glad, then, that you're relaxed and pleased, both. Perhaps I shouldn't intrude further, though I'll be interested to hear the details when you return.
[He could just mean the details of the party, and his tone isn't particularly suggestive. But Petrana knows him well enough that she can guess he might ask for other details too if she proves willing to share them.]
( he could mean that, and anyone merely overhearing this conversation and not privy to its context might well think so, except that before she even says anything petra's expression does something wonderful, and she breathes out a laugh. )
You have not yet run out of industrious application of my notes which you already had found, ( and how could she be surprised, she had said, that a man should find himself a most diverting topic of study.
to flint, an aside, and context for amusement that had in the moment not really seemed to need any: ) You asked me my notes; it is a flaw of mine, that I remain so thoughtful as to have them.
[And that is that. The crystal goes quiet and the space should narrow once more to just the two of them, the anchor of her warmth against his side ruling over the thought of what details Julius might later work out of her (and how).
He takes a drink. He doesn't consider the width of the room.]
So you do have an opinion of me, [he finally says instead of anything else, all hypotheticals and flattened levity.]
I have had an opinion of you since we met, ( she returns, pertly if languidly delivered from the general vicinity of the freckles on his shoulder, of which she is becoming fond. ) It is ever-evolving.
[The freckles are fewer and farther between there and more distinct for it when compared to how darkly speckled his forearms are, the back of his neck. Once upon a time, a very long time ago indeed, James Flint was probably a boy who burned in the sun.
He tips his head toward the sound of her voice. There is kind of wry affinity in the tilt of his mouth near the edge of his cup.]
In which direction would you like it to evolve next, do you think?
[There had been a kind of momentum in this, an almost inevitable motion which had carried them from Hightown to this bed. The languid quality of the aftermath, more alien than anything else than had preceded it, apparently requires some parsing on his part.]
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I'd be curious, [is what he says at last across the lip of his cup, taking a drink of the slightly too tart contents] if he would say the same, were he asked. In spirit at least, if not the letter.
[Is it insulting to wonder out loud where Madame de Cedoux's ambition ends and the Enchanter'a begins? Or is it just reasonable? He knows very little about the man in question, practically speaking.]
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Do I lean over his shoulder in the night with my breasts pressed to his shoulder and whisper my dreams into being? ( she offers, droll. ) He asked me once if this— ( she leans into his side, offers him doe-eyes above the improbably long line of her nude body when she is so very small, ) —is how I meant to radicalize him.
( and she had asked him if he thought it would work, which is neither here nor there. )
I appreciate the faith you both have in me, ( very dry, as she settles back with her drink, ) but he is no more an old fool led around by my finger than I am bedazzled by the first man to wonder if I might still exist when he closes his eyes and I am not there.
( marriage was great. )
If I am persuasive, it is because my arguments are sound. And when they are not, I am not.
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Though I doubt your breasts do a sound argument much harm.
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( sometimes you have to be, You Know, Nice. )
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I should tell him not to expect me, ( as if it has indeed just now occurred to her. it isn't late enough for it to have mattered, yet, though if they were reasonable people who worked and slept at reasonable hours then it probably would be overdue. )
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He downs the rest of his drink without much thought, setting the old stoneware cup aside.]
Should I pretend I'm not here? [is an entirely legitimate question, undermined by the impulse he indulges by slipping his hand between her thighs. It would be a shame if she were to lean too far out of the bed and slide from it, someone might rationalize.]
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No, ( she says, but: ) and neither are you obligated to join the conversation, had you rather not.
( her crystal's chain around her fist as she sits back up, following the grip of his hand back to the warmth of his side, she says, thoughtful: ) What neither of us could abide would be deceit. And certainly it would be preferable for anything explored to be...shared, where possible, but ultimately the most important thing is what we share, the two of us. Honesty.
( it's more than what he asked, but it's matter of fact. )
I wouldn't care to have him sneaking around with someone ignorant of me any more than he would care to think I might hide you in a closet. ( a quirk of one eyebrow: ) Perhaps under my desk. A negotiation for another day.
