WHO: Athessa, Madi, and YOU WHAT: post-Dream catch-all WHEN: after part 2 of dream time WHERE: The Gallows/Kirkwall NOTES: tags will be slow, brain still bad
"Something along those lines," she echoes, a downright bashful grin spreading over her features. She looks down to check the coffee, an excuse to turn her face to try and wrest the grin into something a little less goofy, but she doesn't much succeed.
"I dunno what to tell ya, I don't know what I'd even ask for."
He grins as well, mostly for the sight of her bashful look, and the way it can't quite be controlled. He does so love being treated to one of those looks.
"One day you'll grow bored of romantic, candle-lit meals, and then I'll be out of tricks," he says, wistfully, although that isn't at all true. He had a whole stable of tricks once -- he's never put much mind into trying them and meaning them, though. That, he thinks, would be novel.
"You wanna know something, though?" She turns back to look at him, leaning in a little conspiratorially. As if what she has to confess is at all a secret, or even the least bit worthy of being called a confession. "I could take or leave the romance and candles."
Well that's a puzzling reaction if she ever saw one.
"It's all well and fine, but it's...well, ya know. It's whatever." She shrugs, still smiling, but her amused look is tinged with confusion as she takes in his reaction.
"What? I don't mean that I don't enjoy that stuff," she is quick to reassure, waving her hand to ward off that misconception. "But it's not what's holding my attention."
He doesn't know, says this concerned frown. It becomes skeptical as he glances down at himself, seeking and failing to find much else of interest in himself.
"What is, then?" he asks, like he's doubtful it's much of a list. "If you take away the cooking, there's — well, theres just not much left."
"Vanadi," she scoffs, disbelieving. But he's not kidding around, or fishing for compliments. He actually doesn't think there's anything worthwhile beneath his practiced charms?
Athessa tilts her head to look at his face even as he's frowning downwards.
"What was it you asked me, that one time...? Are you only really clever when it comes to other people?"
Athessa has his attention again, and his frown grows from puzzled uncertainty to something of actual upset. This feels as if it ought to be insulting — is it a joke, unusually mean-spirited? He isn't particularly clever, after all.
"Something along those lines," he agrees warily. "But I'm afraid I would have to object if you're trying to turn it on me, I have never claimed cleverness of any variety."
Seeing him upset by this is disquieting, and any playful teasing in her expression and tone give way to concern.
"Hey," she coaxes, stepping in front of him instead of leaning at his side. Her hand alights on his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone gently. "I just meant that spending time with you is reward enough, I didn't mean...I don't want you to think I don't appreciate the effort you put in..."
Is she helping, or just digging a hole even deeper?
The sight of her concern doubles his own, and he realizes — ah, he's doing it again. The jagged pieces of himself are stirring around, making issue where none needs to be, just as he's done with Byerly, with Mhavos. He sighs faintly, and settles his hand atop Athessa's as he tips his head into her touch.
"I didn't take it that way," he murmurs. "I couldn't, from you. There is some part of me that worries, even despite the dream we've just had, that perhaps you'll wake up one day and find yourself bored of what little I can offer, is all."
It's an unfair worry, he realizes even as he says it — she's never given any sign of such inclinations, he's demanding reassurance over nothing. And yet the worry remains, and guilt turns his eyes aside.
"Listen here, you —" Her touch is gentle, even if her words take on a firm, unyielding quality. She puts her other hand opposite the first, framing his face between her palms and making him look at her.
"— What you think you have to offer doesn't matter, because whether you do it consciously or not you make my life better. I like talking to you, and listening to you. I could listen to you talk about nothing for hours, even when you're telling me my jokes aren't funny. And sure, you're a great cook and better still at sex but beyond that? I feel like you understand me better than a few people I could mention who've known me longer."
He looks, because of course he must, and he listens. And the words are — a surprise, actually. He's put an awful lot of thought into how much he's come to crave Athessa's calming presence, her sturdy reassurance given simply by being, and what more he could do to prove his appreciation. He's thought less on what he may already be doing in her eyes.
The guilt weighs more heavily, and he squirms under that gentle touch.
"Ah, sorry, I– " He laughs, and it isn't humor in it, just an apologetic self-consciousness. More apology and self-deprecation would like to follow, but he tamps down on it. Instead, determined to tear himself away from nerves, "I appreciate you. I'm better for time spent in your presence. Your patience is boundless and I'm afraid I will occasionally take advantage of that."
She gives him a flat look and sighs. Her own laugh does have humor in it, despite herself. Despite him. Despite all of this.
