He prefers the shadows...
And so when you didn't wake up at the crack of dawn and pile into your living room at some Ungodly Hour, he was relieved. Even more relieved when morning turned to afternoon. For him, twilight is the better 'sunrise'. That's when Everything begins...
So he's up and all by the time you see him. He's already rummaged through your fridgedair, pantry and cupboards and, finding nothing, already returned from Pashmina's. There's some fruit-stuffed naan -- cherries and apricots -- and some chicken and tomato curry waiting for you, wrapped up and kept warm.
Huw the Hunter has hunted and gathered. Never say he didn't provide for ya...
And now, he's sitting on your sofa, picking at his food and reading over a London Times, which he bought downstairs, looking as disheveled as yesterday, with his mahogany hair spiked out, black leather pants and coat, and the dark brown pullover. Very leaves and earth, apart from the several more-than-silver talismans around his neck. One of which is a dead ringer for your own.
He's kept himself entertained. Mostly by sleeping, of course. But you may notice your apartment is still rather meticulously clean. Your dishes have been done. Things put away. For all their randomness, the fairy men you've come to know sure have been neat-freaks....
"Mrf...." She comes out of the bedroom, the sun - what's visible of it - tingeing the far edges of the city red and purple below the unrelenting grey that is and ever will be London. Mostly purple - all this popping in and out and making emotional confessions and leaps of feminine intuition has been tiring her out, after all.
What is the well-dressed punk wearing to bed, lately? Well, if you're Drancy, it's an oversized buttonup shirt that used to be white, but ended up sort of pinkish-yellow when washed with other fabrics - one of her old school shirts, maybe, which she messed up when first doing her own laundry, and paired currently with a pair of fuzzy black and white striped socks. Her hair is beyond hope, a classic case of bed hair that makes her look like a reject from an anime short, features still flushed and slightly swollen with sleepiness. It's probably only because of having gotten used to having people in her living room so much that she's wearing anything at all.
Stumbling through the doorway, she skids slightly thanks to the socks on the abnormally clean floor, with a slight yelp. Well... that's one way to wake her up...
"What is it with you blokes, that you feel you have to clean my apartment?", she grumbles, semi-coherently and through a yawn. "I don't even let my mother have a key, for fear she'll pop up with cleaning supplies and food parcels. - Morning. ... Issat naan?" She fumbles her way towards the smell of food, by nose more than by eye, walking in a slightly staggered fashion to prevent the fuzz from turning socks into skates.
"Well... it keeps us from searching your drawers while you sleep. You should thank us, you know," Huw drags on, only slightly muffled by his eating. "We're a bit nosy. I think you have a saying ...something about idle hands and the devil?"
Devil. You know, Huw's quite fetchin' like this. A punk fairy. Makes sense in a weird way. And he's rather wretchedly clean, despite the fact that he seems to be in Yesterday's clothes. But there's not a wrinkle to be found -- not his shirt, nor on his face. As you yelp, he looks up, eyes glittering in mirth, mouth twisting in a 'ha ha' smile.
Sure, he's laughing with you... not at you...
Right...
"Yah," he says, a nod, and he gestures over there. "Want some coffee?" he wonders. "I can get some in a jiff. Cream and-or sugar?"
A grumble comes from her, and she speaks with deliberate malice as she pads with exaggerated elaborateness to the table. "I can't wait to introduce you to my parents." Ha. Chew on -that-, Huw-the-bloody-Hunter, no doubt scourge of maidens slipping into woods bordering on Fairy Realms. See how you cope with -that- notion, in any way, shape or form.
Gripping the edges and lowering herself onto the seat, she lays her chin on her hands. "Cream. Lots of cream, a little sugar. Basically, should be the colour of mild tea. Bring the pot. And what, you're going to search my drawers? I thought you'd have gotten enough of that the -last- time..."
Time for a bit of a stretch. Drancy leans back now, in her chair, arms extending out over her head and back, chin tipped upwards with her eyes closed. "Rrrrrr." Slowly, she slouches back down, like silly putty gradually taking on its normal shape again, and reopens eyes a silvery shade of blue. "You look ... cute." Not quite an accusation. "Really cute."
Pot? Pot Schmot!! On the table appears a see-through mug with coffee made to your specifications. "I think I can handle them. If I can handle the twelve-headed hundred-eyed beast of lower Chaos, I can certainly handle meeting your earthly parents. I've slayed dragons, surely... I can handle one dinner... " or whatever. Huw smirks and looks up from his paper and food, back down to himself, then back up to you. "Figured I'd dress the part. Wouldn't do for you to live with a habberdasher, wot?"
Huw rises from the sofa, carting along his food, leaving the London news behind and he joins you at the small table. No sooner does he arrive than a cup of flowery-herby smelling tea materializes, to join your cup of coffee. "Thought we might go out. I need to get my lay of the land. I hate not knowing where I am..." A wink.
