open | if language were liquid

[coquettish_trees]

WHO: The Irrepressible Lady Lexie and You
WHAT: Catch-all for January
WHEN: Mostly current, may be some time travel in prompts
WHERE: Kirkwall/Gallows
NOTES: Come at me

[ This is the open, specific prompts will be in comments! Feel free to make your own. ]

Office Hours

Rather than share her time between the Jeshavis office and the library Alexandrie has had an additional bookcase (exactly matching the first, of course) brought in, and has a number of tomes on what is essentially permanent loan to join those from her personal library. An array of dictionaries, linguistic texts, and books on histories and noble families in the languages of their countries—books in Antivan, Nevarran, Rivaini, Tevene, Ander, and one on the Memories and their runic inscriptions sit alongside those from Orlais and Ferelden—have joined the publicly available project reports; she has moved her translation work in its entirety to her office. Perhaps it's for privacy, perhaps for easier availability to anyone who might be seeking her out.

The desk itself is covered in three books, half stacked atop each other, and a small sheaf of papers. At the moment, however, she's taking lunch at a small table brought in for the purpose of holding the silver tray and its contents. Despite the development of 'team spirit' that inspired her to seek the position in the first place, apparently she hasn't got enough of it to enjoy the common fare available a few floors below.

The lady is in.

Comments

[coquettish_trees]

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it; Alexandrie is delighted, ever and always, by the smooth easy nonchalance of Loki’s legerdemain. In a moment, before they begin, she’ll reach to catch one of his hands and brush her lips affectionately across its fingertips—but first she waves her own hand illustratively back towards where she’d been stretching and the telltale wink of sunlight off the twinned hilts of her own set on the floor there.

He is, of course, still armed—as is she—but they’ll pretend for a little bit that it’s otherwise for the sake of the lesson.

“Oui, bien sûr,” she agrees, before making further inquiry in the sort of entirely innocuous tone that implies mischief as she takes her place across from him, “but what if I have been caught unawares by a visiting Magister whilst swimming in a moonlit pool I thought was private?”

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki looks confused but only very briefly. His eyes dart, briefly, back to that book, and his expression takes on just the edge of an unguarded reaction. It is somewhere between pained embarrassment and morbid curiosity. The latter is common on his face, the former, far less so. He turns his attention back to her and shrugs just so.

"I would first suggest escaping the water," Loki says in a matter-of-fact way that is not at all flirtatious, a knee-jerk reaction to that book and the scene she has proposed that he is honestly certain is in it. "But, once you were free of it...it might behoove you being...so disarmed."

And yet, he cannot avoid flirting. Not entirely.

[coquettish_trees]

If you love something hard enough, for long enough, you begin to know it in the smallest ways. Farmers who roll a pinch of soil between their fingers and know if it comes from the north field or the south. Sommeliers who hold wine in their mouth and then tell you what the weather was like just before the grapes were harvested that year. Sailors who squint at the horizon and begin to prepare for a storm that won’t come for another two days.

Alexandrie was already good at watching the slope of a shoulder, the shift of balance, the reading of faces that didn’t want to be read before she had loved Loki with reckless abandon. Now, the split second flickers of feeling in her husband that would be invisible to anyone else unfold for her like the sky.

And so she collects that moment of embarrassment for later and bounces lightly on her toes, her eyes flitting across him looking for the tells that might tell her of more combative movement before returning them to his face and smiling coyly, “Might it?” she inquires innocently, “I am still learning about such things—do teach me how.”