transgressings | inbox for duplicity;

Very obliging, Miss Ives.

( More often than not here she allows her title to be set aside, here. There seems a degree of folly in clinging to it too eagerly, such that she only really is firm when people who which to speak more formally attempt to use “Miss.” She wishes it were more a desire to be helpful and not so much entangled with her pride, but alas. Hubris is as much a part of her as knighthood, part of the very defining of her. )

Though if our breed is truly so rare, my apologies are yours in their entirety, for so sorry a representation of knighthood in our first meeting; begging aid when mine duties would have me fit to render succour to those with need of it.

( First meeting, indeed. She even manages to say it with a straight face. )

I hope you’ll indulge me with the opportunity to make amends.

When the occasion permits.

[ She turns the jar over within her fingertips, contemplating the use of her more formal title; it is something she will always default to, often well past the point of insistence that she's no longer required to, and yet she has a name here now, a reference she did not possess before, but she won't elect to use it until the right moment presents itself. ]

I wouldn't think of it as begging. [ A small, wry smile slides across her mouth as she steps across the room toward the register, but only after grabbing those similarly scented bath oils to place on the counter along the soothing salve. ] And I'm sure, in any other instance, you wouldn't hesitate to perform your duty to the most of your abilities.

[ Her fingertips rest against the counter, slender digits curved slightly. ] If I ever required your services.

( Herian watches, quiet and intent as she analyses the woman before her, how she moves, finding the overlaps and differences between this one and she who has demanded her attention so immediately. The fascination holds, may even have escalated, and she has to remind herself to hold her focus as propriety would dictate, not bluntly or clumsily glance the cleave she’d so gladly kissed and sucked at, or the thighs that had been clenching hard about her.

No, focus. )

Know me to be at your disposal, should the day come.

( Drawing out the purse for her monies, Herian looks briefly perplexed as she looks at the notes and tried to determine which of these paper monies is which. Softly, )

Lighter than gold and silver, but far more confusing.

And before I have even rendered my assistance to you in full? Rarely have I known anyone to have such faith in my abilities sight unseen.

[ Her voice lowers, although they are the only two people in the shop at this very moment and there is no need to speak as though there are any secrets to be held between them, but her gaze holds steady and she recalls that striking pair locking onto hers from behind the guise of a mask. Unshielded, they are even more difficult to glance away from, and yet she does, drawing a subtle breath as her attention descends to the purse. ]

It is a different currency than I am accustomed to, but — [ She extends one hand across the counter, fingers hovering over one of the smaller bills. ] May I?

[ She will only take what is needed to pay for the salve; the rest, perhaps, will be more of a secret gift. ]

( Perhaps that makes it hard to hide away a smile, making the expense so very specific. Aye, she was a woman of great and generous faith. )

And rarely have I known one to so readily inspire such faith.

( What a random happenstance, right?

Leaning closer, to deliver the purse more easily to Miss Ives, Herian holds it out for her to peruse. She remembers those fingers, that are so tauntingly close, remembers how they had spread her, and left her panting. It might be enough to make her abdomen tense with wanting. )

By all means, though... I suppose in this I truly am at your mercy. Treat me kindly.

( Teasing, such quiet teasing. )

[ There is a scent on the air, delicate in contrast to the strong figure before her, and it comes over her in a wave, calling her back to the memory of the moon's rays cast through dark leaves, dappled light against soft skin, lips parted to allow for harsher, panted breathing — and in another instant, she has averted her gaze to drop between them, quickly selecting no more than what is required for this. ]

I see no reason to deal with you in any other manner.

[ And there, the pleasant smile reemerges, though there might be a different note in the eyes that finally lift to hold the fair knight's carefully, a pause extending the meaning between them before she diverges to finish the transaction. ]

I suppose all that remains now is when you would like me to assist you.

Edited 2019-10-27 19:55 (UTC)

Have you engagements this evening?

( Soft, quiet, as her voice so often is. The quiet rasp to it is not unusual, either, for all that it is more weighted than it might normally be. )

Or, if that is too great an urgency to be set upon you for so generous a service, I can make myself available at your convenience. When is your presence not required in this establishment?

( Eager as she is, not one to deny the wanting coiling tighter within her at the anticipation of seeing this woman again, she is not inclined to make demands. If the lady should reconsider the offer as well, then so be it. )

As a matter of fact.

[ She carefully diverts to place the purchased items into a small bag before sliding it and its new contents across the counter to the other woman. ]

My schedule is clear.

[ Whether that is the truth or not, it may not be evident in her gaze, one that holds and lingers on the other; if she did have a prior engagement, it is one that she is more than willing to shift aside in priority of this.

