[Jarod] Thursday, February 10th:
As promised, Jarod had picked Ashley up a few blocks away from her new house at precisely 6:00 am. Before leaving, he'd had his car cleaned (not that it was ever messy - at least it hadn't ever been on the previous occasions that Ashley had been inside of it,) and the interior of the M3 smelled like new leather and citrus peel. Normally there'd have been music playing, but not today (not with the Adept in the car.) Instead they listened to the sounds of the whisper-soft car engine and the muffled outside world as they talked. That early in the morning, neither of them were likely to be incredibly chatty, but Jarod talked a bit about the trip ahead of them and what his schedule was going to be like.
He drove quickly. Reasonably so while in the city, then accelerating to about 80 mph once on the interstate. The ride was smooth enough that it was easy to move that fast without feeling like there was some kind of emergency (nice cars could be dangerous that way,) and soon enough Jarod settled into the zen-like state of distance-drivers everywhere. He did, however, make mention to his companion of the fact that it might be a good idea if she kept her senses open for police radars. Just in case.
So they chatted, and when Ashley turned her attention to reading one of her books, Jarod put a set of expensive-looking earbuds in and listened to music quietly. They stopped at a state park for lunch, getting out to move around briefly and stretch their limbs. Jarod had bought some food at a market and brought it with them so they could avoid the long chain of fast-food restaurants. Had it not been winter, and had they not been in a hurry (he was supposed to be working at 8pm that night,) Jarod might have suggested they go for a hike, but as it was he just took a small walk down the path that led into the trees before turning around and coming back again.
After they were on the road again, there may have been a bit of teasing flirtation between the two. Such things often happened when two people who slept together were alone in a car for a long time without much to do. Jarod kept his focus on the road (the better not to crash while driving over the speed limit during winter,) but once physical contact got involved - as of course, it inevitably did - he finally gave in and pulled off the road for about 20 minutes.
It was a long trip, all told, but even with the slight delay they managed to get into the city about 2 hours earlier than expected. This was for the best, since it gave them time to check into the hotel - the Tribeca Grand in Manhattan, where they had a 340 square ft 1 bedroom studio - and grab something quick to eat before Jarod left for the show and Ashley was free to explore the city alone for the rest of the evening.
Friday, February 11th - Sunday, February 13th:
The weekend was a busy time for Jarod. When he wasn't working, he was doing what wealthy socialite models did during fashion week, which mostly consisted of a lot of lunch meetings and after-parties. Ashley was welcome to attend the less work-related outings, but as there was usually loud music present, and fashion-industry cocktail parties weren't exactly her scene, there were no expectations of her one way or the other.
That said, the two of them did find time to go out together a couple of times, and one of the first things Jarod would have insisted on doing was making sure that Ashley didn't have a shortage of nice clothes to wear to the more upscale locations and events. Luckily, nice clothes weren't exactly scarce in New York City during fashion week, especially when one was a working model. He was considerate about this, though, letting Ashley make the decisions about what she wanted to wear - he wasn't the type of person who insisted on treating women like barbie dolls - and not pushing her too hard about taking his money.
There were a lot of wonderful places to eat in New York, and when they had the time, they ate very well - though Jarod was rather a bit more finicky about his food when he was working than usual, and that was saying something. Sunday night, the two of them walked around the city and through central park. It was quieter then, and perhaps they talked about slightly more meaningful things than clothing designers and celebrity gossip.
Monday, February 14th:
And then it was Valentines Day. At least, that was what the calendars said. Jarod, of course, never mentioned anything about it one way or another. Perhaps Ashley would have assumed that - like every day before it - she'd be left alone for large chunks of the day while he hung out with the beautiful people and changed clothes a half-dozen times.
But that's not what happened, because he had the entire day off. (Victoria's Secret and a number of other rather female-oriented labels had shows that day, and since he lacked the proper parts, Jarod wasn't in tremendously high demand.) So that morning, Ashley would find herself woken up by the sensation of lips on her neck. Jarod was in a luxuriant sort of mood, and had come over to tease her affectionately after taking a shower. His hair was still wet, and he had on a pair of jeans. It was 10:00 am. Every other day, he'd been gone by now.
