Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-12-25 15:30:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: faram's mass, arielle chiaro, aspel cassul |
I'll let you win, But you must, Make the endeavour...
Who: Aspel & Ari
What: Gifts~
Where: Aspel’s apartment.
When: Later evening!
Rating: PG?
Status: COMPLETE!
With the gift Aspel had in mind for the other woman, it seemed terribly out of place to address the giving of it at dinner just some hours before. Admittedly, the gift had taken some hunting for, some careful thought and consideration before the right one would be picked. Perhaps, it would be a failure of a gift, maybe the smith didn’t know enough about crafting to appropriately look for what really mattered, but at the same time, at the end of the day, this wasn’t meant to be a gift for a lifetime either. However, that was neither here nor there in this time. With her arm looped through the other woman’s, they had headed out of The Duckling and back towards Aspel’s apartment after dinner. The warm tenderness which had crossed the smith’s face earlier in the evening each time she’d glanced towards the bard had seemed to stick, not removing, but waning and reemerging in intensity over the course of the night. There was a certain easy comfort that had settled into her bones. After spending a night with friends, family, and loved ones, how could anyone be in anything other than a good mood? Pulling the other woman in a bit closer, a kiss was pressed briefly against the side of her head. “Did you enjoy yourself this eve?” "I did, indeed." It shouldn't have been as surprising as it was, perhaps; she had ended up having a marvelous time, considering she was familiar with most of the attendees. The food had been good (nothing less from Vivi, of course), and the conversation and wine had flowed easily. "I hope you did as well?" She rested her head against Aspel's shoulder as they walked, content to steal a bit of the other woman's warmth. It was a chilly evening. And, she had to hope, the quick network message she'd dashed off upon receiving the invitation to follow Aspel home, had been received and her instructions followed up on. Which appeared to indeed be the case as they approached the smithy and she beheld a rather large box on the doorstep. "Ah," she said, pleased, "it seems to have beaten us here." There were many benefits to living above a tavern that delivered and being on good terms with one's landlord. “But of course.” The response was easy, pleased in its own regard, and the smile that followed it gentle. Then the feeling of the bard’s head against her shoulder provoked a definite tenderness, and consideration was given to stopping right there and engaging the other woman in a long, passion filled kiss, but… The night was cold, the time was late, and they did still have gifts to exchange. Though, the vision of a large box at the doorstep caused the smith to blink, a clear bit of confusion washing over her face as keys were retrieved from a pocket. “And it is?” An eyebrow quirked as Aspel stepped forward, unlocking, and then opening the door in such a manner that Ari could move into The Armory, and get out of the cold while the smith pulled in the box. The box, Ari feared, would prove rather heavy. She had been tossing things into it for the last few weeks without regard for weight; when she had tried to move it herself earlier in the day, she had abandoned it as a lost cause. Considering Aspel could easily lift her, though, she didn’t anticipate it would be too much of a problem, in the end. “Oh,” she said, evasively, “this and that. I didn’t realize just how heavy it had gotten -- my apologies.” She preceded the other woman into the smithy, amused despite herself by the look of bewilderment the delivery had caused. “Do you need help getting it upstairs?” she asked. Not that she was particularly useful in this regard, but she felt she ought to at least offer. “Don’t worry,” she added, “nothing in there bites. I made quite certain of it, believe me.” An eyebrow quirked upwards with the rather… Vague response. What a…. “Curious.” The word was absent, really spoken more for her own sake than any conversation with Ari at that point as she moved the box inside, closed the door, and then moved to remove her jacket, tossing it onto the counter as a notifier for Mag. Not that the other woman wouldn’t be well aware of the situation considering how herself and the bard had left dinner together but… Just to be sure. “Ah, nothing to concern yourself over.” Circling back to the box Aspel shot Ari a brief smile before hefting the box up. “It should pose no problem at all.” A nod was given to the next door however, and a shift in her stance would jut one hip out to the side. “Assuming you would not mind retrieving the keys from my pocket, and getting the locks as we go.” “Of course,” Ari said. They were comfortable enough with each other now that reaching into