ooc: inbox/plot with me

[arcaneadvisor]

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Note: I work Mon-Fri and I'm basically away 11 hours a day but I do tags in gdocs and I try to do a round a night. Timezone is GMT.

ooc contact: deathwailart @ plurk | bansheesquad#0389 @ discord

Comments

[fightingale]

Morrigan's words are enough to make her eyes slip shut and leave her wanting just this, for a little longer. This space with just them and a window to forget the world outside. Her hands anchor more steadily, certainly, at Morrigan's hips, the warm heels of Leliana's palms pressing heavy against the crests of bone and muscle.

There's no breath of a word in response. It feels unnecessary, really, when instead she's able to lean into the kiss, dragging at Morrigan's lip with her teeth, slow and carefully and cautiously possessive--

-- and then a knock at the door comes.

"Lady Morrigan? I'm looking for Sister Nightingale. Rennard mentioned she'd come this way." A quiet voice with a Starkhaven accent and a somewhat apologetic tone, one who has been sent to deliver messages to Morrigan and who ferried chocolate spiders to her before.

Leliana's hands flex, grip hardened for the barest moment as she looks over her shoulder, utterly venomous, at the door. She is still silent, still does not speak, and very slowly turns to look back at Morrigan.

This is the worst.

[arcaneadvisor]

Rarely does Morrigan have a problem with Leliana's messengers. Something, she suspects, that has everything to do with Leliana selecting those who will have very little reason to either care about Morrigan in the first place, or to certainly avoid those who would dare to show any sort of outright rudeness towards her.

"Damnation," she snaps, head jerking in the direciton of the door at the same time; it would funny if this were not so very fragile and they were not so very aware of that. But they cannot be selfish - when have they ever belonged entirely to themselves in the first place? "I must allow the Inquisition to have you back it would seem," a reluctant mutter, almost petulant.

There is time for a last brief kiss, for her lips at Leliana's ear to whisper.

"Kieran still goes to bed far earlier than you or I. I will send word when he is safely tucked in for the night that we might...resume our discussion."

(For the benefit of potential prying ears, she is here to help the Inquisition too.)

[fightingale]

Her hands flex, and though that kiss is brief that makes it no less fierce, an edge of bite to it, before she soothes Morrigan's lip with something just barely more gentle.

As for the words, they feel more tenuous. More brittle and likely to splinter off and catch her if she is not careful. Morrigan's words are broken glass and need to be handled carefully. Leliana is not entirely at ease, not entirely certain either of them know what they are doing or what they want, and in the moment where pulling apart is necessary, wonders if she has made a critical blunder. What if this is a part of the Grand Game, for all Morrigan's disdain of it? What if this is not what she believes it to be?

She kisses Morrigan's cheek as her agreement, and even with the knots tangling in her gut, appears remarkably calm. Some part of her is aware there might be some of that stain Morrigan uses darkening her lips bled into her own, and she finds herself more thrilled by the thought than concerned.

Her own feelings on the matter are, in a word, complex.

"Later, then." A murmur, before she lets her fingers trail away from Morrigan's sides, and she makes for the door. Loudly, enough for the scout to hear, "I am on my way."