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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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."

She laughs.

(Of course she laughs - she wouldn't be herself otherwise, and he knew that long before he got into this relationship.)

But it's quiet and there's some subtle, charmed squeak behind it - terribly girly and she'd never admit to it under pain of death, but it's there - eyes crinkled and bright and very blue over the tops of her fingers.

"That wasn't terribly honorable of them," she returns, grip tightening around his hand just in case he decides to run off again.

"Mum didn't think so either," he says, his own hand squeezing her fingers slightly. "She boxed my ears for quite some time, scolding me for my stupidity while she cleaned some of my cuts and bruises."

Luckily all of that had changed when he learned how to wield a real sword.

Yvaine tilts her head, eyes narrowed and expression terribly thoughtful - going so far as to tap a finger against her chin and hum briefly.

A firm nod.

"It probably would have worked."

He slowly steals a glance in her direction from his side before a smile begins to cross his face.

Finally, he shakes his head.

"No, I am glad you will never have to see that. I was quite more of a moron than I am now."

She grins widely, bumping him with her hip.

"Is that even possible, dear?"

And isn't that the most convincing innocent-face you've ever seen?

No. No, it is not. We are not convinced. At all.

Tristran doesn't answer, choosing instead to roll his eyes and shake his head with a wry smile.

Ah, Yvaine. Always knows how to cheer someone up, that girl.

The star laughs again and she really can't be blamed for rocking upward onto her toes the next time he glances over and planting her lips against his firmly, tangling her fingers in his collar until she's properly breathless, before smoothing out the material primly and starting forward again with sure steps.

If there's any cheerful whistling, it's surely your imagination.

Brightly, "Coming?"

Well, then.

Staring after her a little foolishly, Tristran eventually comes to grips with reality, and when he does, the only thing he can manage is a nod.

"Yes, of course."

Colour him impressed.

'Impressed' is a rather interesting shade. It suits him.

"Thank you for the story," she chimes, her own smile just the slightest bit crooked.

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