"And... thanks. I pride myself on being cute. I'm a fairy." So deadpan. "So do you. Very disheveled Modern Young Woman. Kind of artsy, really."
She's too sleepy, still, to blush, and you catch her with the mug being lifted to her lips. Very nearly, she snorts coffee all over, but at some last moment, the remnants of Fiona's influence holds her in place. "Artsy, my arse." Two fingers are placed, back of the hand facing you, under her chin. "Fairy this, mate."
The mug comes down heavily, and she wipes at the bit that did escape her 'ladyship' with the back of her hand, defiantly. "I could get used to this. Breakfast I don't have to hunt down and kill myself, coffee with cream..." Cute males... She does seem to have a weakness for fairy men. You, in general, with your ability to slide past her defenses, Hwyll with his own ability to elicit confessions and some semblance of trust... but then, a weakness for fairy men seems to run in her family, doesn't it? "...only problem is that you're too bloody cheerful for first thing in the morning. I guess you'll be wanting me to get dressed, then. Where d'you want to start?"
"Oh, no rush. Don't figure the party gets started till midnight anyway. Maybe we'll just scout about, go to places you like. I can follow you around while you work, drink and make merry. It's what I'm good at." He smiles quicksilver-like, they all do. Even Davydd does. And to the fairy this, Huw cackles, sitting back and cradling his tea.
...smells like wildflowers and berries...
He sips at it. "I'm glad I can be useful. We'll get you doing it yourself, eventually." Sip. "Lemme ask y'... do y' like y'r hair like 'at?" his accent is a muddle of Celtia, and when he gets going, the words run together a bit. But at least he's not Scottish -- it is sort of intelligible. "Long, I mean. It grew out when you ..." His mouth slides in a slanting smile, "...found your gift, I reckon. That's Isabel's doing... If you don't want it, I can help you."
"I ... haven't really decided, to be honest. It was a right pain in the arse, when it first happened." She grins, a little sheepishly, running her fingers through the oak-coloured traces, letting them fall again. "Now, I've more or less gotten used to it - though I did take out most of the beads and shite. For one thing, it bloody -hurt-, trying to sleep on that mess. Damn near cold-cocked myself, first time I turned round real quick, too..."
Some edge of feminine vanity creeps into her towards the last, though. "Why? D'you like it long, or short, better? I think you've seen both." And didn't you just know that was coming, the way you left yourself open to it? Drancy finishes off her coffee in a great gulp, and leans forward to rub the nape of her neck. Tension's slowly settling back in, like she's getting dressed for work...
"What did you think of her? I mean ... you said you never slept with her," and she's willing to accept you at your word, "but did you want to? Everyone who'd met her 'before', seems to think the world of her."
In ways noone'll ever think of me, even if I go back to being Fiona bloody all the time. I can't be like that, all light and tinkly. Don't know how she did it, maybe it comes with being a fairy - they all seem to just let things roll off their backs like it doesn't much matter.
She rises from her seat in a reverse of the motion she sat down with, pushing herself up from the table's edge, fingers pressed down against the wood grain. She doesn't immediately move away, though, sleepy eyes glimmering with growing alertness, and a certain watchfulness, even as her hair fluffs out around her like an aggravated mink's. "D'you just want me to stop asking questions..."
"Well... sex for us... it's not as ...laden and burdoned as it seems to be for most of you lot," he quietly rolls. A shrug, a sip of tea. "Sex is pleasure, pleasure is enjoyment, and enjoyment's a good thing. That's where it ends for most. Some, of course, use it as a weapon -- same as here. Not that I'm saying she did. That wasn't her way. She... was popular. Me? I appreciated her work, her power, aye, but I wasn't one of the blokes, as you put it, waitin' in line. She was a lovely thing, and aye... you do look a bit like her. I can see her in you. But... you're you, and that's the way it should be." Another sip. "She's talented. A great magician, even greater artist. Davydd was a bit moon-eyed for her for a while, but that was eight..." he catches himself. "Well... it was a long time ago, at any rate. And I don't mind the questions. It's how you learn. How anything learns, right?"
Huw exhales and lifts brown eyes to you, the smile winding across his expression, mouth spreading. "You're popular too, you know. You're different, but your similar to her. I can see the resemblance. So could Davydd, I warrant. And Hwyll. You've got your own power, Drancy, you just have to get acquainted with it." Sip.
He finishes his tea and gets up, talismans tinkling against one another as he moves. "And if you do want your hair the other way, just let me know. I'll show you how to alter your appearance. It's the first step to..."
... He becomes a stag...
...And then a man again...
