Emerald glitters where gold would normally gaze blankly back at him, but she'd doffed her half-mask at some point already — probably when she was hitching her skirts to start climbing. When she sheds her cloak properly— “Please, I don't mind sharing the bottle,” —those skirts are secured with the not decorative after all hikes at her hips, exposing her boots, her stockinged calves and knees,
and it's not as if he's never seen her knees before. She wears trousers fitted nearly as intimate as her stockings; he'd seen most of her scars when she was discovering designer swimwear. When she flings herself down on the edge of his rumpled guest-bed, crossing her ankles, it's not even close to the most exposed she's ever been in his company.
“Adenet's the artist,” she says, holding her hand out for the bottle. “They're lovers— Chapentier's very sympathetic, and he's awfully well positioned. My sister — she never made it as far as the Marquise, but I think I might be able to pick up further than she left off, maybe.”
It had made her think of— not Thranduil, actually, but Pietro, long since disappeared back into the wilds whence he came. Suddenly, the shape of a possible future, envisioned only years after it's been thoroughly unmade. Stupid to be protective of grown adults who know what they're doing better than she can, but still.
She wants to protect them. It doesn't enter her head not to trust Stephen with it at once.
no subject
and it's not as if he's never seen her knees before. She wears trousers fitted nearly as intimate as her stockings; he'd seen most of her scars when she was discovering designer swimwear. When she flings herself down on the edge of his rumpled guest-bed, crossing her ankles, it's not even close to the most exposed she's ever been in his company.
“Adenet's the artist,” she says, holding her hand out for the bottle. “They're lovers— Chapentier's very sympathetic, and he's awfully well positioned. My sister — she never made it as far as the Marquise, but I think I might be able to pick up further than she left off, maybe.”
It had made her think of— not Thranduil, actually, but Pietro, long since disappeared back into the wilds whence he came. Suddenly, the shape of a possible future, envisioned only years after it's been thoroughly unmade. Stupid to be protective of grown adults who know what they're doing better than she can, but still.
She wants to protect them. It doesn't enter her head not to trust Stephen with it at once.