Aspel’s pocket certainly posed no difficulty; she thus preceded the other woman up the stairs, unlocking the doors as they went. “Would you like to make tea before you open --” The words were cut off, however, as they entered the apartment proper and she beheld the item standing on the coffee table (the question of why one would put such an item on a coffee table when the stand was meant for the floor occurred, but was quickly overwhelmed by her general surprise). “Why,” she said, “is there a cello on your coffee table?” She could guess why, of course. As she approached the table to examine the instrument, she recalled a conversation they had had months ago, during the course of which she had mentioned her preference for the sound of the cello -- and her lack of skill with it. The scheitholt had been unexpected, but Aspel had called it a selfish gift. This gift certainly had no such pretense -- and she was quite certain it was a gift. The instrument looked new -- probably not a fortune spent in acquiring it, at least -- and even with her very limited ability, she itched to give it a try. Which Aspel certainly would have known. “My box,” she said, turning back to the other woman at last, “suddenly seems woefully insufficient.” Considering the size and weight of the box, it was a blessing to have someone go ahead of her. Certainly, if Ari had had this box delivered while Aspel had been home alone, there either would have been a lot of going back and forth with the unlocking and locking of doors, or perhaps she simply would have called upon Mag. With the promise of apple turnovers, the other woman undoubtedly would have carried the box for her, and far be it for the smith to not stoop to bribery if the mood struck. Upon finally entering the apartment, the last door was kicked absently closed behind her and Aspel’s face rose, ready to answer the question, but waiting for it to finish as the bard’s voice suddenly dropped out. “Ah,” A slight nod of her head was given to the instrument with a red bow around the neck. “Merry Faram’s Mass.” With that the smith simply leaned over slightly, adjusting her stance to shift the box out of the way so that she could attempt to steal a kiss from the other woman, completely nonchalantly before moving to place the box down on the seat next to the couch, at one end of the coffee table. Dusting hands against her pant legs, they then rose to begin undoing jacket and other wintery clothing so that it could be discarded on across the back of the chair which now housed that ridiculous box. “I would think not a thing,” was the brief response to Ari claiming her box was lacking before a glance was cast towards the kitchen now that the smith had properly discarded all other duties at this time. “Did you want coffee this eve?” And Aspel continued on, as if nothing had happened at all. Ari shook her head and returned the kiss, though she was clearly just a little dazed. “Happy Faram’s Mass indeed; you know you will have to help me get it down from there.” The nonchalance was almost impressive; here she was practically gaping, and Aspel was cheerfully acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The thought came, then went, that there weren’t many bigger instruments out there that Aspel could surprise her with, which was probably fortunate, else she would need a bigger flat. “I keep threatening that you’ll spoil me, and you keep not listening. I don’t know how you’ll manage to top this,” she warned. As for the contents of the box, well, considering their conversation earlier this evening… maybe they’d live up to the cello, with some help. She was smiling as she thought of it. “Coffee sounds lovely. And then, you’ve a cello to fetch down for me and a number of boxes to open.” “I believe I shall.” The response was passive, though a hint of amusement started to creep in around the edges of each word as fingers smoothed over the tunic she’d worn to dinner that eve. Another consideration was given towards the kitchen, but a little piece of the smith didn’t want to move, at least… Not quite yet. “Mm.” Was the initial noise of confirmation. “I suspect I will be required to get a bit more creative with the next, no?” And there it was finally, a smile emerged, something nearly wicked sparkling across her eyes. “But of course.” Was the instant response at Ari’s the acceptance of coffee and the smith gave a nod. A hand would linger at Ari’s hip for a brief moment as Aspel stepped by and went off into the kitchen to begin making the coffee and tea. “That is equal parts threatening and promising,” Ari told her. “As long as your creativity doesn’t involve attempting to cram a grand piano into my flat, I will tentatively look forward to it, I suppose.” Aspel had not failed with a gift yet, however; Ari somehow doubted size hadn’t been a consideration. And there was a place for the cello stand, she thought, in the corner next to the instrument rack; the more she