Beau (rivalen) wrote in emillion, |
“Using me as cannon fodder, I see.” Rivalen laughed, but understood her logic; out of the two of them, he was the one with the proper armour. Which had clanged unceremoniously when he went headfirst into the hole. “Well, no, then help me out here. If you intend to use me as a meat shield in future, I’ll last longer if I don’t have cuts and scrapes.”
Not necessarily true, but why suffer from them if Ari could heal them? Rivalen let out a snort her comment, “Ari, I don’t think bullying paints you in a favourable light, but by all means — show me your healing skills.”
“It does in this crew,” she disagreed. The image of a pushy woman (especially when she also possessed that rarest of gifts -- common sense) was far preferable to her than the one of a helpless damsel (even if, when the monsters came, she fully intended to remain behind a ‘meat shield’ if she could help it).
That, and healers often had to bully their charges if they ever wanted to get anything done…
“Now there’s a sensible response,” she said approvingly, pulling her mandolin around and beginning to tighten her strings to check the tuning. She’d thought yet again of bringing the lute but in the end laziness had won out; the mandolin was half its weight. “Sit back and enjoy, then.”
She didn’t have to sing or play loudly when they sat close like this. On the third wordless verse of Life Song, she could all but see his muscles relaxing as any visible bruises faded into nonexistence. She let the final chord ring out, then fade. “Better?”
There were many types of women, pushy and damsels and sneaky and clever and witty - but to Rivalen there was no such distinction. You were either useful or not. Right now, Ari was useful so he paid her due attention, following her teasing with good humour and smiling widely. As long as she remained of use in his perception, he would happily be a meat shield when the time called for it.
The music worked immediately and Rivalen let out a content sigh feeling his body relax instinctively. Shutting his eyes he waited until the song came to an end and then flexed, a cocky grin. “Much better. Thanks, Ari.” He leaned over with the intention of ruffling her hair affectionately.
She allowed it, though she gave him a bemused look. “Am I good puppy, or perhaps a particularly tractable child?” she asked, more amused than offended. She sat back, beginning to put her mandolin away. “I am always available to offer pithy commentary along with healing to good-looking gentlemen who don’t watch where they’re going.” The commentary would forever be the price of the healing, but people rarely complained.