closed.

[tender]

WHO: derrica + lukas
WHAT: Scything
WHEN: Solace
WHERE: Hinterlands
NOTES: Just a couple mages larping as farmers

The actual request to Riftwatch had sounded far more fraught. Or maybe, because Riftwatch has very few farmers in it, they'd mistaken "clearing some fields" as something that needed a pair of agents. In fairness, clearing the fields could have meant a number of things. But what it ends up being is a pair of scythes and a stretch of land. The elderly farmer and her wife are very sweet but also happy to leave the entire job to the two strapping Riftwatch agents and retire to the cool of their farmhouse.

After an hour or so, Derrica's perched on the fence, scythe resting against her thigh as she winds one soft plait up to pin at the top of her head. They've made a fair amount of progress, but not quite enough. And Derrica hadn't asked, but she is curious: will they have to come back to take in the harvest?

"You have straw in your hair," she says after a moment, when Lukas straightens up. His shoulders are turning pink. "It's very fetching."

Comments

[tender]

Is Derrica keeping watch? Maybe.

But she takes the opportunity to hitch her legs around his waist, urging him in closer. They've been left to their own devices for at least half an hour. Maybe their supervisors are occupied, or napping, or—

"I'll fight you," Derrica promises, very self-assured for someone half Lukas' height. "I promise I'll be very gentle."

There's a spark of curiosity behind the certainty of her victory. What kind of mage is he? It seems there are a fair amount that are useless in a brawl if they can't set something on fire. Is Lukas that way?

[tensive]

"How very kind of you."

He's never been particularly stoic or stern in her company (off Riftwatch property, at least), but the fond amusement's a more genuine slip than usual. There's no answering spark of curiosity. If there was, he'd have to wonder how she is with magic — strengths, weaknesses, how to pick them apart.

That's not quite right. The spark's there, he's just quick to throw his focus in a different direction.

"I'll need instruction," he says, in that specifically nonchalant tone that implies double meaning. His hand shifts again as she pulls him closer, a careful slide across her belt that settles at the small of her back. The other's abandoned the fence in favor of hooking casually under her thigh, keeping her steady.

"I'm very out of practice."

[tender]

Her heel digs into his thigh, encouraging him closer. Lukas' softer out here, pink from the sun, tone honeyed with amusement. The sweet tease of his tone with the press of his hands is uncomplicated, just good.

"I wouldn't say you're out of practice," Derrica answers, mock thoughtful as she stretches her arms over his shoulders, fingers ghosting at the nape of his neck. "But I can think of a few instructions I'd like you to follow."

None of which are on the agenda for the day, but—

She tugs lightly on a lock of his hair, head tipping to smile into his face. There are questions she thinks of asking, about his scar, about his life. But instead, she digs her fingers into the muscle of his shoulder, ignores her own scythe sliding to fall onto the ground beside the fence.

"It might take some time to teach you everything I know."

"uncomplicated"

[tensive]

The scythe hits the dirt with a dull thump; if he hadn't caught it sliding from the corner of his eye, he'd be inclined to check the house for open windows or doors.

"I happen to be a great student."

They're close enough to kiss. They have been for a while, and it's tempting to lean in at the insistence of her fingers digging into his shoulder. There's a smudge of dirt high on her cheekbone, and she smells like sweat and broken straw; they both do, oddly sweet. But they're playing a game, here: she can think of a few instructions she'd like him to follow, he can think of a few she'd like him to give.

*someone* complicated it with war crimes

[tender]

The assertion makes Derrica laugh, head tipping back as her thighs flex at his hips, keeping her balance.

"I think you have a lot of potential," she tells him, tone full of implication. Does she need to be explicit about all the things he's been good at so far? Even the first time hadn't been as clumsy as it could have been, considering the alcohol involved.

"Maybe start by putting your mouth here," she directs, releasing his shoulder to tap her collarbone. "And see where we go from there."

She's thinking about where she wants his hands, about whether a literal roll in the hay is as good as songs make it out to be. Is it worth pulling straw out of her hair for hours after this? Maybe.