considered the more she was certain it would fit perfectly. (And knowing Aspel, she wouldn’t put it past her to have measured the space.) By the time Aspel returned, Ari had managed to figure out a way to pull down the cello and its stand safely by standing on the arm of the couch; it was heavy, of course, but if she intended to play it, obviously she ought to be able to do at least this much. She wondered if there was a case hidden away somewhere or if she might have to pop out tomorrow to buy one; in this weather, she didn’t think carrying her new instrument all the way to the Theatre District would do it any favors. “I will save you the discomfort of listening to me try to remember what I know right now,” she told Aspel as she other woman reentered the room. The cello now sat on the floor next to the couch. “Rest assured, however, the next time you come over, I will attempt to have something presentable for you.” It seemed only fair, if the other woman was adding to her instrument collection, that Ari at least play them for her. “Is it?” A faint smile remained, amusement easily clear through eyes and posturing.”I suspect I will need to be a bit more creative than that, yes.” With the confirmation it seemed that bit of the conversation was over. There needed to be water set on to boil, and coffee beans to soak. However, thankfully, that would not take long, and a bit of noise in the living room would not be missed, brows furrowing thoughtfully, and with a bit of concern. What in the world could the bard possibly be up to? The kettle blew, the timer for the coffee ticked off, and Aspel’s attention was stolen to put together the tray for which everything would sit once again. That was until she moved to re-enter the living room with everything in hand. And there was the cello off of the table, and the other woman off to its side. “Is that so?” Amusement was now easily apparent, something a bit smug setting into Aspel’s features as the tray was set down on the - now cleared - coffee table and the smith gestured towards the couch for them both to sit. “Then I shall look forward to your endeavors with it.” A faint nod of her head was given to the instrument while Aspel moved to add honey to her tea. “I hope you will,” Ari said easily. “My progress will not be as swift as with the scheitholt, I must warn.” The bow would ensure additional difficulty for her, though she had no doubt that she’d manage eventually. She could play the violin more or less passably now, if one wasn’t too discerning -- why not the cello, eventually? She took a moment to doctor her coffee before settling into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up and hands wrapped around the comforting heat of the cup. “What I am looking forward to is you opening that box,” she said. “Although, now that I’ve said that, I can only blame myself if you decide not to, just to tease me.” She wouldn’t put that past Aspel, either. “Which would be unfortunate,” she added, “but completely understandable, and really, I will have brought it upon myself, alas.” Aspel couldn’t help the easy smirk that slipped over her lips as she finished sweetening her tea, and tapped the spoon against the rim before laying it onto the plate which the cup resided. A thought flickered by about asking about which package Ari would wish for her to open, another of a tease regarding how she couldn’t possibly manage to move that large box one step further, or even making the bard wait until she was done with at least her first cup of tea. Though, that would be terribly unfair in its own right, wouldn’t it? “I suspect I could do such a thing.” A glance was given over to the box and her jacket which had been draped over the back of the chair. Though, sitting did feel particularly nice at the same time. Eyes dropped away from the box and down to her cup of tea, considering it for a moment before a small sip was taken, and shoulders dropped in a somewhat defeated manner to place the cup back on the table before the smith stood. Stepping over to the package, a hand fell to the back, pulling it forward and sliding it onto the floor between the chair and the coffee table. With that, Aspel slid into the chair behind it, and began to undo the sealing on the box. “Should I concern myself with anything in particular within the confines of this box aside from potential for rabid flesh eating creatures that you have previously dismissed?” “Only that I got a little carried away, perhaps,” Ari said with a self-conscious shrug. “I keep meaning to stop, and it never works.” And this year, she had seen ltierally dozens of things that had reminded her of Aspel. SHe’d refrained from buying over half of them -- really, in her world, this was restraint. “But -- no, nothing life-threatening, I assure you. And nothing so impressive as a cello, I’m afraid, though I don’t think I utterly failed, either.” At least, not with everything. “Though I do suspect you will have