"Shut up," she says, smiling. Not only is it embarrassing to be told you're appreciated, but what else is patience for? "I love you. Do you believe me when I say that?"
He's about to say yes, of course he does, but pauses. In the pause he discovers that he does believe that, that they're more than just a set of pleasant and reassuring words to hear for her; that words weigh more to her, and from her. In the pause he discovers he's an idiot, and an egocentric one at that. He dips his head as far as her hands will let him, looking bashful.
He must know, surely he must know that she says such thinks because she feels them deeply. She tried once to hide her feelings from him, and it resulted in her weeping when they should have been having fun together. And again, she wept when he told her why he loves her in return.
His head dips, and she lets it, lets her hands fall to his shoulders instead.
"Good, because it's true, and on top of that you've seen what a mess I am about love, so," she pulls him into a hug, pausing along the way to kiss his temple. "I promise, you don't have anything to worry about."
He grins into the hug, which is part amusement but at least some part embarrassment. His arms drape around her, one hand set to gently, fondly rub her back.
"I have something of a confession," he starts, which is a dire way to start, so when he leans back again he makes sure his smile is mild and warm. "I love you too, of course -- but the words have always meant less to me. I have said and heard them quite a lot before, you know. I suppose I think ... that I ought to prove it to you, in deeds. So that you would know I meant them."
A dire way to start indeed. His smile is mild and warm but it's that but after of course that has her holding her breath without realizing it. It makes her relief a bit more palpable when he's finished talking and she sighs, smoothing her hands down the front of this shirt in the stead of grabbing him and shaking him.
"I will accept any and all deeds you want to utilize," she says, only a teensy bit exasperated. "Only so long as you want to do them. You don't owe me anything. I don't want debt to have any role in our—" A pause for the realization to settle in...
He catches that relief, and he supposes it ought to make him feel bad that he's set her in suspense for any amount of time. But instead he grins, and ducks his head down to plant a kiss at the hairline along her forehead.
"Haven't I just spent quite a few breaths on telling you how very much I want to do them?" His tone is light, pleased. He's spent a bit of time on this, on worrying how he might make his feelings for Athessa clear -- it's something of a relief to sort out the particulars of that drive. "And at least one breath on how little my heart is stirred by obligation. I think you've nothing to worry over, on that front."
She went and said the exact same thing twice in as many minutes. Embarrassing.
"Neither of us have anything to worry about, yep. I think we've thoroughly established that," She reaches over to hook one of the cups of coffee and take a sip.
He laughs quietly and at nothing in particular, just more of that ambient pleased. It's warm and pleasant after the terror-tinged anxiety of the morning, and Vanadi will take what he can get.
Which includes his cup of coffee, although he prefers to hold it in both hands for its warmth as he watches Athessa with hers. "Thoroughly," he agrees amiably. "Remind me of that next time I spend too long inside my own head, if you will."
She has to laugh, too, still embarrassed about the repetition, but she nods. She can handle giving him reminders that he has nothing to worry about, so long as he returns the favor.
It's nice, to be able to stand here, partly leaning against him as he leans against the table in turn, sipping coffee and taking comfort in each other's presence — except that the kitchen, even at this hour, sees a fair bit of traffic as the staff bustle in and out trying to do their jobs. Wasn't it nicer, in the dream, when they had their own kitchen to loiter in? There's no specific memory of having the time to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or a meal or even just each other in the dream, but there's a feeling. Just a feeling.
He feels the strangeness of the lack too — the lack of personal space, of some little corner to call theirs. With Erik, apparently. He's still puzzling over that one. This kitchen feels busy now, which he'd never minded or even much noticed before.
"Right," he agrees, and swirls his very unfinished coffee in its cup. "I'm taking this mug, and it's possible no one here will ever see it again."
He plucks up her hand in his free one, starting forward and giving it a gentle tug of request. Busy kitchen or no, there are still a hundred little nooks and crannies to find solitude in in the Gallows.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
"I dunno what to tell ya, I don't know what I'd even ask for."
no subject
"One day you'll grow bored of romantic, candle-lit meals, and then I'll be out of tricks," he says, wistfully, although that isn't at all true. He had a whole stable of tricks once -- he's never put much mind into trying them and meaning them, though. That, he thinks, would be novel.
no subject
no subject
"Are you sure?" he asks, mouth twisting unhappily. "You aren't secretly an enormous fan of it all, and you haven't noticed yet?"
no subject
"It's all well and fine, but it's...well, ya know. It's whatever." She shrugs, still smiling, but her amused look is tinged with confusion as she takes in his reaction.