There was also an intoxicating smell of breakfast wafting in through the bedroom's open door. It smelled like fruit and tea and french toast.
"Morning," he purred innocently.
[Ashley] Ashley has been left alone for long periods during the trip, and she doesn't seem to mind. It's expected: Jarod told her he was going to New York for work, and that means his schedule was already pretty packed by the time he invited her to go...the night before. No, she came prepared to entertain herself for most of their stay, Valentine's Day included. Even when she was with Bran, it wasn't a holiday she celebrated: Bran Summers had rather vivid memories of a screaming fight that culminated in his parents' decision to divorce when he was a small boy. She never had the bitterness for the day that he did, but she hasn't treated it with any special significance in a long, long time.
So for the most part she's been exploring New York. Over ten years ago, she spent a few weeks here (it was meant to be a much longer span of time.) She didn't get a chance to see much, back then. Now she has the chance: she can trawl through Manhattan. She can investigate Brooklyn and there were a few curious pokes at the outskirts of Harlem, which, while probably not to Jarod's taste, has a cultural richness in its way - one she can't really claim to herself but still wants to know about.
There's more to see than she can even begin to think about exploring over the course of three or four days.
And of course, there's the sidewalk. Ashley can't remember the exact place where it happened; she remembers passing a bagel shop she liked about a block away, and the rest is chalked up to short term memory loss. If she wanted to, she probably could force those memories out of whatever depths they've been shoved down into, and she'd probably remember the second of dawning realization before she flew over the handlebars and she might even remember the way her skull cracked like an egg. She might remember the screech of bicycle brakes when Rachel realized what happened and fought her way back through the crowd of people.
But who wants to remember that?
It's brought back other things:
"No. That's the easy way out. It's selfish." Her father, the anger in his tone barely suppressed. Barely.
"No, it's fucking selfish of you to tell me I shouldn't when this just isn't worth it anymore! I'm nineteen, I'll do what I want!"
Screaming. Crying. She hadn't done it after all. That was a February five months after the incident, ten years ago. No. Better to let some things stay buried.
So needless to say that for a little while she was quiet, troubled, but perhaps that could have just as much been attributed to what happened before they left Chicago. She doesn't seem inclined to bring it up, either way - she's come along to some of his events, the quieter ones, and she's spent time with him when she can. The clothing, well, that was grudgingly accepted; in an environment like this it's almost necessity and she simply can't afford what she'd need.
Ashley has slept for a long time every night they've been here. One has to imagine she wasn't getting much sleep at all, wrapped in a bag on the floor in an empty, unfamiliar house. It's catching up with her now. Maybe it's because it's obviously more comfortable or maybe she just feels safer, though if she does, she's hardly inclined to express that to him.
She wakes up gradually. Blearily. What her brain is slow to process, her stomach isn't: there's a rather loud rumble even before she opens an eye and glances over at Jarod. She doesn't get up to go investigate immediately but instead rolls over so she can throw an arm over him, tilting her head into his chest and letting her fingertips trail over the back of his shoulder. "Hi."
A sleepy, vaguely confused pause. "...You don't have somewhere to go today?"
[Jarod] There were a lot of things that had gone unspoken between them the past couple of days. Ashley kept her memories to herself, and Jarod wasn't inclined to pry - at least, not while so many other things demanded his focus and attention. This wasn't the first large-scale fashion show he'd been to (not by a long shot,) but it was his first time working Fashion Week in New York, rather than overseas, and it had been many months now since he'd taken on a job that was this demanding. It reminded him a little of living in Paris when he was younger, and when the thought of international fame had intrigued rather than worried him.
All of this had been easier then. (Many things had been easier then - but that didn't mean the changes weren't for the better.)
Today was different though. Today he wasn't thinking about work. Today was just him, and Ashley, and the city. (A city he used to call his home, like many places. But none of them ever really were.) Ashley was groggy. She put an arm around him. He smiled and kissed the top of her head, nestling his nose into pillow-rumpled hair. "No," he said quietly. "I have the day off. And I thought... that maybe you could take me exploring with you today. I also may have made reservations for dinner somewhere, but I could be wrong. Maybe I dreamed it in my flash-bulb-addled and food-deprived state. Speaking of which... I ordered breakfast."
