galen (elerron) wrote in thedas, @ 2010-05-25 04:09:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! narrative, & before 9:45, @ galen elerron |
Who: Galen Elerron
Where: Highever & the Brecilian Forest
When: Summer, 9:40 & 9:44
Summary: Galen meets a girl he doesn't want at his brother's wedding, and meets a girl he does want after she nearly kills him.
Rating: T.
Soft-soled shoes kick at pebbles in the well-trodden dirt path until they come to a halt before him; he's been found out. A girl's voice, cheerful and bright, far too perky for his throbbing headache to cope with. "Oh, there you are... I thought I lost you in the crowd. You said you went to get a--" He likes her better when she's quiet, so he decides to keep her mouth preoccupied with his own. She's caught by surprise when he opens his eyes, blinks at her twice, says nothing, and impulsively leans forward. His lips land on hers, plush and cherry red, and she doesn't resist in the slightest. After all, this was likely the entire reason she'd followed him across the after wedding festivities all evening, chattering on endlessly about how beautiful the bride (her cousin, his new sister-in-law) looked and how delighted she was to be asked to attend. How her parents were thinking of coming here from Denerim, and it would be nice to have family to spend time with, and wouldn't you know, they were family now. Sort of. But not at all close enough for this rendezvous in one of the darker alleys of the alienage to be wrong. Her mouth still tastes sweet from the honey-soaked cake, and though her movements are clumsy, hands fumbling and pawing over his body, he still finds this encounter pleasurable. It's not as if he entirely knows what he's doing either, but what little experience he has is still greater than hers, and it's enough to fool her into thinking that his performance here is excellent. He's admittedly more than a little tipsy at this point, never a shortage of wine when there's a wedding to be had; even so, she responds to his tongue with a quiet moan and he thinks he's doing well for himself, sloppy and sluggish as his motions are. He slips a hand under her blouse and runs his fingers over the curvature of her spine, and she leans into him, deepening the kiss. It only occurs to him then that he doesn't exactly know where this is going, in a very literal sense. She's staying with cousins and he lives with his family. There are no free beds to continue what they're doing comfortably, and he isn't so uncouth that this dank niche is an acceptable place for intimate acts. But it's more than setting that's a problem here. Galen pulls away from her so that he can think and breathe, though she continues to curl her fingers in the folds of his shirt and keeps her mouth busy on his jaw and down his neck, and the writhing movement of her hips against his legs is more than a little distracting. The world beyond the loose curls of her jasmine-scented hair is a blur to his alcohol soaked vision, and dully he realizes that he won't go any further with the girl than this. Not tonight, not even later. What she wants from him is more than what he can provide, and fun as it is to fool around in back alleys and kiss in the shadow of the scaffolds after his brother's wedding, he doesn't want to give her the wrong idea. Warmth of her body and taste of her tongue aside, he doesn't really like her all that much. Her laugh is obnoxious, the explosive kind that is far too amused at a joke that isn't even funny, either because her sense of humor is off or she's desperate to appears as if she gets it. He doesn't like desperation, and it's a quality that he's discovered most of these broken children of the city slums possess. What she is desperate for is someone to love her, and he can't imagine loving a woman he can't even like. What's worse is that he can't remember her name at this point, the absence of identity taking along any passion he had for her a minute ago. For as many reasons as he finds her unattractive, he still knows that she deserves better than what he could offer. Guilt piles on top of frustration, the burden of emotion somehow overcoming the hotblooded desire for physicality. He's not good at apologies, perhaps because he tries so hard not to put himself in situations that he'll later regret, but he manages to utter one now. "I'm sorry," he whispers in her ear, which he notes is just barely pointed at the tip, and perhaps it's true what they say about elves who live with shemlen for too long. Slowly, Galen extricates himself from the tangle of her arms, places a gentle kiss on her temple, and leaves her just as puzzled as she was when he had begun. Two