fandomhigh | Library, Sunday

Escape the yurts.

He's so sad at missing valuable cultural experiences.

Edited 2015-06-21 13:05 (UTC)

"Aren't you supposed to be moving as well?"

Thus Cassandra's habit of accusatory statements upon entering continued.

Honestly, Face didn't know what he'd do if she suddenly stopped making dramatic entrances.

"I have responsibilities I can't just abandon." At least not until after the yurt was built.

Please. It was Cassandra. Dramatic for her standards would be her entering by kicking in the door, flinging something at his head, stabbing the desk, and kicking over a bookcase.

"And I am sure you are very saddened by this," she said dryly.

There were people who'd pay good credits to see that kind of entrance.

"Completely," Face blithely agreed. "Can't you tell?"

"You do appear to be crying," Cassandra said, wandering up to the counter. "You look utterly bereft."

"I don't know how I'm going to cope," Face informed her, somehow keeping a straight face.

"Likely better than your tent-mates," she said. "You are lucky I am not one of them."

She said that like Thorin's plans for the yurt might end in tears or something.

"Why?" Face asked. "Would you outrage my modesty every time I tried to change?" He sounded so very scandalised by the idea, truly he did.

Well. It was Thorin. One never knew. Something ornate might wind up tacked above your futon, giving you nightmares, Face.

"No, because if I was, I would have picked you up by the scruff of your neck and marched you to the yurt right now," she said. Mildly, for her standards. "I am already... aware... of how much you enjoy wandering around without a shirt."

Face was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to find that threat as intriguing as he did. "Well, you know, building tents, it's hot and sweaty work, a shirt would be more of a hindrance than a help."

He refrained from pointing out that she was here talking to him instead of helping out her own yurt-mates, because then she might leave.

She had spent the morning on the yurt. She was allowed a break.

"You would try to build a tent wearing no shirt?" Cassandra said dubiously. "Are you looking to get injured?"

Just wait until you met Bull.

If she were watching he would. "It's a tent, how dangerous could it be?"

Thorin. Fortifications. Face.

"You would be working with tools," Cassandra said. "It would be unfortunate if you injured yourself."

And she wouldn't admit to liking the view!

"But you'd kiss it better if that happened, right?" Or more likely she'd throw him over her shoulder and carry him to the clinic.

Face, please remember they don't have bacta on this planet.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "That would hardly be of any help in the case of an injury," she said. "I would suggest you... don't injure yourself, instead. Perhaps contain your stripping to safer locations."

If one attempt at terrible flirting failed, try another! "Do you have any suggestions on where these safer places might be?"

Just be glad he hadn't waggled his eyebrows. Yet.

"Ugh," Cassandra said.

But she went a little red.

"Convince me to find you one," she said, surprising herself, "And I will see."

Face's eyebrows briefly shot upwards, but he very quickly recovered. "And how might I go about convincing you?" he asked, leaning forwards over the desk. Seductively.

"Court me properly," said Cassandra, which was as close to flirtatious as she ever got-- which was to say wry in tone and wry in slight smirk and somewhat red in the face at her own audacity.

Face looked at her and licked his lips before starting to recite.

"Take bread away from me, if you wish,
Take air away, but
Do not take from me your laughter."

Someone had been spending his free time browsing the stacks.

Cassandra blinked, but only because she hadn't expected that.

Then she smiled. This was also not a conscious motion.

"What is that?"

"Neruda, he was an Earth poet." Just in case she was under the mistaken impression he'd written it himself.

"There's more to it," he added, before starting in on the next stanza.

"Do not take away the rose,
The lance flower that you pluck,
The water that suddenly
Bursts forth in joy,
The sudden wave
Of silver born in you."

Cassandra put her elbows down on the counter and cushioned her chin on her hands. "It's beautiful," she said.

Face flashed a grin at her. "That's a relief, I'm only about a third through, it'd be awkward finishing if you didn't like it." Look, there was a reason this particular poem had spoken to him.

"My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life."

He kept his voice low, resisting the urge to declaim that he might have given into under other circumstances.

"My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword."

Cassandra sighed.

She would never admit she had sighed, of course, but she did.

And Face would never bring up that she sighed. Unless he wanted her to punch him. Which was always a possibility.

"Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

"Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die."

As he finished the last line, he went in for the kiss, because of course he did.

Cassandra was more than happy to let him, because of course she was.

She cupped the back of his head and leaned into it, in fact.

Face grinned into the kiss, palms flat against the desk for balance.

Yeah, this had definitely been a better choice of poem than one of the ones that used bread/breast similes.

Much, much better.

Cassandra kissed him again, her fingers messing idly with the hair at his nape.

There's been at least two of them, guy had had a thing for boobs and bread.

Face shivered, not unpleasantly, and gave a pleased little hum as he nipped gently at Cassandra's lower lip.

Well, Cassandra wasn't exactly buxom, nor did she have any bread.

Nor a particularly great deal of experience with being kissed, which was why having her lip nipped at elected a little, surprised gasp.

Not a bad gasp, but still.

To be fair, Face's actual experience didn't extend much beyond kissing.

But he was very dedicated to being good at the parts he was familiar with.

Maybe he has opinions on yurts?

Yurt.

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