"... doing this. As far as what I like," and he grins, eyes dancing filled with light and mirth and probably mischief, he comes up next to you, hand resting for a minute on your waist. "I like you like this. I like you when you call yourself Fiona, I like the name Fiona, I liked you with your magenta hair and your fist in my gut, when you give, even when you don't want to give, because at your heart you really want to. That's what Huw the Hunter likes. But then," his voice turns a bit smoky, "... I love it when what I chase has a bit of bite and fight..."
Drancy draws in a startled breath, at that sudden transition. It's almost enough to make her forget that mention of other people, of the varying links between her ancestress, and the ... others ... and her eyes widen on it.
The gasp doesn't get let out, though, as you change again, closing the gap, touching her - any touch is intimacy for her, with her violently enforced personal space, and in the light of confessions made by wholes and by halves, by her and by you. And she blushes, opening her mouth to speak, without anything coming out.
Just lips parted, with a hint of white teeth behind it...
"You particularly like knocking me off guard, don't you," she breathes out, finally, twisting slightly - not away, quite, but so her shoulder's turned towards you, as if it would be adequate 'protection'. She's perfectly capable of stepping back, but ... she doesn't entirely want to ... "What's this?"
Drancy brings one hand up, to the charms dangling round your neck, plucking out the one twin to her own. "You had two of these, always, just in case? Or are you waiting for me to bite you and run away, again... ?"
And with that, she deliberately bares her teeth, refusing to let the blush make her stand down from challenging, eyes flashing, even as she prepares to dart away.
"There are only two of them. You wear one, I wear the other one. You know, in some fairy tribes that makes us as good as married," Huw drolls. Amused by the idea. As if. His eyes flash and he smiles. "The spell is a binding, of a fashion. You hold yours and call me, and I come running. I'm still your belled cat," he mutters. "I bet you really like that, deep down inside. Huw the big pussy..." So, he is a punk fairy.
Go figure...
"And half of me expects to be kicked or bitten after whatever I say," he laughs. "So, if I can't knock you off your guard, what chance do I have?" He loves a good challenge, and he likes it when you get bossy. You can see that -- in the dark-bright eyes, in the edge of his smile, in the way he looks at you when you get all Uppity and up in his face. He doesn't move his hand, there's still the light touch of it. "The others are just for show," so he says. One of the pendants appears to be a vial of some sort, of smoky quartz, but it has a lid. Might even hold a liquid. Or something.
And he smells like earth, but sweeter. Cinnamon and bark and sandalwood and musk.
Married... ? Her eyes go huge and wide again, taken by surprise. Now ... there's an idea she hadn't given thought to ...
"My family is going to be quite upset, you know, not even getting the chance to vet the groom before the big day," she quips sardonically, habit overwhelming surprise. "And besides, it'd be nice to actually get proposed to, first - I thought it was supposed to be one of the biggest days in a girl's life, and all that."
She lets the talisman slide through her fingers, instead rooting among the others with slow, nonchalant deliberateness - mice are sometimes known to walk between the cat's paws, when they think the cat's asleep...
"What's this one? An emergency ration of wine, in case you run out while deep in the woods?" Oh, it's tempting. But there's a slight, nervous alertness to Drancy, as she continues to hover there - this closeness is still very new to her. Maybe that's what prompts her next move, or maybe it's the scent of you...
"Half of you, mm? Which half?" And Drancy leans in, to sink teeth into your arm, biting down through whatever layers might be there along near the shoulder. It's nowhere near hard enough to draw blood, but ... it's hard enough to make itself felt ...
And as soon as she does it, she's scrambling backwards, with a look of mingled triumph, self-satisfaction, and ... something between fear and anticipation. What will you do now, o mighty Hunter?
Huw the Hunter just smiles. "It's a fairy potion," he says, quietly. "Dew from a flower that only grows beneath moonlight, with purple petals. Just a drop to the tip of the tongue and..." A pause, and the smile doesn't deepen so much as it widens, "...it's a powerful aphrodisiac. But it's also good for numbing the senses to pain," which is presumably why he's carrying it.
As you scramble back, he moves nonchalantly forward, as if he'll be turning for the sofa, and maybe he will. So, the kitten likes to bite, does she? Well, what happens, kitten, when you find out the bigger cat likes to be bitten? The leather coat's shrugging off his shoulders and he tosses it aside, landing short of the sofa. Oh well. And he rolls up the long sleeve of his right arm, showing almond-complected skin. "It's better without the leather," he suggests.
And while he's not making any sudden movements, he's not relenting. Not a tick. Huw smiles, "...c'mon, you've been waiting to get your digs in without the armor, now's your chance," he murmurs.
He pauses a minute and then...
Off goes the shirt...
He's lean and he's strong, nothing there but muscle, but he's evenly porportioned -- not as bulky as the immortal knights you've spent time with lately. His skin is smooth. And there's not a single tattoo. Oh, and he has no shame. That's a mortal thing, some bugaboo about Original Sin or whatever. Not his mythology...
