// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //
Admittedly, he expected a much more enthusiastic response, such as her dripping a lean over him even more to whisper conspiratorial ideas into his ear. She leads a thieves guild after all, he thought the idea of stealing reclaiming a lost bar would tickle each hair on her head—because much as the reasons for starting the guild, it seems she's done more than just track the passage of goods on her borders. He's never stolen a damn thing, not on purpose anyway, so the idea sparks half-formed in him, but no less certain for it.
Instead, she palms his cheek, gentle and smoothing. Her confusion pops her up like a fishing bobber thrown out on the spread of water—the loose hang of his sequined gown pooling between them as close to a pond as they have. He leans into the weight of her hands on him, pushing up with the challenge of the suggestion, the presence still there in the gleam of his gaze as it skims back and forth across her. She didn't say no.
"Yeah, but it'll be hard to run out of your house, and you didn't want to give up the bar." They haven't really talked about it much, but everything he's read on her when they have tells him the loss of it tore a bit of something from her. He wishes he'd offered to run it for her back then, a brief and wild idea that ran through his head when she first mentioned it. As other things he'd have done differently with her, this isn't one he can alter now, but he could maybe get it back, and that's not nothing. "So we fight," he declares, hands finding her wrists where she's bracing against his chest. His fingers circle around them, light but pressing in, and he runs his grip up her arms until his reach ends. "We don't have to make it obvious." He'd prefer if they didn't. Asking for it back he suspects won't go over well, and if they ask then act, their guilt will be obvious, maybe already is to some extent. "Convince them the bar's not worth it, make them want to hand it back over. Could unleash a plague of toads in their storage room, get an annoying spirit to haunt their wine..." Just a step up from planning pranks, really.
Instead, she palms his cheek, gentle and smoothing. Her confusion pops her up like a fishing bobber thrown out on the spread of water—the loose hang of his sequined gown pooling between them as close to a pond as they have. He leans into the weight of her hands on him, pushing up with the challenge of the suggestion, the presence still there in the gleam of his gaze as it skims back and forth across her. She didn't say no.
"Yeah, but it'll be hard to run out of your house, and you didn't want to give up the bar." They haven't really talked about it much, but everything he's read on her when they have tells him the loss of it tore a bit of something from her. He wishes he'd offered to run it for her back then, a brief and wild idea that ran through his head when she first mentioned it. As other things he'd have done differently with her, this isn't one he can alter now, but he could maybe get it back, and that's not nothing. "So we fight," he declares, hands finding her wrists where she's bracing against his chest. His fingers circle around them, light but pressing in, and he runs his grip up her arms until his reach ends. "We don't have to make it obvious." He'd prefer if they didn't. Asking for it back he suspects won't go over well, and if they ask then act, their guilt will be obvious, maybe already is to some extent. "Convince them the bar's not worth it, make them want to hand it back over. Could unleash a plague of toads in their storage room, get an annoying spirit to haunt their wine..." Just a step up from planning pranks, really.
Kaisel
// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