Reluctantly, he crawled out of bed and stood up. "Which I may be inclined to share with you if you can get ready before I eat it all."
This was almost certainly a bluff, considering that there were still another 3 days to go before they left to return to Chicago and Jarod had been eating like a bird ever since they'd gotten there, but he feigned a terribly possessive expression when he glanced out the door into the living room area where the food was sitting.
[Ashley] The day off, he says, and then launches into theories about what they could do for the day. Which sounds suspiciously like...
Ashley glances up at him, suddenly more awake, and rather unable to hide her surprise. She isn't very good at hiding most things, if the truth be told - or, at least, she isn't good at repressing her emotions and holding them back. Her smiles, the genuine ones, are always slow things. Retreating: there and gone again. They aren't like Kage's, they don't transmute her into something gorgeous however briefly, or like Emily's, they don't touch her with grace. They're just happy, bright, until they fade from existence seconds later.
"I guess I can manage to bring you along," she says, placing a kiss against his shoulder before disentangling herself. She reaches up to adjust the chain about her neck as she sits up; she does this every morning, as though to reassure herself that it's still there, though the leather thong that binds it at either end has never shown any signs of wearing thin. Given her preference for discarding clothing when she sleeps perhaps she's worried about losing it, or has in the past. Who knows.
Ashley runs a hand back through her hair, swirled and flat along one side from being pressed into the pillow, and looks toward the bathroom, which assuredly holds a toothbrush and towels and, most importantly, a shower. And, also assuredly, she'll be very quick about it. The threat of breakfast not being there seems to have gotten her moving, empty though it probably was. She's not taking her chances.
And, clean, she'll emerge only a little while later, lured by promises of fruit and french toast. "I'm guessing the less savory aspects of urban exploration are out."
[Jarod] By the time Ashley reappeared, Jarod had finished getting dressed and was sitting at the table scanning the arts section of the day's newspaper while he ate what looked like an egg-white omelet with a side of fresh fruit. (The french toast, it would seem, was intended for Ashley.) Since they intended to walk around for the better part of the day, he hadn't bothered with any of the (now numerous) suits he'd collected - though there was probably a good chance that he intended to change before dinner. Everything he had on today was new though, either gifted to him or purchased at one of the numerous stores in the city. The jeans he had on were some new exclusive label that was only available to those who knew the right people. They were supposed to look perfectly fitted and worn-in, even brand new. (And they lived up to the promise, though one had to wonder if that was actually worth all the money and effort it took to get them.) He also had on a hand-made t-shirt that was black with a stylized dark blue bird painted on the front - given to him by his agent last night because she thought it looked a bit like a nightingale (though really its resemblance to any actual living creature was subjective at best.)
There was also a black leather cord tied around his neck, the kind of consciously casual accessory that verged on pretentious, but it worked with the outfit. When Ashley picked out whatever she liked from the food cart (there was also a side of bacon and a basket of muffins in addition to the bounty of fresh fruit and the plate of french toast) and sat down, Jarod folded up the newspaper and looked at her contemplatively.
"Depends. How unsavory are we talking, here?" There was a wry grin, then a shrug. "Anywhere you want to go, we can go. It'll be nice to actually see the city for a change. I haven't spent a lengthy amount of time here since I moved away."
[Ashley] Ashley, still in the process of tugging her shirts down and arranging them, wanders over to the table. If one were to ask her, it's likely that she would say that the jeans are not worth the money and effort; his clothes don't look all that different from hers, after all, and her casual clothing at least cost her a lot less. She's wearing a striped blue and orange sweater over a white buttondown shirt - all new. Ashley prefers much brighter, bolder colors by and large than Jarod does; while not given to visual art she's always had an eye for contrast besides, for making things fit together. It's something she does unconsciously, in all likelihood.
She thinks it over while eating her way through a few slices of toast (and a muffin, and some fruit - perhaps she has hollow legs) and a glass of orange juice. "I spent about three and a half weeks here, but it was a long time ago," Ashley says. "I don't know the city very well."
But for all that, she's found interesting places to go. And she's found places she wants to go, and while they're on foot there will be other things that are going to catch her interest, aside. Ashley hasn't done any of the sightseeing that's typical in New York; she seems of a mind to avoid the touristed areas, to avoid hitting places on a map and checking them off as having been there, seen that. She would rather experience.