Oh, dear.
She doesn't say it aloud, and it'd be dreadfully unpunk to do, wouldn't it? But for the third time in as many tens of minutes, Drancy's eyes widen, and the expression on her face is much more Fiona than Drancy. She's caught staring, the virgin at the man, and it's not hard to guess which one's more in danger of losing ... composure ...
"Uhhh." It's a powerful temptation, even as the blood attempts to all rush to her head, making her knees wobble. She presses her hands to her cheeks, as if to will the colour back down, or just to cool them off. "You're too bloody gorgeous," she finally blunders out with. "Why're you even here?"
With me... instead of some Isabel... or a Dot, or something... I mean...
It is a bit hard for me to swallow... and it's not like you're after me for my money, my family's money, or for my term paper, or for a recording contract...
She drifts closer, socks whispering against the floorboards, not quite in touching range, as if suspicious of some dirty trick - or that it's an illusion, trick of the light. And, well ... fairy men've proven tricky, in the past... "I'm not casual about this," she mutters, a bit wildly. "But ... well, you didn't put that in the damned coffee, did you?"
"No," he answers, plain and true. "If I had, we wouldn't be vertical." He doesn't push you into it, force his way or otherwise press the issue. He remains where he is, wisp of a smile, and eyes on you. "Let me explain something to you about men. We don't give a shite about half the things the Fairer Sex worries about. There's nothing... subversive or underhanded or two-faced about my saying I like you, or about saying I want to be with you and fancy showing you what that liquid can do. I'm not into you because you have money or just for your looks, aye? In fact, all that is meaningless. Appearance," he takes a step to close the distance, "...is an image, it's just an image. Even form. What does it all mean when you can shape it to whatever you want..."
And he becomes a stag again...
And then himself...
And then his hand is on your waist again. "I like you," Huw whispers. "And that's why I'm here." Pause. "That, and you called me." He winks.
It'd be so easy to faint. It gives her a brief, bittersweet appreciation for a bygone era, in fact. Buying time to think - or even an easy out - but Drancy or Fiona, she's not going to faint on cue. "I'm ... glad you like me," she says, a bit faintly. "I even believe you." That's a victory and a half, innit?
"But..." Ah, you knew there had to be a but, if she was being this pliable and forthcoming, didn't you? "I don't know anything about sex except what I hear from Dot, or've read about," and she's going redder, again, by stages, "and I don't even know how to begin to have safe sex conversations with a presumedly immortal being who's probably had enough women in his past to outrival any rock star, let alone discuss contraceptives... let alone discuss the big R word."
She doesn't pull away, staying still, as if afraid by moving she'll somehow spoil it. She does though raise her hands to pull her hair back, away from her face, biting down hard on her lower lip for a moment. "Ree-lay-shun-ship." And Drancy looks up, half expecting you to turn into a puff of smoke and vanish at the word, a slightly wry grin on her own face. "Can't believe I'm saying any of this, you know... s'all your fault..."
"Safe. Sex." He says, not knowing what you mean. Well, most punks probably don't know about it or patently refuse to do it, bucking the established thought. Let alone doing the "safe" thing. Dot's at least smart about it. He peers at you a moment. "Well, I wasn't planning on tying you up or cuffing you, or hanging you up by your ankles." If that's what you mean by safe...
Huw smiles, managing not to laugh. "I have an idea," he says and with a bend, places a kiss on your forehead. "let's go in the other room and have a chat about it...R-word and all. Oh," he adds in a whisper, "...thanks for translating. I wasn't sure what that was going to be."
Huw pats you on the waist and nods toward your bedroom. Might as well talk about sex where sex usually happens. Makes sense. "It's better without the hype and expectations. I mean, who could live up to Dot's constant copulation epics..."
"You have no idea." Dot's epics have kept Drancy safely chaste for many a year, now, and make her roll her eyes even now. "Ooo-kay... " It's with a certain amount of trepidation that she glances towards the bedroom. She knows perfectly well that it'd be very easy for talking to lead way to ... pursuits pastoral.
"Can we bring the naan with us, though?" And she contrives to not look like she's feeling slightly Queen of May-ish, what with this whirlwind of touches and kisses that keeps her blushing. As an afterthought, she adds, "I wasn't meaning kinky stuff. Why, is that what you're into?" Now she's teasing, as she pulls away, to run into the bedroom, a teasingly triumphant little laugh escaping her.
His mouth twists mischievous. "I could be talked into it. Hunters do work with traps...." You run into your bedroom, and he's sure to follow. Naan and curry and all. "Maybe you'd like to see me try to get out of one..." Ha!
