Can do. [He scoots closer, and up onto his knees. Even more gently than before, he starts from her scalp, starting with the strands that frame her face, combing down in careful strokes. Trying not to catch her ear, or her eyepatch, or irritate her scalp. She'd closed her eye, and somehow, once again, she was trusting him with something he wasn't sure if he'd earned.
Before long, though, he's getting back into the rhythm of combing, and starts humming away as he works. If he messes up at any point, he's sure she'll tell him.]
She tries to leave it at first, stubborn and reluctant to remove it in front of anyone, but… it is impractical. It would be shifted around by the movement of her hair anyway, if he tried to comb around it, so. Slowly, without comment, she reaches up to undo the connecting point where the straps crossed behind her skull, pulling it off and holding it tightly in one hand.
… It’s fine. He’s behind her.
He won’t see the unbeautiful part of her from there.]
[He touches her shoulder as a wordless gesture after she removes the eyepatch, as if to say it's okay. Then he continues, not once leaning around to peek at her face. If she doesn't want him to look, he'll respect that, even if he'd think no less of her for it.]
Almost done. [He says, as he progresses.] You sure you don't need help with your tail?
[There’s no stopping the initial flinch at the touch, on guard for any attempts to move around to her front or encourage her to turn her face, but when those don’t come… she relaxes back into it. Now there is nothing to snag the comb in but an occasional tangle, and… it does feel nice. When her master’s men had styled her hair for exhibition days they had brushed and combed it, but not gently. That had been harsh, utilitarian movements, combing in hot wax to make elaborate hairdos for prospective buyers to find pleasing, not for preparing before bed or taking care of her mane.
She almost forgets for a little while that she has only one eye and that she is in the house of a man who claimed to love her. Her eye drifts near close again, and this time…]
[Once her mane is all done to her satisfaction, he moves down the mattress to her rump. Her tail is that same pristine, silken hair as her mane, and he's especially careful with it as he lifts it over his thighs to start combing.
He's not looking on purpose, but as he lifts her tail, it does leave him feeling dully heated to realise how close he is. That if she let him touch her...
But that's not a boundary he'll cross. Not yet. So he finishes combing her tail from where she left off, this time in relative quiet, warmth dusting his cheeks.]
[When he moves away from her mane, she distracts herself from the fact that he is brushing her tail with necessary things. She refastens her eyepatch. She gathers her now silkily brushed hair and ties it back up on top of her head for the night.
But then there is nothing else but being aware of what he is doing and where he is. One of her back legs twitches slightly every now and then, a hoof curls on the mattress. She… she isn’t that worried, because she isn’t in heat, so her sex isn’t as easily exposed, but. His hands are still close. Powerful muscles still ripple slightly beneath freshly washed dun coat, the color darkening to black velvet beneath her tail and high on the backs of her thighs.
But he is respectful, and she-]
Thank you.
[Whispers politely when he finishes, hoping her face isn’t as red as it feels.]
Any time. [He says, sitting back once more and offering her the comb with a flushed smile. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, but it didn't hurt to have a helping hand once in a while to get to those hard-to-reach places.
And, really, part of him enjoys pampering her, as if she's his queen... and they're not on a makeshift bed on the floor of a small apartment. He pours tea for them both next, still warm from the pot.]
How often do you brush your coat? [He asks, resting a hand on her dun flank. It surely needed much less maintenance, but if she ever needed hand with that, too, he could offer.]
[Carefully... she takes the comb back and tucks it into the waist pouch that she has discarded by the side of the mattress, their fingers briefly brushing. In exchange, she accepts her tea, and... He is still touching her. Her glance slides towards his hand on her flank, but...
She doesn't say anything against it.]
Every few days. More if I exert myself.
[It took more effort and more stretching into odd positions to do...]
- The bathhouse had a scraper.
[Just in case he was concerned about the state of her coat in his new sheets. (Which she noticed, with a bit of pleasure.)]
I see. If you ever need a hand with it, let me know.
[He runs the hand along her flank, feeling the breathing of her second set of lungs, the warmth of her powerful body. Lucky she doesn't have the thick fluffy coat of a Fódlan horse, which would take a great deal more maintenance.
With that offer out of the way, he resumes drinking his tea. The perfect thing to help him conk out after all that food.]
Thanks for the new sheets, by the way. It was really thoughtful of you.