After a moment of consideration, she reaches for a pen and a small notepad, writing down an address before tearing the paper free and slipping it into the bag. ]

You may find me there in residence this evening, at your leisure, Ser Amsel.

Fortune smiles on me, then.

( Said with such solemnity, even as a smile threatens to catch her lips. Instead she keeps her expression carefully schooled into one of neutral interest as Miss Ives writes the address. Accepting the bag with a grateful smile, Herian bows her head respectfully. )

Until this evening, then.

( As she straightens up, Herian holds eye contact perhaps just a moment too long, before she makes her way from the shop. The fascination remains, it seems, and for all that she now has a name, so much remains a mystery. Who a person was could hardly be represented by a name, a workplace, and she lingers at the door a moment to cast a look back to Miss Ives before leaving.

Hours later, that evening, when the sky is painted in shadows of purple and pink they fade into the horizon and stars swim in that inky expanse, Herian arrives at the address granted her. Her sword is at her side, still, but she wears fresh robes and has set aside her armour and chain mail. She lingers long moments before knocking, and stepping back a respectful distance from the door, upright and correct - perhaps recognisably military. )

[ It is about the time that she would have expected a sound knock at the door, though it isn't her intention to keep her guest waiting — it's merely that this house is really more of a mansion and it takes her a bit longer to clear the space from one side of it to the other, but gone is the carefully laced and buttoned woman from this morning, even if the length of her gown still swirls around her ankles with every step.

Instead, she's donned a different dress, arms and shoulders rendered bare by its cut with the theory that she may need to keep her hands free of any interference from long sleeves, her hair not quite as severely pinned of the back of her neck with a few rebellious strands drifting down already of their own volition. Idly, she smooths her hands over the sheer drape of her skirt and reaches for the door, slippers a quiet sweep against the floor when she steps back to reveal the new arrival standing on the front stoop. ]

Welcome.

[ She offers a smile this time, a note of fondness visible in it, and moves to afford the other woman space to enter. ] Please, come in. May I take anything for you?

( Oh.

Every time she beholds Miss Ives, as she now knows her to be, she seems an entirely different iteration of herself. A mystery woman thriving on instinct, an embodiment of propriety almost stern dignity, and now this more relaxed vision. The loose strands of hair are oddly tantalising, though she does not allow her gaze to linger overlong.

Unfastening a couple of ties, she’s able to slide her shoulder cloak away, holding it out to her host. )

Thank you. ( The sword she does not remove, though she indicates it with her hand. ) Is it agreeable to you that I remove this from my person only when we are in the correct room? I prefer it to be within easy reach, lest some matter take us by surprise.

( work work work )

Of course.

[ It is an impressive weapon, what she can determine of it from this angle, although it seems impolite to request a closer look especially while they're still occupying this space in the foyer; she will take the cloak, however, carefully folding it over one arm before moving to hang it up inside the hall closet for easy retrieval later on, and then steps back to stand in front of the other woman with a small gesture to the house itself. ]

It's rather a bit large for my tastes, but it actually belongs to a dear friend of mine, and when we contracted — well, it's been something of a relief to have so much space available when several of us occupy the residence now.

[ At last count, there are four who dwell here, including herself; she briefly weighs over whether to ascend the staircase leading up before electing to steer them into the drawing room instead. ]

Would you care for something to drink first, before we begin? We have tea, water, coffee. Stronger options. [ As if the tray of various decanters sitting a short distance away wasn't obvious enough on its own. ]

( It is a very strange thing, being here in the home of the woman who had been so long a mystery. A name and an address to go with the memories that were branded on her. Herian had wondered, briefly, if that would make their acquaintance somehow mundane, commonplace. It seemed a so silly a thought, now she is here.

She makes a sound of quiet amusement. )

Sincere apologies--

( Herian shakes her head as they walk, slightly embarrassed. ) Coffee is a far-flung luxury, in my world. It remains... so strange, for it to so commonplace a thing.

( She looks to the decanters, gaze lingering a moment before she looks back to the hostess. )

Have you wine? If that is not too great a presumption.

Edited 2019-10-30 10:43 (UTC)

I've never really preferred it, to be quite honest. It's not the drink of choice in my world. People tend to veer towards a stronger tea, though there are other avenues, of course.

[ She'll wait, not quite poised on the answer of whatever her guest will decide — but letting her attention linger in turn, perhaps an extra beat or two. ]

Do you have a preference for red or white? [ It isn't anything she must use great effort to secure; like many of the other rooms in this house, Dorian's wine cellar is nothing short of impressive and offers plenty of choice. The intent is to provide something that will aid in relaxation, and wine would certainly do the job. ]

I have not yet tried it. ( Faintly conspiratorial, she leans forward, as though a whisper were necessary for privacy, as though this were some great secret. )

Knights are not always so bold as we would wish it believed.