But better it be this way, yah? ...than learning about sex the hard and painful way. This is a way that suits you. One with understanding. Course, of the men you have been around, the fairy-blessed have been the most ...polite. Weird. Even Hwyll. Could you imagine what Davydd would be like?
"Would you like another round of coffee?"
"Coffee? Oh... sure..." And she's hunting for a pair of jeans, already, rooting in among her laundry, to pull them on hurriedly. If she's going to be alone with you in her bedroom, she wants if not armour, then ... at least a slight added margin, to get used to this through ... even if she suspects they're not going to stay on. She might surprise you yet, after all ...
She adds, a bit petulantly, "And maybe a couple dozen hairpins or something. I swear, this stuff's turning sentient on me, and it's mean as snake shite." Well, it's -her- hair, after all. And she just doesn't quite know what to make of it, except for the dawning realization she's in ... well ... over her head.
She's found hairpins, by now, and managed to tame her hair to some slight degree, though it retains its rebelliousness underneath a seemingly sleek surface - it coils, little tendrils just waiting for the right moment to explode free of their imprisonment, and pave the way for larger and wilder locks. But, for the moment, it's ... contained ...
Drancy's also traded her nightshirt in for something just as oversized and vaguely comforting, a rather worn-looking long-sleeved shirt of soft green cotton that hangs untidily off one shoulder, socks still on her feet, jeans still clothing her legs in denim. She looks around her bedroom, a bit nervously.
Right... I'm going to talk to him, in here, about sex. I might be a little oblivious, but even I can't lie my way out of this one... Is it always this hard, trying to decide to be with someone, wondering if giving in to what you want is the right decision to make? Of course ... most people don't think about it ... they just - give in ...
The bedroom's much as it's always been, and is by and large devoid of personal effects of the kind one typically finds - no school photos visible, no momentos of past occasions, not even ticket stubs or posters - she gets given those all the time, to the point where she's finally started renting a storage place to stow it all away. The bed's nice, if a bit unadorned - a queen-sized mattress, with a tarnished brass or copper or some other cheap alloyed metal bedstead that holds it a scant six inches off the floor, with various items shoved deep under the bed where even Dot hasn't bothered to go exploring, and an extra comforter stuffed in front of them for good measure. A ... relatively recent addition, those ...
Drancy settles onto the floor, on top of a pile of dirty laundry that hasn't yet gotten to the 'stink' stage, and waits for Huw's return. "Oi," she calls, softly, giving him an excuse not to hear her. "You done grabbing the food, yet... ?"
"Yeah yeah... hold onto your horses, little missy...."
The food's not only grabbed, it's presented. Put on proper plates, or at least half-proper and carried in, balanced like an expert waiter. Huw leaves the door wide open, I mean, who's going to peer in? And he heads to your side of the bed. He's used to the disarray. He doesn't even blink at it.
Plates are set on the bed and he goes about removing his shoes, giving them a kick to the side, out of the way. "Bit of a weird way to go about it," Huw's mouth twists a smile. "But... I never expect you to be conventional..." But that's all he says. His eyes twinkle and barefoot now, socks tossed in with the shoes, he moves to the bed. "I take it you want to talk about it casually... here... I'll let -you- lead. You're the one with the questions..."
Even his feet are cute ... God, I have it bad.
Drancy gives herself a mental slap, and lies back in the laundry, as if it were a particularly oddly-shaped armchair. "I always have questions, but I'm glad you noticed. I mean, I'd hate to think you haven't been paying attention, all this time." Well, you didn't expect her to stop making snarky comments, did you? But it's said with a slight grin, nonetheless.
"I can be conventional, if that's what you want," she hears herself saying, with a faint horror inside her own head. "But I'd rather see if I can annoy the piss out of you and get you to react." Well... she did want to be brutally honest, but this wasn't quite what she'd initially had in mind by it. "I mean, there's got to be a reason why I fell for you, innit?"
"It's simple. I'm a glutton for punishment and you like to dish it out." He flashes a grin and plops down on the bed. And his feet are cute, in a male fairy sort of way. Damn near delicate in fact. "Nah, you'd only be disappointed in it if you went vanilla on me. So... balls and kit on the table, I suppose," Huw twists, stacking up what cushions there are, and calling a few extra from the ether. Dark greens, dark blues, dark browns. Not as flashy as Hwyll's, but still comfortable. "You know it'll hurt a bit, and that there's nothing I can do about that, right? So, no kicking me in the 'nads while I'm trying to," he leans in toward you, grinning in a slant, "...work my magic..." Ha ha!
And he eats a bit of curry. Why not. "Anything you want to know? You want to handle the merchandise, see what you're buying into? What..."
"Oh, and another thing: I don't do strip-tease dancing. So if you want Chippendales, go down the street..."