"What? I don't mean that I don't enjoy that stuff," she is quick to reassure, waving her hand to ward off that misconception. "But it's not what's holding my attention."
no subject
"What is, then?" he asks, like he's doubtful it's much of a list. "If you take away the cooking, there's — well, theres just not much left."
no subject
Athessa tilts her head to look at his face even as he's frowning downwards.
"What was it you asked me, that one time...? Are you only really clever when it comes to other people?"
no subject
"Something along those lines," he agrees warily. "But I'm afraid I would have to object if you're trying to turn it on me, I have never claimed cleverness of any variety."
no subject
Seeing him upset by this is disquieting, and any playful teasing in her expression and tone give way to concern.
"Hey," she coaxes, stepping in front of him instead of leaning at his side. Her hand alights on his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone gently. "I just meant that spending time with you is reward enough, I didn't mean...I don't want you to think I don't appreciate the effort you put in..."
Is she helping, or just digging a hole even deeper?
no subject
"I didn't take it that way," he murmurs. "I couldn't, from you. There is some part of me that worries, even despite the dream we've just had, that perhaps you'll wake up one day and find yourself bored of what little I can offer, is all."
It's an unfair worry, he realizes even as he says it — she's never given any sign of such inclinations, he's demanding reassurance over nothing. And yet the worry remains, and guilt turns his eyes aside.
no subject
"— What you think you have to offer doesn't matter, because whether you do it consciously or not you make my life better. I like talking to you, and listening to you. I could listen to you talk about nothing for hours, even when you're telling me my jokes aren't funny. And sure, you're a great cook and better still at sex but beyond that? I feel like you understand me better than a few people I could mention who've known me longer."
no subject
The guilt weighs more heavily, and he squirms under that gentle touch.
"Ah, sorry, I– " He laughs, and it isn't humor in it, just an apologetic self-consciousness. More apology and self-deprecation would like to follow, but he tamps down on it. Instead, determined to tear himself away from nerves, "I appreciate you. I'm better for time spent in your presence. Your patience is boundless and I'm afraid I will occasionally take advantage of that."
no subject
"Shut up," she says, smiling. Not only is it embarrassing to be told you're appreciated, but what else is patience for? "I love you. Do you believe me when I say that?"
no subject
"Yes," he says, because there's no other answer.
no subject
His head dips, and she lets it, lets her hands fall to his shoulders instead.
"Good, because it's true, and on top of that you've seen what a mess I am about love, so," she pulls him into a hug, pausing along the way to kiss his temple. "I promise, you don't have anything to worry about."
no subject
"I have something of a confession," he starts, which is a dire way to start, so when he leans back again he makes sure his smile is mild and warm. "I love you too, of course -- but the words have always meant less to me. I have said and heard them quite a lot before, you know. I suppose I think ... that I ought to prove it to you, in deeds. So that you would know I meant them."
no subject
"I will accept any and all deeds you want to utilize," she says, only a teensy bit exasperated. "Only so long as you want to do them. You don't owe me anything. I don't want debt to have any role in our—" A pause for the realization to settle in...
"—Relationship?"
no subject
"Haven't I just spent quite a few breaths on telling you how very much I want to do them?" His tone is light, pleased. He's spent a bit of time on this, on worrying how he might make his feelings for Athessa clear -- it's something of a relief to sort out the particulars of that drive. "And at least one breath on how little my heart is stirred by obligation. I think you've nothing to worry over, on that front."
no subject
"Neither of us have anything to worry about, yep. I think we've thoroughly established that," She reaches over to hook one of the cups of coffee and take a sip.
no subject
Which includes his cup of coffee, although he prefers to hold it in both hands for its warmth as he watches Athessa with hers. "Thoroughly," he agrees amiably. "Remind me of that next time I spend too long inside my own head, if you will."
no subject
It's nice, to be able to stand here, partly leaning against him as he leans against the table in turn, sipping coffee and taking comfort in each other's presence — except that the kitchen, even at this hour, sees a fair bit of traffic as the staff bustle in and out trying to do their jobs. Wasn't it nicer, in the dream, when they had their own kitchen to loiter in? There's no specific memory of having the time to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or a meal or even just each other in the dream, but there's a feeling. Just a feeling.
"We probably oughta get out of the way."
no subject
"Right," he agrees, and swirls his very unfinished coffee in its cup. "I'm taking this mug, and it's possible no one here will ever see it again."
He plucks up her hand in his free one, starting forward and giving it a gentle tug of request. Busy kitchen or no, there are still a hundred little nooks and crannies to find solitude in in the Gallows.