WHO: Alexandrie, Athessa, Bastien, Barrow, Derrica, Nell, and Poesia WHAT: A Very Riftwatch Summer Vacation WHEN: Late Solace WHERE: Churneau, Occupied Orlais NOTES: Violence cw etc. Bunch of details here.
Poesia has chosen the right target for coddling. Derrica obligingly settles her less-injured hand into Poesia's hair, scritching her nails lightly along her scalp as she strokes her hair.
"How are you feeling?"
It's hard to anticipate how Poesia will respond. Derrica doubts she'll receive an answer that veers anywhere near normal responses. But she wants to try and gauge how Poesia is feeling, whether or not she's in pain and willing to admit it.
"Oh, horrible," Poesia says, leaning into the touch at her hair, "This trip was much less fun than the one to that jungle and a cart is most uncomfortable."
It's drama mostly. Pitiful whining to encourage more of that lovely petting.
Derrica's fingers twist gently in her hair, comb all the way through and then repeat the process. She thinks idly about braids, whether or not Poesia would prefer to have her hair safely out of reach in a fight. It didn't really seem to be a concern though; most seemed to die the moment they got close enough to make a grab for even Poesia's cloak, nevermind her hair.
"Next time Bastien will have to steal us a better one."
Next time. Ha.
"I wanted to thank you. For giving me what I asked for."
It hadn't been necessary, might have even been a risk when all things were considered.
"I will insist upon it," Poesia says. She's inching her way further onto Derrica's lap, glorying in the attention. She does turn her head up to cast a puzzled look at her though.
"Well of course. You did tell me to." 'Tell' is quite a bit different than 'ask.' The difference between a request and guidance. "It was my pleasure."
Derrica cups her face in her hands briefly, before sweeping Poesia's hair to one side and beginning a small braid. Poesia's answer sparks some mild discomfort. She should have been more careful with her words. It had all turned out well in the moment, but how far would Poesia have gone to get her those hands?
"You could have told me no," Derrica says after a moment, softer.
Does Poesia know that? Derrica wonders a little at it, whether or not whoever made her gave her many choices about anything at all.
That's lovely and she's perfectly happy to drowse under the affection, eyes fluttering close briefly with a content sigh. Derrica's voice has her eyes flicking open again, though hooded this time, and she laughs sweetly.
"Of course I could have, darling!" She reaches up and traces Derrica's lower lip with her fingertip, "Your orders are like having the most delicate strands of gossamer around my throat. Very beautiful and shining in moonlight, but I could tear them without a thought. I wasn't made to follow such a light touch blindly."
At the touch, Derrica's fingers pause in their work. The touch isn't necessarily unwelcome, and it stalls the frown that threatens to wash over Derrica's face at what Poesia is telling her.
"Would you tell me what she was like? The person who taught you?"
Taught, made. They come to almost the same thing, don't they?
"I was taught by many people," she says, "But my Beloved made me. Shaped me to serve her." She taps her chin thoughtfully, "It is rather difficult to describe her, I think. She was perfection. All that has been and could ever be. It's very puzzling to move through the world without her."
Harsh is the word that comes to mind first. But it isn't the descriptor Derrica thinks appropriate, so she lets the sentence trail off in favor of another approach.
"You must miss her very much."
Not that puzzling seems in tune with missing in this context.
The half formed sentence hardly strikes her as unusual. Her Beloved did sound... How could one begin to complete such a sentence? She can't even begin to herself and so she doesn't try.
"I do, yes," she says, because she does miss the comfort of assurance and purpose and was not that her Beloved as much as her flesh and bone? The clear cut rules and rituals her Beloved adhered her to. "She would be quite surprised to see me now, I think. Riftwatch is very startlingly lax. We've hardly gone on any sort of raid like this, but I admit, it is quite pleasant at times. One does worry about becoming dull, though."
"I don't think you could ever be dull," Derrica tells her, to avoid considering her assessment of Riftwatch too closely. Her fingers pick up the braiding, returning to her task of weaving a small crown around Poesia's head.
"Do you think of anything else besides missions?"
Killing, really, but it sounds nicer to say missions.
She preens a little, not enough to disrupt the loveliness Derrica is crafting with her hair, but it is a delight to be recognized for what she is.
"Of course! I think about sex quite a lot." As if that were a normal thing to admit out loud, without a trace of flirtation. "I like thinking about dresses and jewelry as well, but those aren't nearly as fun as sex."
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"How are you feeling?"
It's hard to anticipate how Poesia will respond. Derrica doubts she'll receive an answer that veers anywhere near normal responses. But she wants to try and gauge how Poesia is feeling, whether or not she's in pain and willing to admit it.
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It's drama mostly. Pitiful whining to encourage more of that lovely petting.
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"Next time Bastien will have to steal us a better one."
Next time. Ha.
"I wanted to thank you. For giving me what I asked for."
It hadn't been necessary, might have even been a risk when all things were considered.
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"Well of course. You did tell me to." 'Tell' is quite a bit different than 'ask.' The difference between a request and guidance. "It was my pleasure."
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"You could have told me no," Derrica says after a moment, softer.
Does Poesia know that? Derrica wonders a little at it, whether or not whoever made her gave her many choices about anything at all.
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"Of course I could have, darling!" She reaches up and traces Derrica's lower lip with her fingertip, "Your orders are like having the most delicate strands of gossamer around my throat. Very beautiful and shining in moonlight, but I could tear them without a thought. I wasn't made to follow such a light touch blindly."
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"Would you tell me what she was like? The person who taught you?"
Taught, made. They come to almost the same thing, don't they?
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Harsh is the word that comes to mind first. But it isn't the descriptor Derrica thinks appropriate, so she lets the sentence trail off in favor of another approach.
"You must miss her very much."
Not that puzzling seems in tune with missing in this context.
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"I do, yes," she says, because she does miss the comfort of assurance and purpose and was not that her Beloved as much as her flesh and bone? The clear cut rules and rituals her Beloved adhered her to. "She would be quite surprised to see me now, I think. Riftwatch is very startlingly lax. We've hardly gone on any sort of raid like this, but I admit, it is quite pleasant at times. One does worry about becoming dull, though."
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"Do you think of anything else besides missions?"
Killing, really, but it sounds nicer to say missions.
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"Of course! I think about sex quite a lot." As if that were a normal thing to admit out loud, without a trace of flirtation. "I like thinking about dresses and jewelry as well, but those aren't nearly as fun as sex."
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"No, I suppose not," she agrees. "But I haven't really been thinking much about any of that lately."
Not necessarily true. But true enough for this conversation, without divulging anything too personal.
"It's too bad we don't have some jewelry that I could braid into this. You'd look very fine."
Unfortunate they did minimal looting on the way out.