She goes slightly red in the face, as you no doubt expected she would, though gets disconcerted, or just distracted, by the cushioning. "You and Hwyll both have a bloody fetish for pillows, don't you. Christ." She shakes her head a bit, disbelievingly, then goes a bit redder. "Yeah, I know. I mean, not firsthand, obviously, or I... oh, hell, you know what I mean."
A pause, as she leans forward to get some of the food for herself, crumbling a bit of naan between restless fingers - a few small wavy locks have already begun to sproing themselves loose from the hairpins. "Um. Not to sound totally uncomfortable or out of my league here, but ... how serious are you? About being a glutton for punishment. I mean..." She looks a bit uncertain. "Not like I don't know people who're into all that, but..."
Her own experience with that has been rather strictly limited, all in all, to punishing herself, at the heart of it, keeping herself under control. A pause for breath, and to chew, and swallow, and another blush. "For God's sake," she sputters. "If I was just into seeing men in the nude, I'd have just wandered backstage more often than I do. I dance, and I like to watch it, but ... I mean." She coughs a bit, getting herself back under control.
"Though actually," she adds, suddenly growing diffident, "I was wondering one thing..."
"It's a fairy thing," Huw mutters. You wouldn't understand. "We're into comfort. Comfort, good food, great wine, and more comfort. It's a good life, if you can get it." He dips the bread into the spicy sauce and eats, chuckling. "Ah well... you'll find out what I like later. I'm not into drawing blood, if that's what you mean. Pain's not so much my thing." Not so much. "I leave ritual piercing to the hardcore lads...."
He eats another hunk of naan, cramming it in with his fingers, filling his mouth and then working to chew. "Brutal honesty, that's what I like. Go ahead... ask me anything you want. I'm in a giving mood...."
If anything, she might understand too well. That's the difference - whereas you and the other fairies luxuriate in your comforts, she holds herself aloof from it, as from sex, as if afraid that by giving in ... she'll never be able to pull away from it again. The price, as it were, of her entitled background.
But Drancy just shrugs a little, shredding the naan in her lap absently. "You saw my place in France," she points out. "I know how to do it. I just ... don't." Her eyebrows quirk upwards, mouth twisting slightly. "You love being mysterious and making me chase as much as I make you chase, don't you, in your own way..."
A breath, she tilts her head to the side. Pop. A hairpin ejects itself audibly, launching itself out to the floor. "Blast," she mutters, brushing it out of her face. "I was going to ask you ... um. Try not to laugh, all right? I feel damned foolish as it is, but ... am I going to regret it, never having seen a unicorn?"
"Well, it's not like I live in the palace of pillows myself. I mostly sleep on the cold hard ground," he mutters. A tracker, like a hunter maybe. Not so different, truly. As Huw swallows down the food and grins like a shit-eating, canary-gorged cat.
And then there's a unicorn on your bed. Something midway between goat and Shetland pony, only not as fat, bearded, with baby blue eyes, and a golden horn. Not all that long. Cloven hooves. The whole works. It opens its mouth and neither neighs nor bleets but kind of oddly trumpets.
And then it's gone. In its place, a smirking Huw. "There, now you won't have to be disappointed." And promptly stuffs a bit of curry-soaked naan in his mouth.
She's startled, for a long moment, but the look on her face is for a moment, not one you've seen on her face before. In fact, the look says only one thing : Awwwww, that's so cuuuuuuuute...
And then it's gone, and Drancy blinks. "Hey ... wait a second ... how'd you do that? I mean, you can't convince me that you're..." And her face goes beet-red, and she draws her knees up to her chest, burrowing her face against them.
"Never mind," comes the muffled words. "Forget I asked, just ... I ... mrf." Clearly, she's embarassed, and not just about nearly asking you if you're a virgin, too.
"Well, I'm not a real unicorn. I only briefly looked like one. Don't have to be a virgin to be a good mimic," he murrs, "That's the beautify of fairy magic. Semblance. Twisting the creative forces to ... well... do what you like or need. We'll see if you have the gift for it or not. It's a bit of an earthy spell. Even if one does decide to become, I don't know, a unicorn... or a dragon..." He makes a motion with his hand to indicate 'Whatever', then sets his plate aside, leaning back on the pillows. You now have his undivided attention. "Why don't you come over here and join me. It's easier to talk about sex in close proximity, I find. Let alone actually managing it." He smiles a bit. "That goes without saying, yah. So..." he pats the space beside him. "We can do a little... exploration. It's the best way to learn, getting the lay of the land," pun intended. "Just so you know," Huw whispers, "your virginity will still be intact by the night's end..."
"...Okay." Her face is still rather pinker than is the norm, for her, but she rises nonetheless, crossing to the bed and settling into place on it - not touching, but close enough that she could ... if she wanted to ... if she lets herself.
"Which does bring up another question," Drancy ventures bravely. "What do you ... really look like? I mean, not that I'm all hung up on appearances or anything, but ... I'd sort of like to know, before we, err, do. You know."