to be the one to tell me, in the end.” The large box, when opened, would reveal a carefully folded leather jacket, better suited for spring or autumn than winter, under which about a dozen smaller packages -- all wrapped in colorful paper -- were stored away in somewhat haphazard order. Aside from the jacket, the other packages were small -- from books (among them, a leather-bound compilation of Ordalian tales), to a memstone of a particular play Aspel had mentioned being fond of, to several varieties of tea and a proper coffeepot (a selfish gift, Ari would claim), to a pair of shoes (she had tried to resist it, but they hadn’t had them in her size, and someone had to benefit), to a painted silk scarf, to, finally, a collection of several jars of gourmet honey from various Valendian regions. Of course, all of these items would have to be divested of paper and ribbons individually. It wasn’t Faram’s Mass without a pile of paper on the floor, as far as Ari was concerned. “A little?” There was the faintest hint of a tease in her voice as her glance shifted between the bard and the box. “I may loathe seeing what would happen if you are ever carried significantly away.” Yet regardless of herself, and the commentary, Aspel wordlessly progress through the box, the jacket upon the top earning a curious look for a moment as it was pulled out, unfolded and considered. A thought flickered through her head for a moment, wondering why Ari had bought this at all. Aspel had enough jackets for the autumn, and winter’s chill, and generally… The confusion written across her face would be obvious, but no particular words would be earned initially. And slowly, each item of the box was worked through, the books earned a smile - a certain fondness obvious in her features when falling upon the children’s literature - while the memstone caused that same smile to widen. The tea earned an investigative curiosity prompting the smith to go through, smelling each, and checking the respective brew instructions before being placed off to the side. The coffee pot earned a knowing, amused smirk, before being set to the side, and the shoes earned a laugh. How many times had they talked of footwear at this point? Each item seemed to earn enjoyment, amusement, or curiosity respectively, at least until the honey was unwrapped, and Aspel’s mouth opened as if to speak before simply closing, a sly smirk rising on her lips before it was gingerly settled upon the table. A hand remained on the package and eyes turned with amusement, and a challenge of sorts upon Ari. “Would this, perhaps, have something to do with your promise of before?” Ari returned the smirk with one of her own as she said, “It could be just for baking and teatime, you know. I am ever so flexible on the details. But, should you desire an alternative use for it, I feel confident that we may be able to dream one up.” And that would make for an enjoyable -- if rather sticky -- end to the evening. “The jacket, incidentally, isn’t wrapped as it is meant as a sort of apology,” she said -- the confusion upon Aspel’s face had not gone unnoticed. “I stole yours last spring.” And though it still hung in her closet and she still couldn’t wear it, with its too-long sleeves, she had found herself reluctant to give it back (the initial thought had been to wrap it up and present it among the gifts, but in the end she had found herself visiting a local leatherworker and buying a new one instead). “It could.” Aspel - to some degree - parrotted back at the bard, even if her intention to the repetition of the words was clear with the glint in her eyes. Though, if they did engage in something like that, surely a shower would be needed before bed… Not that the smith had ever been opposed to at least a couple rounds in their previous endeavors of the sort. A cant of her head was taken with the explanation of the jacket. It did seem a terribly odd thing to give. Not improper for the time of year, and it was a rather nice looking one. “Ah.” The additional information regarding the gift earned a slight nod, and it seemed like the smith had something to say, but how to phrase the question was a bit rough. After a few seconds a slight huff of air was released before the hesitant question was posed. “Is the previous one lost?” She had quite liked that jacket. Ari considered laughing it off, saying that she had kept it as a sort of trophy, but somehow that almost felt... too personal. So instead she shrugged and said, "Unfortunately. You've seen how my flat can get at times; it's a wonder I ever find anything. Perhaps it will turn up one of these days, but I didn't feel right just pretending I'd forgotten about it -- thus, the new one. If the style doesn't suit," though it was extremely similar to the one she had taken, "I am certain it can be exchanged." And that, as far as she was concerned, would be that on the subject of the jacket. "So," she said. "About that honey..." |