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I'll take it up with my knees.
[he says; if there had been less laughter this evening, it might sound light as he settles against the headboard. It isn't a withdrawal - his hand lingers there between her legs -, but it is a hand span of space, a slight distance from which to watch her.]
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if he would prefer to imagine the brush of her fingers against his wrist is merely a new habit and not acknowledgment, she will not stop him. if he looks at that consideration in the eye, she will not deny it, either. )
How I have come to be surrounded by men so concerned with their knees, I am sure I don't know. ( it's funny because julius isn't much younger than flint, see. but then, to her crystal— )
Put your book down a moment, my love.
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[Except he's clearly smiling when he replies, so he definitely was.]
Have you had a satisfactory evening?
[Since he doesn't know where she is or if she's with anyone, he phrases it in a way that could just mean the party.]
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It's a thoughtless thing, distant like the concept that he'd prefer to be wearing more than just his own skin for this and almost as involuntary as the thing he can feel his face do. What the thing is, he can't say exactly. Instead, he catalogues some carved edge of the headboard and where it draws a line against his back. He regards her bare knee and thinks he won't listen too closely to what either of them has to say, as something in the sound isn't so different from a hand pressing on bruised ribs and he's sore.]
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As it happens. ( most satisfactory. ) I wouldn't have you wait up for me—I shall remain with the Commander for the night.
( a beat. )
You were reading.
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I was. Though only tangentially for work; it's a rather fanciful account of dragon-hunting that makes better bedtime reading than research material, it turns out. Frustrating on a professional level, but otherwise entertaining.
I'm glad things went well, though. You should take more chances to relax, when you can.
[Said the pot to the kettle.]
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I've yet to see much evidence that Madame de Cedoux knows the meaning of the word.
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Am I not relaxed?
( if she might have been inclined to make brief the conversation and spare awkwardness, flint joining in does slightly shift the weight of consideration; though so does moving his hand. is she relaxed, or is she carefully scrutinizing the smallest shifts in the tide to stay afloat them, )
Do I not sound relaxed?
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[The sparest pause.]
Good evening, Commander.
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[Said as if Madame de Cedoux is staying late to continue some discussion they are only partly through, as if this conversation is being held across a desk and not with Petrana warm against his naked side. Certainly it isn't a conversation which requires some investment of meaning or familiarity, or to inspire any ache made remote to travel the length of his spine.
Flint leans to fetch the the pitcher and his cup, refilling it. He offers to do the same with her cup.]
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I am perfectly relaxed, and perfectly acquainted with the concept, gentlemen. I am merely,
( hm, )
sparing with its application.
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[It's fondly said, in part because he loves her as she is, and in part because he's aware he wouldn't have a leg to stand on if she chose to turn the tables on him.]
Well. I am glad, then, that you're relaxed and pleased, both. Perhaps I shouldn't intrude further, though I'll be interested to hear the details when you return.
[He could just mean the details of the party, and his tone isn't particularly suggestive. But Petrana knows him well enough that she can guess he might ask for other details too if she proves willing to share them.]
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You have not yet run out of industrious application of my notes which you already had found, ( and how could she be surprised, she had said, that a man should find himself a most diverting topic of study.
to flint, an aside, and context for amusement that had in the moment not really seemed to need any: ) You asked me my notes; it is a flaw of mine, that I remain so thoughtful as to have them.
—goodnight, my darling.
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Sleep well, love. I'll see you later on.
[And on that warm note, he ends the conversation.]
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He takes a drink. He doesn't consider the width of the room.]
So you do have an opinion of me, [he finally says instead of anything else, all hypotheticals and flattened levity.]
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He tips his head toward the sound of her voice. There is kind of wry affinity in the tilt of his mouth near the edge of his cup.]
In which direction would you like it to evolve next, do you think?
[There had been a kind of momentum in this, an almost inevitable motion which had carried them from Hightown to this bed. The languid quality of the aftermath, more alien than anything else than had preceded it, apparently requires some parsing on his part.]
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