tristranthorn | [028] OOM - I of VII

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Location: somewhere in stormhold

Entry tags:

oom,
yvaine

[028] OOM - I of VII - The Road Goes Ever On

The travel never seems to end, and already they've done so much of it.

Which, really, should mean that they are experts at this - with very little complaint and a whole lot of knowledge of what to do in all seasons and weather situations.

But while it can be said to be true that they know quite a lot about the weather and how to adapt to all its faces, the complaining bit hasn't changed too much. Occasionally, Tristran would get a little irritated with the lack of proper food to be found, and Yvaine would mutter about how uncomfortable the twigs sticking into her back are and how much better beds and soft pillows would be in comparison.

However, when everything is said and done, they actually (secretly) enjoy it all: the traveling, the alone-time, the utter freedom from any and all responsibility. They are hardly ever recognized in towns for who they truly are - sometimes not even when they reveal their names - and the ability to move about as they please is fun, leaving very little time to mope about.

When Tristran set off from the Thorn farm and household so many months ago to seek a fallen star, he never imagined that he would be here today with her, loving her and running away from his responsibility to govern an entire kingdom as a royal.

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He grins sheepishly.

"You know me far too well, Yvaine," he says. "But I am equally looking forward to soft pillows and a mattress."

He pauses, raising his left hand partially covered in scar tissue.

"And perhaps if we see an apothecary in town, we might find some salve. I'm afraid I've run out, and my hand still acts up on the occasion."

"I fail to see how anyone could not look forward to such things."

The hand in question gets snatched up quickly enough - easily replacing the one she was holding and curled into the space between both of hers with a press of lips to the palm.

She shrugs, carefully stepping backward, "Probably not as good as Meggot's, but we can make due."

He nods, smiling softly as he attempts to flex his hand a bit; some days it's stiff enough that movement seems impossible.

"Yes," he says. "Meggot's salve is quite something, even though it smelled a little odd."

But it worked and that's all that matters.

"And your leg? How is it these days?"

That gets her a set of fingers tapping along her nose and she wrinkles it up under the touch, narrowing her eyes at him briefly.

A laugh, "As though you do not hear me whining enough, dear."

She'd stick out her tongue, but, you know, hand in the way and all that.

"I thought it only fair to ask," he returns, blinking at her innocently.

Shrugging, he starts forward - in the direction of town. He does want that dinner, after all.

"Some rest for it will certainly help, if anything."

"And something warm in your stomach," she adds, voice pitched in a rather impressively accurate imitation of his Mother (the sane one). "Goodness, you poor dear, you really should eat more if you are going to be traveling such long distances. Really, Tristran, she's all skin and bones."

The straight face she manages to keep throughout the entire thing is pretty impressive as well.

He laughs.

"You do that far too well," he admits, shaking his head. "Glad to know you've paid very close attention to the way my mum speaks, of course."

Seeing them, and having Yvaine meet them seems like it had happened ages ago now.

"It's a talent."

She grins widely, sketching out a vague bow with her fingers.

"And I pay very close attention to anyone who fusses over me that much," she adds. "I do not think that my Mother fussed over me that much."

"That's the way she is," he says fondly, returning the grin. "She didn't do it very much with me when I got a little older" - and no doubt when his 'Faerie-ness' began to show more obviously - "but when I was a child, I remember her fussing over such very things."

She slows just enough to loop her arm through his, ducking under a particularly low-hanging branch.

"Somehow I think the your sister gave her more than enough to worry about."

"I got into a fair bit of trouble as a kid," he says, "but you're right. Louisa was far worse. And more often than not, she was the one getting me into trouble."

Oh, his childhood. Those were the special times.

She arcs an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"You got yourself into trouble," she inquires, skepticism pretty heavy there too. "And not the 'Oh dear, it looks as though I have stumbled upon trouble.' sort?"

He looks sheepish in response to her skepticism. After all, seeing him now would make trouble seem like the least likely characteristic to ever exist in his personality.

"It was a combination of all sorts of things," he explains. "Like many of my peers, I had a phase of ... wanting to cause trouble. Something to prove, and all that." He shrugs. "It didn't last for very long."

The star ducks her chin to hide a laugh.

"Now was this proving to be done before or after falling in love with your fine pastry?"

Humans are odd.

(Odd, of course, in that they have peers that interact and aren't all related to them.)

"A bit of both."

He shakes his head in embarrassment, remembering the heaps of stupidity that went into some of his schemes.

"When I found it did not work on her, I stopped."

(Oh, yes. Put it that way, it is very odd. Right.)

"Oh, now you have to tell me."

She tugs on his fingers, grinning eagerly - eyes bright and maybe looking just the slightest bit childish herself.

"I will even tell you if it would have worked on me."

He shakes his head.

"Oh, Yvaine. It is all much too embarrassing. And I hardly remember much of it anyway."

Lies!

But maybe she will buy them? (They're discount!)

(Discounts are tempting, but -)

"You are hardly helping your case, dear," the grin only widens and she snakes her arm around his waist, leaning against his side and peering upward with her most convincing expression. "And you must remember something."

Embarrassment, sadly, only encourages her.

"I'll say please?"

"Then you had better be prepared to say a lot of 'please', because I really don't think I want to tell you."

He starts to step back from her.

"And you know - there's the town to get to." Beat. "Don't forget - beds. And dinner. And fluffy pillows."

"A lot of please!"

She quickly smothers the grin - though her amusement is still rather obvious to almost anyone looking - jutting out her lower lip and tugging herself tighter against him.

"You cannot walk and speak at the same time?"

"No."

He might try to detach himself from the rather (suddenly) clingy star, but he doesn't.

Instead he simply walks silently.

Sorry, Yvaine. We don't take Smartass~~ican Express~~ comments.

The 'Oh, and now you are going to mope?' is perilously close to making its way past her lips before she decides that she actually wants to hear this sometime this millennia and manages to keep her mouth shut for the moment.

(She does have self-restraint around somewhere, it's really just a matter of finding it when she needs it.)

She forces her steps a bit faster and laces her fingers back through his carefully, reaching up with her free hand to tug lightly at the ends of his hair and turning her head away when he finally decides to look over at her. It's a purposefully childish move - the skittish sort of hair-pulling, kindergarten flirtation - fingers hidden behind her back and peeking over through her hair.

A smile, "Please?"

Tristran is very weak-willed when it comes to Yvaine. Very much so. Even though she may irritate him on the occasion, and act so incredibly strange the next, he is completely and utterly malleable in her ~~evil~~ hands.

(A bit like very pretty putty.)

As they make it through the scarce woods and towards a cresting hill some moments later, Tristran finally lets out a breath.

"I was fourteen," he starts.

The smile widens, flashing just the slightest bit triumphantly, and she stays obediently silent.

Story-time is for listening, after all.

"And I was rather foolishly infatuated with Victoria," he continues, shaking his head and letting out another breath.

"I had come to the conclusion that it might be a good idea to ... stage a duel with some of the other boys. I would come out looking like the winner - and thus, I would undoubtedly impress her." He scratches his head. "Only, it didn't quite turn out that way.

"I was a highly uncoordinated fourteen-year-old boy, and in the end, the boys decided that it would be a lot more fun if the duel was for real."

He shrugs.

"Let us just say, I lost quite epically, and could not show myself before her for many a month."

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