And just to make it funnier, it's not like she doesn't call sex by a more vulgar name ten or fifteen times a night, when at work or chatting with Dot or whomever ....
Well, it's always different when it's you who'll be doin' the arching and moaning. He's not shocked. Hmm. Good question. "I'm not really sure how to answer that," Huw says seriously. "I can take the form that most pleases me or that's most useful to me. But me... Me...?" Hmmm. I don't know if you're ready for that. "Well," Huw begins, tipping his head back and looking at you, closing the distance, "I am really tall," he says, "...much taller than this form. My skin is nut brown, like the outer skin of an acorn. My eyes are black. My clothing is of the earth, shadows and leaves, bark, stone and moss. I have horns, like a ram's horns, they curve in a spiral. Not exactly street fare for the heart of London," he winks. And then he shrug's, but it's the truth.
"I can take any form of earthly or once earthly shape," which means unicorns were real at some point, "... my most common, however, are the white hart, the brown stag, or a black wolf." You've heard of those from legends maybe?
"So, you're... sort of like what Hwyll called Davydd, then," Drancy says, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She hadn't been into magic and fairy tales for years, but recently ... well, she was a good student, once. And she's been trying to sneak in a little homework, even if only with the help of Perault and Grimm... "Oak King?"
She's a little shocked, though not bothered, as such, and she sprawls back against the pillows, chewing on her lower lip. "I want to see." She wants to see everything, to somehow know everything, to understand, even when she's running away...
"I shouldn't feed your ego, if it's not really you, after all." Nice save. Another hair pin, meanwhile, ejects itself from the coils of her hair with a faint pinging sound as it hits the floorboards. "You know," Drancy starts, propping herself up on one elbow, "Ever since I met you..."
"I can't show you here," he murmurs. "It would cause too much of a stir. Besides," he smiles, "your ceiling's too low. And there's only one Oak King. Me, I'm more of a .... Holly King sort of guy. Though, I'm not the Holly King, per se. More like... Herne, or Cernunnos, if you have to think of me in terms of that." Huw leans in, rolling a bit toward you and settling on his side. "Ever since you met me...."
"...What?"
And as he asks the question, head propped up on his hand, elbow to the surface of the bed, he allows himself the leisure of giving you the once and twice over. Eyes lingering here. Eyes lingering there. Corner of his mouth quirking up.
Yeah, I have horns like a ram. Not going to make any puns about me being horny....?
Well, the pun'll probably occur to her in a few, but she's ... distracted, particularly with you leaning in towards her. For a moment, Drancy's breathing goes slightly uneven, then smooths out again. "I'd ... like to see that. Sometime, anyway."
"Oh... um." Absently, she starts pulling the hairpins out again - they're determined to come out anyway, so she might as well. "Ever since I met you ... well, more, ever since we - spoke. I haven't ... been able to get angry."
Lost : one source of driving restless anger, leaving angry young woman merely young and woman. "So." A shrug. "I guess it says something about me, psychobabblewise, or something, but ... well ... donno, really." And now Drancy's a bit embarassed again, self-conscious and very aware of how much space is and isn't between you and her on the bed, putting one hand on that space, halfway, as if testing it - no, no invisible wall, there.
"Sometime," Huw murmurs, his voice with its dark, deep tones. "Maybe you'll take a trip to Amesbury," a stone circle, "... or out in Cornwall at the nine maidens, and you'll think to use your charm. But... you have to wait until midnight." A pause, a little smile. "Of course."
As your hand lands on the bed, Huw grins, leaning in and he places a kiss on your shoulder. But he leans back. See, this is how it should go. In little bits and pieces. See, I don't bite? Well, that's a lie, I do, but not usually this early into matters.
"So I'm your anger management," he says close-in as he is. And he grins, "Well... fancy that. The bloke whose jewels were once in jeopardy of being lopped off if he piddled on your floor," I heard you, "... and now look. You're... actually... happy, I think. Or letting yourself be. Not a bad thing, Fiona," he whispers. You know my name, secret of secrets. And I know yours. That is the reminder.
For a moment, Drancy's eyes widen, and she goes very still, taking a slow breath in, then out again. Eventually, she remembers how to talk again, and after sucking thoughtfully on her lower lip, she does.
"I don't know if you're my anger management, but it's ... been sort of strange ... I go to say something, and I can't think of how I'd say it, usually." And her cheeks flush as if sunburned, and her glance darts away, before returning. "I also seem to spend a lot of time changing colour, around you lot," she grumbles. "And you know perfectly well you wouldn't have let me cut your knackers off, I thought you were a housecat, for Christ's sake..."