[Thanks to the rather intense energy she possessed, most people in Kenos were not so casual to touch her. It’s how she preferred it, of course, she didn’t… she wasn’t like a lot of those Springstar citizens who were so silly as to always be able shaking, patting, stroking, embracing, but. Hayame had noticed that those few who dared tended to always stick to touching her more human-like half… and there was something about that which made her bristle if she thought about it. Was the rest of her too much like a horse that they didn’t feel they were touching a person, or they assumed it would offend her? She doesn’t know what it was, but-
… Her equine flank is just as much her “side” as if he were stroking along the line of her waist, and it makes her cheeks darken further, her hide occasionally twitching beneath his fingers. Except he’s not a fly to dislodge, or a potential buyer examining her horseflesh before auction. He’s...]
… It was only proper.
[She finds distraction in the answering, sipping her own tea and using one hand to pinch the fabric of the sheets, rubbing a thumb in the pure white fabric.]
I dirtied the last pair.
[And sure there was washing, but. They’d been so terribly clean looking (to a woman from a breeding stables in 1590).]
You didn't have to do it, all the same. [They weren't even on speaking terms, then. Yet she'd swallowed her -- pride, embarassment, whatever it was -- and repaid a perceived debt anyway.] That honourable streak of yours... I admire it.
[It's something he'll never have, he knows that much. He drains the last of his tea and sets the cup aside. Part of him is still curious about how sensitive her equine body is to touch, and his hand travels up to her back, to the ridges of her lengthy spine. He wants her to be comfortable with this closeness, little by little. Just as he, a human with such a limited viewpoint of jinba, should make efforts to learn more of her.]
[He admires it, he says. She cannot help but doubt it a little, even if he sounds honest enough.]
Are you sure you do not find it “outdated” and foolish… ?
[By the sound of her voice, those are definitely quotes… but the touch is distracting and it takes the edge off her words, unable to present herself as hard or particularly intimidating when his fingers dance up to her long spine, making her withers twitch and rustling the bit of vestigial mane between her equine shoulders, a dark line of hair that seems to trace a little ways up her more human-like spine as well, slightly obscured beneath the fabric of her underrobe.]
I'd say they have a cynical way of looking at things. A trait like that is the sign of a good person.
[Like her. Like Dimitri. Neither were perfect, both had their demons, but they still had certain noble convictions they were determined to stand by, no matter how restrictive.
As his fingers travel along and he reaches the trail of mane-like fur that goes up to her human spine, he realises it is, dare he even think the forbidden word, cute. His fingers brush up against her bare skin and the slight dusting of fur just before it becomes hidden by her clothes.]
We're all from different worlds and cultures. It wouldn't kill people to be a little more open-minded about different ways of thinking, would it...? [...Then again, killing each other for thinking differently is the whole conflict this place is founded on.]
[He says that, that it is the sign of a good person… but Hayame can’t believe that. Not because she thinks him a liar, but because… she knows very well that her sense of honor leads often and directly to violence. It was for her honor that she had beheaded her enemies in Venera in Kenos, for her honor that she found herself unable to back down or de-escalate so many arguments and spats with her fellow Meridian, for that same tattered, false-from-the-beginning honor that she’d hunted traitors beneath the roots…
She didn’t think it made her a bad person, either, just. A warrior. A warrior trying to live with honor because she had almost nothing else.
Her thoughts become… somewhat annoyingly jumbled, however, when a hand traces up her spine to her mane, making her shoulders tense up and her fingers curl tightly on her tea cup. Canines nip into her bottom lip and her head lilts to the side, unsure if… was he attempting to proposition her? Teasing her? She can’t tell-]
W- well, you can preach that to Meridian in your next communion…
[(Never mind it was probably meant to apply to her, too.)]
[True, a sense of honour mixed with a warrior code can prove a nightmarish combination, something he knows all too well. But if there were a way to disentangle the two, and those noble inclinations were applied purely to peaceful means...
Well, that's a thought for later. He has to suppress a laugh, seeing the reaction to his touch. So she was sensitive there, too?]
Oh? Would you like me to sing your praises in this communion, too?
[He's carding his fingers through the mane, half-expecting to get swatted away before long.]
[... It feels good, his fingers brushing through that coarse line of dark hair along her spine that trailed over both equine and human-like parts of her. No one has ever done that before. It makes her tail twitch, and she almost... But no. He says that and-]
No.
