"I'm sure there are other ways we might amuse ourselves, Dexter, if a picnic is not your ideal entertainment." Baba's arm slid neatly about his body, fingers tightening to hold his shirt. Her petite body snuggled into his side, and it was with only a little unseen magical nudge she caused the two children who had been giggling earlier to go toppling down the hill. They should not leer and sneer as they do; it really was so very impolite.
"Tell me about yourself. What is it you do? What is your calling?" Her brow furrowed at her last question; what was his calling? That was a question better left to the crones and the aids along the way. That was not a question...She supposed it was a question a woman in love might ask. Perhaps. A woman in love, now there was a laugh; she was old enough to have been his ancestor many times over.
One hand held the basket; the other was working his shirt up, not enough to make a scene, but enough to let her touch his skin, nails softly pressed there. He was big and strong, which appealed to her. And he didn't seem more animal than human, like the male she first met in this odd little world, but he had little to offer in the power sense. He did have something within, something that might want to come out to play. Only, she had to find out what exactly it was, other than simply dark. She smiled, her head resting against him.
What is your calling, Dexter? And how might I use it?