( as much as tsenka is no fan of gallows-living, and has recently made other arrangements for herself - more cramped and more individual than she'd have liked, but it has a tiny terrace she can sit on and smoke so there's that - there are benefits to it. namely, that she could so easily follow the seneschal from her scouting desk to View The Art in his bedroom,
which is also not an unpleasant place to prop herself up against the headboard and rifle around in her discarded clothing for her pipe and something to light it with. )
I don't know what I'd have done with my face, ( conversationally, ) had you in fact wanted to show me a painting.
[Beside her, pleasantly flush in all the places that linger and at best half decent under the shoddy drape of the bed's linens, Cassius gives her a look that's made up of predominantly raised eyebrows. The impressive amount of forehead real estate he has on hand makes for an especially faux looking expression of faux innocence.]
I did show you a painting.
[There is one hanging above the headboard right now—a dusky depiction of some pastoral creek in late summer, all goods and greens and murky browns. It's one of a modest collection to be found in the narrow room, although—no, not particularly relevant to her presence here.
Much like his being on the wrong side of the bed to easily access the side table has little effect on his ability to rummage around in it. A thoughtless gesture (habitual, not required—a similar one had helped with taking some article of her clothes off earlier) sends the drawer sliding open. Riftwatch's standard issue lighter plucks itself free and drops into Tsenka's lap.]
( both the answer and the gesture make her laugh, warm, sinking more comfortably into the tangle of bedding and taking her time about lighting her pipe. she tips her head sideways against the headboard to watch him, amused— )
Aye, and a nice painting it was, too. Colourful.
( in a brown sort of a way. it's certainly unobjectionable, and of a piece with the rest of the space that she'd paid approximately zero real attention to up to this point. you know, nice. tasteful. cassius black, upon first impression, is a great deal of you know, nice.
the casual telekinesis is a nice touch, for instance. loyalists can't be all bad. )
It's one of Ilbert Dupond's earlier works. I'm pleased to say the Perendale Circle acquired it long before he was as well known as he is today. But that's a dozen years of fighting for you—makes everyone awfully sentimental for an idyllic landscape.
[From the trend of his eye line, he might be referring to the rise and fall of her breasts. And from the sidelong look he gives Tsenka directly after, he's cheerfully cognizant of his own lack of shame.
Case in point: Cassius makes another little gesture with his hand, but this one has nothing to do with touching the Fade and everything to do with requesting a puff from her pipe.]
( the rise and fall of her breasts is, tsenka would be prepared to argue, of equal artistic merit. superior, even. particularly for an elf of her build, they're certainly nothing to sneeze at. she's fond of the parts of her body that draw the eye more than her scars when she's so casually unclothed— dark marks of discoloration ringing wrists and ankles, but expanses of soft skin, too. sharp hips and the dip of her belly.
the line of her arm when she drifts it sideways to share the pipe with him. )
I'm sentimental for soft blankets, ( she decides, ) and coffee.
Ah, well, [he says while accepting the pipe, pausing only to puff at it once or twice before its passed back. Cassius doesn't often make a practice of smoking—he doesn't like what it does to his teeth—but so long as he's indulging in bad habits...
With an exhale of smoke, he continues:]
Don't tell anyone, but I've a stockpile of the latter in one of the storerooms. It was something of a secret between myself and Serah Holden, but I doubt he'll be availing himself of it any time soon. Can't help you with the blankets though. I trade exclusively in scratchy wool.
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no subject
which is also not an unpleasant place to prop herself up against the headboard and rifle around in her discarded clothing for her pipe and something to light it with. )
I don't know what I'd have done with my face, ( conversationally, ) had you in fact wanted to show me a painting.
no subject
I did show you a painting.
[There is one hanging above the headboard right now—a dusky depiction of some pastoral creek in late summer, all goods and greens and murky browns. It's one of a modest collection to be found in the narrow room, although—no, not particularly relevant to her presence here.
Much like his being on the wrong side of the bed to easily access the side table has little effect on his ability to rummage around in it. A thoughtless gesture (habitual, not required—a similar one had helped with taking some article of her clothes off earlier) sends the drawer sliding open. Riftwatch's standard issue lighter plucks itself free and drops into Tsenka's lap.]
no subject
Aye, and a nice painting it was, too. Colourful.
( in a brown sort of a way. it's certainly unobjectionable, and of a piece with the rest of the space that she'd paid approximately zero real attention to up to this point. you know, nice. tasteful. cassius black, upon first impression, is a great deal of you know, nice.
the casual telekinesis is a nice touch, for instance. loyalists can't be all bad. )
no subject
[From the trend of his eye line, he might be referring to the rise and fall of her breasts. And from the sidelong look he gives Tsenka directly after, he's cheerfully cognizant of his own lack of shame.
Case in point: Cassius makes another little gesture with his hand, but this one has nothing to do with touching the Fade and everything to do with requesting a puff from her pipe.]
no subject
the line of her arm when she drifts it sideways to share the pipe with him. )
I'm sentimental for soft blankets, ( she decides, ) and coffee.
no subject
With an exhale of smoke, he continues:]
Don't tell anyone, but I've a stockpile of the latter in one of the storerooms. It was something of a secret between myself and Serah Holden, but I doubt he'll be availing himself of it any time soon. Can't help you with the blankets though. I trade exclusively in scratchy wool.