[Her fingers tighten noticably on her foreknees, her gaze narrowing in a recollection she had not wanted. She has tried to keep peace and not bring it up when she was a guest in his home, but-]
You should not have brought me up in the last one, either. I can speak for myself.
[His hand goes still, and internally, he winces. He supposes he should have seen this come up sooner or later.]
I know you can. I just wanted to move the conversation along, since you've already made it pretty clear you don't want to participate.
[He didn't want to listen to people tossing insults at her or otherwise saying unkind things about her. The deflection seems to have worked, by and large... not that it stopped Hayame elsewhere in the discussions.]
I would have made it clear that I did not wish to participate.
[Which would be... famous last words, once she realizes they're going to discuss Alenroux and she doesn't trust a single one of them to fight for it as hard or as stubbornly as she would.]
And if I had said it, people would have been far more hesitant to air out their opinions of whether I would have made a good ambassador or not.
[- So apparently she doesn't consider his deflection to have worked. Also apparently... She was very offended by what was said there, whether she wanted to do it or not.]
I was just trying to help. Whoever put your name forward was probably trying to rile you up, so I thought I'd nip it in the bud. Even if they weren't, Set was definitely trying to bait people with the whole... vetting process.
[He'd noticed Hayame arguing with people anyway, so it seemed like she'd taken the bait to at least some degree, but. Well. It is what it is.]
I realise you can fight your own battles, but sometimes there are battles that just aren't worthwhile.
[Set knew better than to have put her name in there, so it had to be someone else.... Of course, he didn't remove her from the list, but. She is sure someone else had put it in there to begin with. And as much as she has a certain person (demon) in mind... she had enemies enough that she cannot be sure.]
If the battle isn't worthwhile, I do not need you fighting it for me, either.
[Not worthwhile, he says. As if watching fools nominate the most unfitting people did not warrant some attempt at intervention?]
We have this [bullshit!] Communion, do we not? You can ask my permission first.
I figured you'd get angry if I asked. I realise now that's no excuse, though, so I'm sorry. Old habits.
[Old habits where he acts first, and seeks forgiveness rather than permission. He knows people aren't things to move around a chessboard against each other, but they have thoughts and feelings about the ones doing the moving, too. He just tends to lose sight of it in the moment, and not many pull him up on it in the way that she has.]
I thought I was just making good on my promise to be on your side, but I'll talk to you about it in the future.
Hayame frowns at him, but when it comes to saying anything else... She is somewhat stymied. One of the advantages(?) to never having had bonds as she did now was that... She did not know how to argue without going scorched earth. Was that enough to express her displeasure? She did not accept his apology in words to be extra stern, but...
She supposed she could see how he might consider that fulfilling his promise.]
... Good.
[... Admittedly, Set had told her the same, and still continued to blindside her, but.
She takes a sullen sip of her tea, draining the cup.]
And... on the off chance there's anything you want to do for me, you can always talk to me first, too. Then we'll be a real team, right? Partners who work together, not against each other.
[Even if he made it clear there's nothing he wants or expects from her, maybe an arragement like that will help her feel more like they're on an even footing, and not like she owes him anything.
He returns to petting her mane in slow, gentle touches.]
Hayame's lips purse in thought as if mulling over the proposition, tipping her head slightly to the side and sending her heavy bun of hair shifting likewise. She does him the service of attempting to imagine it, but she does not imagine she will leap to defend him in public... mainly because he can fight his own battles. (Secondarily... because he does not have nearly as many enemies as she does, it seems.) But... if she were to do it, she would naturally inform him first, she thinks, so as not to be a hypocrite, so-]
... I can acknowledge that.
[Her cup is empty, but she does not particularly want to drink more. Instead, she holds the empty cup to give her fingers something to do as the expression on her face drains from stern back to something more abashed. She lapses into silence, but... that silence is kept imperfect by the sound of her tail swishing across his sheets in time with the slow, calming strokes of his fingers through her vestigial mane.]
All right. [He says softly. He's quiet as he enjoys the peaceable silence, the gentle swish of her tail, the soft mane under his fingers. Maybe he should try this more often when she's angry with him...? It seems to have a soothing effect, at any rate.
After a time, though, he offers to take her cup.]
Ready to hit the hay for the evening? Or... not hit the hay, for once.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leicesters) wrote2022-12-06 08:26 pm
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Before long, though, he's getting back into the rhythm of combing, and starts humming away as he works. If he messes up at any point, he's sure she'll tell him.]