She found an art gallery in Manhattan that was experimental: meant to be experienced through senses other than sight. There's one like it in Chicago (she brought Israel there once) but this one is more extensive, meant to be worked through via touch mostly, but also smell. It's a unique place, and given Jarod's physical sensitivity perhaps she suspected that he might be as interested in looking through it as she was.
With another person she refrains from people-watching as much as she otherwise might. There's architecture, there are places where tides of humanity and their various ideologies have washed up against each other, worn paths down and through and receded again, leaving just an echo behind. Ashley notices those things. She makes note of them, and she doesn't seem to grow bored with just wandering - though it's not to everyone's taste.
She'll talk to him, while they walk. She'll tell him about a wailing tower in Chicago's Cabrini Green, a derelict building that someone took and shifted about until it made music when the wind blows through it. Ashley can't hear whatever music it makes, but there's an almost, there's something just at the edge, and sometimes she can almost imagine. She and Kage Jakes climbed it once, over the summer, and watched the city from the top.
They don't climb any swaying highrises today but there are, of course, buildings still intact from which a view can be obtained - and ones that aren't downtown and packed with people. The city looks much more mundane by day. She also notices that.
But eventually, either because she's concerned about Jarod's interest waning or because they've simply run out of time, they find themselves making their way back to the hotel. He'd mentioned a reservation.
[Jarod] If Ashley worried that Jarod might be bored at any point during the day - she needn't have. When he'd lived here a few years ago, many of his more solitary moments had been spent in exploration of the city (and not only its upscale neighborhoods.) The flow of humanity - its life and culture - was and always had been fascinating to him. Granted, he was never really the type to disappear into the mix of things. He stood out too much. But that didn't stop him from watching, and learning. He and Ashley differed slightly in their approaches - she was a Sociologist after all, and if his interest could be likened to any particular area of human research, it would be something more personal. Psychology, maybe. Those subjects began to blur after awhile though. Ultimately, they both liked to figure out what made people tick.
Jarod was in a good mood today. His demeanor was warmer and more relaxed than usual. Perhaps that was because he was grateful for the day off. Perhaps he was just tired of playing up the colder, more pretentious version of himself (the one who mingled perfectly with the crowds in high-fashion cocktail parties, and who could make himself seem exotic and fascinating but also entirely unapproachable.) Maybe... he just liked spending time with someone he cared about in an endlessly alive and interesting city. He laughed easily. Sometimes he pointed out places that he remembered from when he'd been here before. There were stories. Anecdotes about the ridiculous behavior he'd seen amongst the other models, and how these things often reminded him of how he was getting older. (Not that he looked it, really.)
And he told Ashley, during one of their more quiet moments, about how his own apartment had been burned down once. And how he'd lost everything he'd owned - including his great aunt's (the woman who'd mentored him and brought him into the Verbena) books and his old piano. There was a tightness to his voice when he talked about it. Being here brought back old anger - the same anger Ashley was feeling newly. He didn't take her to the place where he used to live. He didn't particularly want to see it.
The art gallery though... that seemed to get a pleased reaction from him. Being both an art-lover and an extremely tactile person, this was the kind of thing that could entertain him for hours - and indeed it did. Given the sheer number of art galleries in the city, it was likely that they'd end up making a visit to a couple more before going back to Chicago, but this wasn't one of the ones he'd been planning on going to, so its inclusion was appreciated. Afterward, they'd stop by a tiny sushi restaurant nearby for lunch - a place that he'd eaten at a few times in the past.
And then they were back to exploring, and talking, and climbing tall buildings. This they shared as well - an affinity for heights. And as dinner time neared, they finally made their way back to the hotel to change, because yes, there had been mention of reservations, and apparently they were going somewhere with a dress code. Jarod didn't say where though. Only that it required evening-wear. So once back in their room, he set about sorting through the new clothes hanging in the closet that he'd acquired since arriving here, silently debating things like which color shirt to wear and whether or not he preferred one collection of suits over another.
