OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[avali]

OPEN RP POST

♔

-Deposit prompt and/ or character.         

-Receive some pretty bad RP in return??

-Threads leading to smut is fine, because hey, sometimes it happens. 




♔

Muselist

Open RP (smutty version)

 

Comments

[yngrained]

[Even with the electric bulb overhead, the cellar is dark and dusty. If he's going to stand close, her response is to draw his arm even nearer to her.]

And these Slavic relics - were they of any interest whatsoever to the half breeds?

[Her tone has the same cheek tonit, but the question is a serious one and her attention has been piqued - by both the bottle he's drawing from the rack and the details of the story. For all that she's giving him a rough time of it, now that he's found his way to the interesting parts--]

[galadad]

[This time he chuckles without meaning to-- arm lending itself easily to the way she draws him in with both her question and the pull of her hand, warm agains her side, so near to the subtle beating of her heart beneath her ribs.]

Indeed they were. Our Order drew supposed power from relics beyond their understanding, naturally they were keen to find ways to do the same. [The light switch is clicked off in passing, door halfheartedly shut to keep from holding either of them back in stride, returning to the brightly lit warmth of tall hallways.] Not so different from the motivations that drive them now.

[yngrained]

So they pursued your party?

[She reaches to pull the door the rest of the way closed behind them, but it's a too late afterthought - her fingers do little more than brush against the pull before he's led her beyond reaching it - and she's more in favor of sticking to his side than making sure his cellar door is latched properly, so to hell with it.]

[galadad]

They pursued our target. [Vital clarification, though it comes as something of an afterthought when he nearly bypasses the cabinet he needs, turning back on his heel in the moment, unintentionally setting her between the wooden bar at her back and-- well, him, to say the least. Bottle set down across the counter like he might somehow make this more of a bid at utility than a social faux pas, though the silence left behind is anything but. Shallow breath, the warmth of his rough fingers still curled across hers, back set against the light.]

[yngrained]

Yes of course--

[She is slow to move out of his way - it's an unexpected change of trajectory, though that's not really an excuse. How many times has she reflexively, instinctively shifted out of his line of fire in the field? Though they're not on the field now. Maybe that makes it excusable to find herself all but pinned in under the shadow of his arm, her hip gently checked against the shape of the bar.

Her hand is still, technically speaking, at his arm though her fingers have gone vague and light there. She is looking at his shoulder, a fixed wrinkle in the fabric from where he slept in his clothes.]

Grayson.

[She lifts her face, unsure if she means to check him.]

[galadad]

Mm. [Clearing his throat with his jawline there, hovering somewhere above her own eyeline as he gently moves to draw her away from the cabinet, ignoring how tempting it is to stay settled with her so close-- so fundamentally different from how he'd shielded her hundreds of times in a firefight or from the hard snap of a lycan's jaws. How she'd always returned the favor in full regardless of priorities or directives.

Difficult to consider standing in as what Malory was to him for someone else. Someone suited for a better life.]

It's been a long day. Forgive me.

[yngrained]

[The angle of her wrist goes faintly resistant as he moves to draw her away - to draw away from her. It isn't so dramatic as all that, naturally; he's gentle about it, careful where he could very well be jerking back like she'd scorched him. But still she--

Doesn't know. Flicks her eyes from him, gaze searching the nearby wood grain of the cabinet. Then back: to the sleeve of his shirt, to the place where his vest sets across it, to the line of his jaw rough as it is.]

Of course.

[Because naturally. She loosens her fingers from his sleeve. Shifts her hand down to her side.]

[galadad]

[He's too bloody old for this. For company kept close enough that he wants nothing more than to linger where common sense dictates he should not, for the itch that sticks at the back of his neck when her stare withdraws from it at last, leaving nothing but tension and the bottle held in his palm.

Reaches coldly to find the corkscrew and set it to work, as diligent as ever.] Lucky for us both you didn't take me out in public as I am now.

Sir Galahad the fool and his poor protégé.

[yngrained]

[the changing angle of his shoulder, the lengthening distance as demanded by the task of uncorking the bottle, gives whatever piece of her frozen to where she stands the license to shift out of his shadow. It's a thin margin, but it seems easier - to stand there, to remember that she should be giving him a rough go of it as retribution for his stubborn old habit of avoiding anything compelling whatsoever.]

Nonsense. [She pats his arm.] But the next time I invite you along with me I'll wear something flashy. That way we can be sure no one is paying you any mind.

[It's a limping joke, but to the devil with it. She shoots him an arch sidelong glance and then moves to find two glasses.]