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She tries to leave it at first, stubborn and reluctant to remove it in front of anyone, but… it is impractical. It would be shifted around by the movement of her hair anyway, if he tried to comb around it, so. Slowly, without comment, she reaches up to undo the connecting point where the straps crossed behind her skull, pulling it off and holding it tightly in one hand.
… It’s fine. He’s behind her.
He won’t see the unbeautiful part of her from there.]
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Almost done. [He says, as he progresses.] You sure you don't need help with your tail?
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She almost forgets for a little while that she has only one eye and that she is in the house of a man who claimed to love her. Her eye drifts near close again, and this time…]
… if you want to.
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[Once her mane is all done to her satisfaction, he moves down the mattress to her rump. Her tail is that same pristine, silken hair as her mane, and he's especially careful with it as he lifts it over his thighs to start combing.
He's not looking on purpose, but as he lifts her tail, it does leave him feeling dully heated to realise how close he is. That if she let him touch her...
But that's not a boundary he'll cross. Not yet. So he finishes combing her tail from where she left off, this time in relative quiet, warmth dusting his cheeks.]
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But then there is nothing else but being aware of what he is doing and where he is. One of her back legs twitches slightly every now and then, a hoof curls on the mattress. She… she isn’t that worried, because she isn’t in heat, so her sex isn’t as easily exposed, but. His hands are still close. Powerful muscles still ripple slightly beneath freshly washed dun coat, the color darkening to black velvet beneath her tail and high on the backs of her thighs.
But he is respectful, and she-]
Thank you.
[Whispers politely when he finishes, hoping her face isn’t as red as it feels.]
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And, really, part of him enjoys pampering her, as if she's his queen... and they're not on a makeshift bed on the floor of a small apartment. He pours tea for them both next, still warm from the pot.]
How often do you brush your coat? [He asks, resting a hand on her dun flank. It surely needed much less maintenance, but if she ever needed hand with that, too, he could offer.]
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She doesn't say anything against it.]
Every few days. More if I exert myself.
[It took more effort and more stretching into odd positions to do...]
- The bathhouse had a scraper.
[Just in case he was concerned about the state of her coat in his new sheets. (Which she noticed, with a bit of pleasure.)]
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[He runs the hand along her flank, feeling the breathing of her second set of lungs, the warmth of her powerful body. Lucky she doesn't have the thick fluffy coat of a Fódlan horse, which would take a great deal more maintenance.
With that offer out of the way, he resumes drinking his tea. The perfect thing to help him conk out after all that food.]
Thanks for the new sheets, by the way. It was really thoughtful of you.
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… Her equine flank is just as much her “side” as if he were stroking along the line of her waist, and it makes her cheeks darken further, her hide occasionally twitching beneath his fingers. Except he’s not a fly to dislodge, or a potential buyer examining her horseflesh before auction. He’s...]
… It was only proper.
[She finds distraction in the answering, sipping her own tea and using one hand to pinch the fabric of the sheets, rubbing a thumb in the pure white fabric.]
I dirtied the last pair.
[And sure there was washing, but. They’d been so terribly clean looking (to a woman from a breeding stables in 1590).]
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[It's something he'll never have, he knows that much. He drains the last of his tea and sets the cup aside. Part of him is still curious about how sensitive her equine body is to touch, and his hand travels up to her back, to the ridges of her lengthy spine. He wants her to be comfortable with this closeness, little by little. Just as he, a human with such a limited viewpoint of jinba, should make efforts to learn more of her.]
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Are you sure you do not find it “outdated” and foolish… ?
[By the sound of her voice, those are definitely quotes… but the touch is distracting and it takes the edge off her words, unable to present herself as hard or particularly intimidating when his fingers dance up to her long spine, making her withers twitch and rustling the bit of vestigial mane between her equine shoulders, a dark line of hair that seems to trace a little ways up her more human-like spine as well, slightly obscured beneath the fabric of her underrobe.]
Most certainly seem to…
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[Like her. Like Dimitri. Neither were perfect, both had their demons, but they still had certain noble convictions they were determined to stand by, no matter how restrictive.
As his fingers travel along and he reaches the trail of mane-like fur that goes up to her human spine, he realises it is, dare he even think the forbidden word, cute. His fingers brush up against her bare skin and the slight dusting of fur just before it becomes hidden by her clothes.]