( Terrible, dangerous, fearsome coffee. A dread adversary, an outright danger. Faintly dramatised, Herian sighs. ) I tell myself it is wisdom, but alas.

( Alas, she fears she may be a coward, to withdraw from some possible clash with this terrible entity, coffee. )

Red, please.

Oh, but some of the stories must be rooted in truth.

[ For how many times had she fallen asleep after reading tales of brave knights and bold deeds, before she left her childhood behind and pursued darker narratives? Yet she'd always retained something of a fondness for the poets who wrote of recovered love and happiness achieved, a romantic even in her reading preferences.

She would never dream of encroaching on a warrior's space, especially one who still carries a weapon, but her skirts whisper as she shifts forward, fingers hovering in the air between Herian's sheathed blade and the curve of her hip. ]

You are bold when the occasion calls for it, I think.

[ And she nods in answer to the request, preparing to step over to the cart where she knows at least one bottle is always kept out for either company or the fellow occupants of this house. ]

Some.

( Her tone is ambiguous. By no means will she be clarifying which of the stories, oh no. That would surely not do.

As Miss Ives steps closer, Herian looks towards her. Wonders, briefly, if now is one such moment, only for her hostess to step away once more. A smile tugs very briefly, unseen, at the corner of her mouth. )

I've my moments, certainly. Though oft it seems that it is the outdoors that stir me most to action. To be under the watchful stars, mayhaps, sparks inspiration to great deeds.

The wilderness inspires all sorts of things in us.

[ She murmurs the answer almost like an afterthought, although there comes a moment when her gaze briefly lifts to hold onto the other pair while she reaches for the bottle; she's more than familiar with the adage that one should always let a good red breathe first, but patience has never been her strong suit.

She pours two, stopping at the halfway mark and then sets the bottle back down on the tray, carrying a glass in each hand before holding one out in offering and slowly sinking into a seat on the nearest sofa. ]

Permission, perhaps, to be bold.

( Accepting the wine with a quiet murmur of gratitude, Herian moves to the sofa as well. Her body is still bruised and painful, and sitting is not an act that can be carried out without her muscles making some protest, but she sees it through without betraying the spike of soreness. )

Mayhaps it reminds us of our true state. So much in our lives is... an artifice, constructed to keep us in check. Some aspects for the best. ( Others presumably less so, from her tone. ) We all of us rely on codes to govern us.

( A knight was hardly an exception to that. )

Do you oft rely upon permission, Miss Ives?

Edited 2019-11-01 19:52 (UTC)

[ The slight hesitation before the other woman moves to assume a seat beside her is something that does not escape her notice — and for the first time since Herian arrived, she begins to wonder exactly how much pain has persisted and what could have occurred to leave her in such prolonged discomfort.

The wine will help, to an extent, depending on how much of it she consumes, leaving the body in more of a relaxed state to accept touch, but the state of injury won't become apparent until they're in a more private place to enable removal of more layers. ]

Roles we are meant to play. Or ones that have been assigned to us, whether we agree with them or not.

[ She breathes a small laugh, considering the contents of her glass for a moment, and then lifts the cup to her lips for a measured sip. ]

I suppose in some cases, it may be better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

( Whether we agree with them or not. Aye, that was a matter she knew well. When she and Natasha walked each others dreams - if that could be considered a dream and any less than the truly nightmarish - she had been sharply reminded of choices rended from her. So too had she learned that of the other, a matter that had weighed on her since. They knew so much of each other while, in the same moment, knowing nothing at all. Carefully, as though it were some fragile ornament and not simply a thought, an abstract, Herian wraps the matter up to be set aside, gentle reverence demanding it be given its own time and not considered too lightly or fleetingly in the midst of other matters.

And still there was the matter of this place for consideration. By virtue of nothing at all, Miss Ives was marked by a line down her throat, where Herian was not. Society seemed to hold very different a meaning to many here, but she was raised in such a structure, rank and birth had mattered. She was a knight now, true, though it was the poorest slums that held her origins. Miss Ives was clearly a woman of nobility, and yet it is she who bares the mark to limit her?

For all that she keeps her expression carefully trained and even, the shift in mood is still, perhaps, apparent. )

Are you one inclined to obey, or defy?

( It may be overstepping. It could be flirtation, in their strange way, but there is a focus to how she asks, a watchfulness in considering Miss Ives reaction, her response, how she holds herself. )

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