balancing on breaking branches

Maeve

"But not only black." She argues back, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he lifts her only to deposit her back on the couch. Maeve drops her head against the arm, curling up as he starts collecting all the materials he needs to make her the best nest. "Uhm, I like poetry. Mysteries too. I like trying to figure out who did it before the book tells you." She starts, brows knitting together slightly as she thinks of what else she enjoys. Lots of different things, but her favorite is romance even if that's kind of silly. "I really like romance. Which is cliché, but I don't care." Maeve sighs, a small smile curling on her lips as she speaks again in perfect French. "La vie est une fleur dont l’amour est le miel." The accent isn't as good as it would be normally. Not with the way her words are slurring, but she manages to get the phrase out.

Maeve watches him build the nest with interest, head tilting to the side as he carefully arranges pillows and blankets, creating a space that will cradle her oh so gently. She's eager to climb in even before it's finished. "Uh huh.. They do. Work real well." Maeve hums, glancing down at him as he kneels beside her and she tries her best to start moving towards the resting place he's built just for her. "They like it, but it's missing something." Maeve says decisively, giving a little nod of her head as she looks back down at him.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips
We should just kiss like real people do