We're all from different worlds and cultures. It wouldn't kill people to be a little more open-minded about different ways of thinking, would it...? [...Then again, killing each other for thinking differently is the whole conflict this place is founded on.]
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She didn’t think it made her a bad person, either, just. A warrior. A warrior trying to live with honor because she had almost nothing else.
Her thoughts become… somewhat annoyingly jumbled, however, when a hand traces up her spine to her mane, making her shoulders tense up and her fingers curl tightly on her tea cup. Canines nip into her bottom lip and her head lilts to the side, unsure if… was he attempting to proposition her? Teasing her? She can’t tell-]
W- well, you can preach that to Meridian in your next communion…
[(Never mind it was probably meant to apply to her, too.)]
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Well, that's a thought for later. He has to suppress a laugh, seeing the reaction to his touch. So she was sensitive there, too?]
Oh? Would you like me to sing your praises in this communion, too?
[He's carding his fingers through the mane, half-expecting to get swatted away before long.]
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No.
[Her fingers tighten noticably on her foreknees, her gaze narrowing in a recollection she had not wanted. She has tried to keep peace and not bring it up when she was a guest in his home, but-]
You should not have brought me up in the last one, either. I can speak for myself.
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I know you can. I just wanted to move the conversation along, since you've already made it pretty clear you don't want to participate.
[He didn't want to listen to people tossing insults at her or otherwise saying unkind things about her. The deflection seems to have worked, by and large... not that it stopped Hayame elsewhere in the discussions.]
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[Which would be... famous last words, once she realizes they're going to discuss Alenroux and she doesn't trust a single one of them to fight for it as hard or as stubbornly as she would.]
And if I had said it, people would have been far more hesitant to air out their opinions of whether I would have made a good ambassador or not.
[- So apparently she doesn't consider his deflection to have worked. Also apparently... She was very offended by what was said there, whether she wanted to do it or not.]
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[He'd noticed Hayame arguing with people anyway, so it seemed like she'd taken the bait to at least some degree, but. Well. It is what it is.]
I realise you can fight your own battles, but sometimes there are battles that just aren't worthwhile.
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If the battle isn't worthwhile, I do not need you fighting it for me, either.
[Not worthwhile, he says. As if watching fools nominate the most unfitting people did not warrant some attempt at intervention?]
We have this [bullshit!] Communion, do we not? You can ask my permission first.
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[Old habits where he acts first, and seeks forgiveness rather than permission. He knows people aren't things to move around a chessboard against each other, but they have thoughts and feelings about the ones doing the moving, too. He just tends to lose sight of it in the moment, and not many pull him up on it in the way that she has.]
I thought I was just making good on my promise to be on your side, but I'll talk to you about it in the future.
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[So... There.
Hayame frowns at him, but when it comes to saying anything else... She is somewhat stymied. One of the advantages(?) to never having had bonds as she did now was that... She did not know how to argue without going scorched earth. Was that enough to express her displeasure? She did not accept his apology in words to be extra stern, but...
She supposed she could see how he might consider that fulfilling his promise.]
... Good.
[... Admittedly, Set had told her the same, and still continued to blindside her, but.
She takes a sullen sip of her tea, draining the cup.]
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[Even if he made it clear there's nothing he wants or expects from her, maybe an arragement like that will help her feel more like they're on an even footing, and not like she owes him anything.
He returns to petting her mane in slow, gentle touches.]
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Hayame's lips purse in thought as if mulling over the proposition, tipping her head slightly to the side and sending her heavy bun of hair shifting likewise. She does him the service of attempting to imagine it, but she does not imagine she will leap to defend him in public... mainly because he can fight his own battles. (Secondarily... because he does not have nearly as many enemies as she does, it seems.) But... if she were to do it, she would naturally inform him first, she thinks, so as not to be a hypocrite, so-]
... I can acknowledge that.
[Her cup is empty, but she does not particularly want to drink more. Instead, she holds the empty cup to give her fingers something to do as the expression on her face drains from stern back to something more abashed. She lapses into silence, but... that silence is kept imperfect by the sound of her tail swishing across his sheets in time with the slow, calming strokes of his fingers through her vestigial mane.]
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After a time, though, he offers to take her cup.]
Ready to hit the hay for the evening? Or... not hit the hay, for once.
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