At the sound of her name, she goes still again, and she lifts her chin. "I ... know how I feel. And I know how you do. But ... you do realize - there's a bit of ... a downside to all this, yeah?" And she catches her lip again, between her teeth, but doesn't look away.
"Oh, there always is. For every good, there is an ill. The universe depends upon balance. But what's the downside you see? My only being able to be with you for nine days after you call me? I have a week left, by the way." Not that you should dwell on that point, it's just a point.
You go red again and he grins. Yeah, of course he likes it. He prides himself on it actually. "You would have seen one tomcat jump a mile, for certain," Huw laughs, eyes twinkling as they lift up briefly. For he's mid-lean again, this time head tilting to the side. A sneaky and deft set of fingers are now toying with your green shirt. He said you wouldn't lose your virginity tonight. He never said anything about not fooling around.
You have to be very specific with fairy men. There are legends about that too...
"No, not that, though I'll... miss you, when you're not here." And she almost stumbles over the words, it's that hard for her to actually admit. She has her pride, even if it's a bit shredded around the edges, by a certain laughing tomcat... even if not intentionally.
And Drancy doesn't pull away, and that takes an effort of will, trying not to hyperventilate or overreact in one direction or the other - if there's one thing she's bad at, it's balance.
"Just that you do realize I'm falling for you quite hard, and if we actually ... do it, it's going to rather be like entering the gravity well at high speed, for me, yes?" Poetic in its own way, but it'd probably sound better if it hadn't come out so high-pitched and breathless. "I feel like a fool, you know."
"Eh, it happens to everyone. Enjoy it for what it is," he says. "And... just so you know... I'm not going anywhere. Well, you know what I mean. I'll be going but... I'll always be back. No need to feel like a fool. It's just...sex and attraction. And it's all ...like nature." He doesn't shrug, but ...just like a man... to him it isn't as earth-shattering, to borrow a phrase.
His hand lifts and gives a little touch to your face. "I understand what you're saying," Huw adds. "Happens to everyone, you know," he whispers. "Don't worry." He assures in a confident way. You could almost believe him. "I know you're nervous and a bit worried. But don't be. Just trust in it and enjoy it. I'm not going to hurt you." He grins then. "Well... not after the first go around anyway..."
Drancy's eyebrows arch up a little, and she makes a small sound in the back of her throat. "Which you're going to love riding me about forever, aren't you," she grumbles, and she lifts her hand to your wrist, holding on - not pulling your hand away, not guiding, but more as if acknowledging the presence, or perhaps ... reassuring herself that this is real, yes, and not something unreal ...
After all, with fairy men so constantly underfoot, one never knows, does one?
"I think I'm going to have to surprise you," she adds, voice suddenly going slightly husky, eyes narrowed in slightly fierce consideration. "I bet if anyone could, it'd be me ... what do you think?"
But she doesn't quite give you a chance to answer, yet, finding a scrap of courage from somewhere and shifting her position an inch or three closer, tilting her face up towards yours and lifting her hand from your wrist, to brush her thumb along your lower lip. "This ... isn't the surprise ... just so you know..."
"Love riding?" He laughs, "Yes..." He speaks and as he speaks he takes your thumb between his lips, and at the end of his words, just suckles it a little. See? It is not so bad. A little bite even, and he wiggles his eyebrows. "That's a pretty tall order," Huw murmurs after a while, letting your thumb go. "... but I think if anyone's up to showing me up, it'd be you."
He is real and unreal. Solid, material. Skin is warm, pliant to the touch. And he is still, for once, and quiet -- imagine that. Well, at least for a moment. "So... I have a question for you. What's your last name?"
It gets a gasp out of her, and she squirms a little. She wasn't expecting that, even though her reaction couldn't be interpreted as dislike. Then the words catch up, and ... predictably ... she blushes ...
"My ... last name?" Well, there's about the last question Drancy was expecting, but it grounds her, a little, letting her hand fall down against the pillows and cushions, not quite forgotten, but ignored. "Does it make a difference? - S' Arundel. Fiona Rachel Arundel, to be precise and all prettily formal. Well, I've a few more names tucked away - I wasn't christened all official-like, but they gave me the names and had the party, anyway, my grandparents'd have a fit if I'd been christened..."
And now she's babbling, and so, abruptly, shuts up, sinking down against the cushions. "They used to call me Fifi, and no doubt Hwyll's told you," she adds, a bit sourly. "But I just ... go by Drancy, mostly ... most people don't know me as anything else ..."
She turns, not away, but towards you, with a sudden jerk of her shoulders, and with a slight wiggle, presses her face in against your shoulder. Almost, you could hear something snap when she does - or maybe it's another forgotten hairpin, launching itself to the floor, as she finally gives in to herself, or part of herself, and she adds, muffledly, "Hope you don't mind if I do this, could fall asleep like this, even..."
Posted by rowan at May 31, 2003 11:30 PM
