mnt_raph: (Default)
[personal profile] mnt_raph
There are days when Raph wishes he'd paid more attention to Donnie's Astronomy lessons. Not for any sense of personal edification, or to make him feel more in tune with the universe around him, but because if he'd done so he just might have a larger pool of comparisons from which to draw when trying explain just how MUCH he doesn't want to have the talk he's about to have with Abigail.

At the moment he's stuck at a whole freakin' lot.
Nothing to really be done though, right? Worms. Busted can. GIANT SPIDERS.

He sighs before pushing open the door to the Disgruntled Tortoise. It's long past sunset and what little dinner crowd there was has begun to shuffle out leaving plenty of room for the night owls to find places to roost. Raph nods a greeting in the direction of the familar faces as he makes his way through the tavern to his preferred spot over by the bar.

The two katana slung over one shoulder are new, as is the blank expression on his face.
Nothing good comes from blank expressions, they usually indicate one is hiding something.

Date: 2009-01-19 05:12 pm (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Soft as steel)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
It's a quiet night.

Abigail is sitting at a table by the fire, just out of his line of sight as he enters. She has been sorting through items in a small, tightly woven basket, and at the moment her hands are occupied with detangling a stirrup leather from a hank of coarse yarn.

Taverns in Tortall often have lost and found bins, too.

She watches Raph until he's by the bar and nods to Thomas when he raises an eyebrow at her. It's Yes, go ahead and serve him, and No, I've no need to bash his head in this evening. Her brother smiles to himself and slides a tankard down the bar for Raph.

"You can bring that here if you like," she says at last, looking back at the knotted mess in her hands. The metal bits are hopelessly snared. "I'll not bite at you this evening."

Not yet, anyway.

Date: 2009-01-19 05:42 pm (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Look down)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
His voice is neutral and his face expressionless, but he's as easy to see through as the kitchen window that looks out at the stableyard. He's troubled again. There's news that has made him unhappy, or he's worried about telling her he has to leave; maybe both. Abigail is practiced at reading people; it's just that she doesn't always understand what she finds when she studies Raph.

"It's relaxing work after servin' meals," she tells him. "People are forever leavin' random bits behind."

She smiles as the leather comes free.

"You yourself left something once."

There's no fun in helping him out by telling him what.

Date: 2009-01-20 12:03 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Smile)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
"Mayhap it might have been," says Abigail, "if you'd left it on this floor and not mine."

She looks faintly smug.

"I would've thought you'd miss it when you pulled on your breeches, but you showed no sign of noticin' a draft."

Date: 2009-01-20 12:13 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Sassy pants)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
As if she'd suffer her brother's jests by doing so; but if Raph's slow enough in the head to think she might, then he can suffer the thought for awhile longer.

"Oh, yes. No one's claimed it yet, though Aldin mistook it for his until he remembered he was wearin' it."

She's good at keeping a straight face.

Date: 2009-01-20 02:13 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Smile)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
The basket contains a small collection of buttons; random bits of leather; a boot pull; a stack of unaddressed letters tied in ribbon and stained with rain and Gods know what else; a map of Scanra; and a cloak pin.

The letters have been there for years; Abigail and Thomas keep them for sentimental reasons, in case someone arrives one day to claim them. Naturally, they've read every word.

Abigail watches him sort through all of the above and sits back in her chair, bringing a hand, hank of yarn and all, to rest on her stomach as she laughs.

"Oh, Goddess. Your face -- t'was worth the fib. It's not there, Raph, though now I've a mind to have you search for it."

Date: 2009-01-20 02:29 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Smile)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
"No, but it was fun."

Smiling, she cups his chin in her free hand and gives him a kiss.

She can practically feel the eyes watching them, but she pays them little notice. To a certain extent, propriety doesn't concern Abigail. That's for the nobility to worry about.

"There. All's forgiven."

Date: 2009-01-20 02:46 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Look down)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
Feeling charitable in the wake of the kiss, Abigail confesses, "It's in with my things."

She smooths the yarn and places it back in the basket, then glances down at him.

"It's best just to say whatever's got you stuck inside your own head."

Date: 2009-01-20 03:26 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Soft as steel)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
Conversations thus begun rarely end with smiles, Abigail thinks. Her features oblige the thought by shifting to a barely discernible frown.

"Do we, now."

She'd suspected as much.

Date: 2009-01-20 03:41 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Soft as steel)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
That's ominous.

Nodding her consent, Abigail stands and gathers all the stray items back in the basket, then deposits it on the bar; Thomas will finish putting it to rights.

"Call if I'm needed, Brother."

"Aye," Thomas calls back, puzzled, but he knows better than to ask for an explanation.

"My rooms?" Abigail tosses over her shoulder to Raph. "They served us well the last time you had that look in your eye."

Date: 2009-01-20 04:29 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Soft as steel)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
Abigail follows, torn between annoyance and worry. He's grim and, she thinks, a touch sad, and this assertiveness really isn't as welcome as she would have thought. For a brief moment, she's nostalgic for the days when she had to pull things out of him.

Silly, but emotions have a way of being nonsensical.

They enter her room in silence, and it's then that she realizes she's unfamiliar with the weapons he's carrying.

"Those are new," she says.

Date: 2009-01-20 04:47 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Soft as steel)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
"They have a different shape."

It's her turn to keep her face carefully blank, as she watches him.

"Go on then." Firm, but not unkind.

Date: 2009-01-20 05:18 am (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Deconstructing)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
"Spidren."

Abigail blinks.

"In the forests."

Curiously, her expression hasn't changed much. Time is required to sort through the various feelings she has at what he's just told her -- all of it.

"The rumors we've heard are true, then."

Date: 2009-01-20 06:50 pm (UTC)
tortallan_npc: ([Abigail] Soft as steel)
From: [personal profile] tortallan_npc
That hits her harder than realizing the rumors have some truth to them.

That makes it real.

Pale, Abigail folds a blanket that doesn't really need folding and asks, "What did it look like?"

One can't rely on legends for facts.

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Raphael

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