sets of feet hit the earth in front of him with a dull thump, one pair lighter than the other. The male speaks first, though he sounds more of a youth just passing into adulthood than a man, "Look...his ears. Renna, you shouldn't have--" Then a woman's voice, light and humorous. "No, he's still breathing. You worry too much, Keth. I told you I wouldn't hit him. Just scared him is all, I think." She laughs, and it sounds like the tinkling of bells or a wind chime, soft and musical. The chuckle that rises from her throat and sinks into the hollows of his ears is the sweetest sound he's ever heard, so ethereal that for a second, he thinks that maybe the arrow flying his way didn't miss its mark by sinking into the trunk beside his head. Galen's heart continues to race even as he leans back and drapes his starved form against the thick base of the ancient oak, eyes still shut tightly from anticipating imminent death, though it pounds in his chest for an entirely different reason once he lifts his lids. "Andaran atish’an, lethallin," says the woman leaning over him, hands on her knees as she bends to examine him more closely, coral lips parted as she grins broadly at him. He blinks twice in disbelief. Words had once been his greatest allies, at least when spoken, but they fail him now as he looks up into her eyes. Not only is her voice beautiful, but her face is delicately featured, a slim nose and high cheekbones decorated with an intricate weave of dark ink against sun-warmed skin, long ears coming to an acute point. Saccharine as the notion is, he thinks he has never seen a woman more beautiful than this one, and while he still hesitates to believe in something as ridiculous as love at first sight, he knows he's at least intensely attracted to her. Already he's forgotten that the only reason she's standing in front of him now is because she had nearly killed him barely a minute ago. "We're sorry," interjects the other elf, his timid speech anchoring Galen back down to reality. "We didn't know... We thought you might be a sh--" "Deer," says the woman sharply, glancing back at the boy, but the agitation in her brow is only momentary. She offers a hand forward to her former prey, continuing to explain, "We're hunting. Or trying to, at least, but my brother here has a lot to learn." He stands hesitantly behind the older girl, thin hands nervously wringing the upper tip of the longbow stood in the ground, and the resemblance between the two is striking. "I'm Renna. He's Keth." Upon his introduction, the youth lets go of his weapon to wave, the gesture accompanied by an apologetically nervous smile. Galen repeats her name in his head. He likes the way it sounds. He wants it to stick in his memory, though he's certain that an encounter like this would make it difficult for him to forget. Another silent moment passes before Galen realizes that he's been examining the lines in Renna's pink palms and the callouses on her thin fingertips without saying a word or making any indication that he isn't deaf or dumb. He feels stupid for staring at her so blankly, hopes he doesn't come off as a total imbecile, and raises a hand to take the one proffered. Her skin is so soft, but her grip surprisingly firm as she helps ease him to his feet. "I'm Galen," he says, though his throat is so parched that the syllables of his name break and he isn't sure if she's heard him properly. It ceases to matter to him when he tries to take a step and falters, ankle twisted when his foot had caught between the gnarled roots while the rest of his body continued forward. He grimaces, and that easy smile of hers drops quickly. His face lands in her short hair when she leans to catch him on her shoulders, and he inhales deeply to keep back a groan of pain. In that same breath, he catches her scent -- sweat, leather and earth, not the floral oils and odors that he's used to smelling on women in the alienage. He decides he likes this better. Her mouth is close to his ear and she whispers so that Keth can't hear it, "I am sorry, Galen." He doesn't know her, and yet he understands already that apologies from Renna are hard to come by. He feels oddly lucky to be in that tiny margin of the population. The thought doesn't make all the pain go away, but it does bring an awkward smile to his pallid face as he straightens his back, not wanting to be too much of a burden on her smaller frame. She's stronger than she looks, but the remaining scraps of his masculine dignity won't allow him to admit it. "Can you walk? Our camp isn't too far off." Slowly, Galen nods, allows his arm to drape over her shoulder, and lets her lead them across the forest floor. |