closed.

[propulsion]

WHO: Tony Stark, Marcus Rowntree, Loxley, and friends.
WHAT: Catching up in a catch all.
WHEN: Firstfall
WHERE: Various
NOTES: No open prompts, but please contact me if you would like an RP of some kind with the above losers.

Comments

[tender]

With Loxley at the seat of her bed, Derrica had toed off her boots, left them aside of the bed as she scooted up to sit against the headboard while she unwrapped Loxley's offering.

Derrica is careful with the handling of the items, unfolding the scarf in cautious turns to spread across her lap. She turns one hem of the fabric between her fingers into the light, taking in the colors before the jingle of jewelry draws her attention.

"They're beautiful," Derrica says first, lifting one belled anklet. There is a soft jingle, bells gleaming. She gives it a little shake, to hear the bells properly, before focusing her attention on him. Her smile widens as she observes him, fingers loosely circled with twine.

She prods with one socked foot at his thigh, encouraging, "Open it."

The lingering hesitation is still there, hovering around the edges of her expression. Derrica's smile doesn't falter, but there is a sense of—

Worry. It is a tricky thing, gift-giving. She'd like to have chosen correctly.

Within the wrapping, she has placed a jaunty deep orange scarf of very fine, warm fabric, with dark brown embroidery looping along each corner. A little sachet is tucked in among the folds; when opened and tipped upright, a few pieces of jewelry fall out. A bracelet of soft, dark red leather straps, worked into an intricate braid. A copper cuff of three close-welded loops meant for Loxley's ear, delicate dangling chains affixed to gold caps meant for his horns, and one last, less ornate offering: a gold pendant, stamped with an unfamiliar sigil. The edges have been worn smooth, and it has been strung on a thin leather strap.

There is a note folded on a scrap of paper, easily overlooked. Derrica doesn't point it out to him.

[charmoffensive]

First, the reaction is to smile at the superior, more considered job Derrica did of gift wrapping. He twists around to spread the scarf across the covers, distracted immediately by the sachet before he can say anything. He empties the chain and cuffs and caps into his palm, delicately untangling the chain to determine the configuration.

Which makes him smile. He's picked up a couple of little jewellery items that settle on his horns, but only simple things, metal beaten into plain hoops that he can wedge into place. "These are lovely," he says, quite sincerely.

He considers saying something like, no one makes anything like this in Tassia, but instead just lifts the piece and asks, half-smiling, "Help me put it on?"

The note goes unnoticed for a second, although he's not done with it, fingers already wandering to pick up and inspect the pendant he notices glimmering next to his hand.

[tender]

"Of course."

Pleased. Relieved.

It had felt right, the jewelry. But she'd wondered after, if perhaps Loxley didn't wear any because he wasn't partial to it. The expression on his face dispels the worry, and Derrica comes down from her recline against the headboard to plaster herself across Loxley's back, kiss the nape of his neck as she reaches a palm over his shoulder.

"Here," with a little beckoning of fingers. "Let me see."

[charmoffensive]

Loxley passes back the cuff and cap in his open hand, leaning back just a subtle amount into the warmth she represents, being there. Other hand reaching back to smooth his palm across the side of her thigh. His head, tipped, to help with access, but it feels more like preening, showing off. It seems fine to do, around someone who's so free and sincere with her flattery.

Inspecting the pendant, he feels over their worn edges with his thumb, the edge of one near-black nail, and then brings it around enough for her to see what he's referring to when he says, "I've not seen this symbol before."

[tender]

The cap is secured first, tightened into place gently in spite of how sturdy his horns appear. Her fingers drag through the curls at his nape, before her attention turns to affixing the cuff to his ear.

It looks very handsome. She means to tell him so, but puts her mouth to his newly-bared throat instead, arms cinching around his chest for leverage as she drops a trail of kisses up beneath the underside of his jaw before she can nip at the lobe of his ear. Being tucked in so close, there are a wealth of other things she might do here. Murmur into his ear, set her teeth somewhere else, put her hand over his heart, but at the question—

It brings her closer, leaning higher to examine what is already familiar to her. And now she does turn one palm to flatten over his heart as she tells him, "It's a very old rune. I had to trade one of the sailors at the Filthy Nug for it."

And first she'd had to find the sailor, but that's neither here nor there.

"It's for protection," is an overly simple explanation, but a true one. "Where I grew up, it's what we would give to people we wanted to keep safe."