Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, |
Ari never had liked camping. She had had a few disastrous experiences with it, and cold and wet (and hard dirt to sleep on) weren’t exactly enjoyable under any circumstances. Add to that the fresh blanket of snow spread over these mountain woods and this evening was bound to be miserable. And that was before one considered a fight to the death was quite possibly awaiting the next day. In typical Ari fashion, she didn’t think about the latter. Having spent a few minutes with Ash, assisting her with the lyre she still couldn’t really play, she had wandered off, restless. Campfires dotted the clearing; spotting a familiar face -- and one of the few cheerful visages among this grim bunch -- she went to join him. She chose a rock to sit on not far from where Rhys was sharpening his knives and said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I was surprised when I saw you’d volunteered, but then I thought about it.” She smiled faintly. “Hoping for gold and rubies?” Rhys was so intent on the sound of stone against steel that he hadn't heard the woman's approach. There was something comforting about the sound of a blade against the whetstone. He did it rhythmically as well, lulling himself into a calm. He had seen the movement beside him, but hadn't registered who it was. That was when the oh-so-familiar voice piped up beside him. He took a moment to check the point of the knife, before flipping it. “Don’t say that too loud,” he said slipping it into it's place on the belt along his chest. “Someone might hear that I am not here out of the goodness of my heart.” One hand came over his heart. The other reached out and took her own, before bringing it to his lips. It was a slow deliberate gesture of affection, the kiss he brushed against her knuckles. “Are you restless, Nightingale?” “It’ll be our little secret,” she promised, her smile warming as he kissed her knuckles. He did have a certain way about him -- certainly his presence was good for the ego. “Don’t worry, we all have our reasons.” Hers, she was determined to believe, were hardly altruistic. She was simply doing the only thing she could in the circumstances she’d been presented. “Noticed that, did you?” she asked. “I could do with a distraction, darling -- the thought of sleeping out here in the cold and wet is far more horrifying than any guardian beast could possibly be.” “A thousand thank yous, fair maiden of song,” he said with a smile, and covered the hand he held with other as if to keep it warm. It was a little nippy outside after all. “I would say I was surprised you were here, but how could you resist such a dangerous venture?” He was curious, but felt he knew better than to ask why she was really present. He would have come even if she hadn’t. It was the comment about sleeping on the ground that reinforced his idea that it wasn’t really her thing. “And you know, you could always sleep on me,” he offered without skipping a beat. She laughed and said, “I’ll consider it, darling, for old times’ sake.” They both knew it was unlikely, but no sense in turning down some easy, lighthearted flirting. And if the night got cold enough, perhaps she might even change her mind. Then the smile faded from her face and she said, softly and much more seriously, “I know too many people who are ill. I suppose I couldn’t sit idly and watch them die anymore, so,” she pulled back her hand, stretched both arms above her head as though she hadn’t a care in the world, “here I am. Laughing in the face of danger. I’m sure the lawful majority can’t help but wonder what us ‘bards’ are doing here, but I suppose befuddling them is nearly worth the price of admission.” |