[Ashley] Regardless of how fond of him she is or how well they've started to get to know each other, Jarod is precisely the sort of person Ashley is worried about boring. There are times, even now, when he seems a little untouchable to her, when she looks at him and it seems a little...unreal that he's there, and obviously interested. It's not that Ashley is overly taken with Jarod's appearance or his money - that isn't what attracted her to him, either before or now - but she notices that it's there, and that she doesn't really match up to him in either category. Still, whatever insecurity is there it's subtle and easily pushed aside, particularly since he seems engaged. She's warm today too. Affectionate. Then again, she often has been lately.
There's a quiet understanding that passes between them when he mentions his old home. A realization that he's been where she is now and knows; that he gets it, and Ashley is often surprised by just how much he understands. She doesn't say that though. She'll quietly mention, in an unguarded moment, that she's happy he came back to Chicago.
And she'll leave it at that.
She takes a shower when they arrive back at the hotel - long enough that she isn't in his way while he debates over shirt colors and suits. She doesn't have enough formalwear to worry overmuch about such things; what she has, she's bought here, of course.
It's an unfamiliar world, one in which people do all of this. If she'd delved further into that aspect of the Order of Hermes it might not be, but it isn't how she was raised and those aren't the sorts of contacts she's chosen to develop. Still, she has at least some sense of etiquette, of what is appropriate with this style of dress (she cleans up well, Justine used to tease.) The end result of getting ready is a dark blue gown, form hugging, and a rather simple silver necklace. The chain he has always seen hanging around her neck is gone, technically (wrapped around her ankle - she'd never be without it.)
And while she waits for him, she offers him a smirk. "This is probably the only time you'll ever see me in a dress, so look while you can."
[Jarod] Here's the thing about men: even the best looking ones - the ones who seem like they're completely unattainable - will have moments where they look at something they're attracted to and briefly find themselves unable to process thoughts via their frontal lobe. It's a date-movie cliche for a reason. And although Jarod did not stammer or bump into something or otherwise act in any way un-Jarod when Ashley came out in her dress, he did pause for a moment, one arm in the jacket of his suit, and stare at her without saying anything at all. You'd think that she'd just walked out with glowing pink hair, or something equally shocking.
Then he smiled, just a little, to himself and finished putting on his jacket. "Maybe we should take a picture to document the event." There was a dry, teasing note to it, but the playfulness fell away when he walked up and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.
"You look beautiful."
And there was nothing rehearsed or mannered about the way he said it. When he stepped back, his eyes flickered down to the silver necklace at her throat, and he pursed his lips slightly (pensive, for a moment) but didn't comment.
Of course, he looked nice as well, but these were the kinds of clothes that he wore on a regular basis, so it was hardly shocking to see him in more of them. The suit he'd ended up choosing was like many of his other ones: sleek, tailored, and black. The fabric had silk accents, and the shirt and tie were slightly different shades of deep red (befitting the occasion that he had yet to verbally acknowledge.) The color was like dark blood - and the tie shimmered when the light struck it.
No, nothing unusual. But it looked good on him, especially with the fitted alterations the designer had made and all of the ridiculous dieting and exercising he'd been obsessing over for the past couple of weeks. (It was a subtle difference - the slight weight loss and the tighter lines of his muscles - but noticeable if one happened to be closely familiar with his body.)
Perhaps Ashley would assume that he'd been joking when he said he ought to take a picture, but apparently... he hadn't been. Because when he picked up his phone from the desk he turned and snapped a picture of her before she could protest. If she humored him, then there would probably be another one or two taken that were more carefully composed, but if not... then he'd grin and leave it at that, sliding the phone into the pocket of his jacket.
"Alright, we should get going before we miss our reservation."
And so the two of them headed back down to the street to grab a cab. The ride to the restaurant wasn't terribly long - and would have been shorter if not for traffic - and when they arrived Ashley would see that they'd ended up at Le Bernardin. If she'd heard of the restaurant, she might wonder how they'd managed to snag a table on Valentines Day at such short notice (and she may wonder that even if she hadn't, as the look and feel of the place was clearly upscale). If so, Jarod didn't fill her in (and wouldn't unless specifically asked.)
The restaurant was completely full, but had a relaxed and quiet atmosphere despite this. The tables were organized into smaller rooms so that voices didn't echo and carry from other parts of the floor. The ambiance was beautiful - sleek and elegant with displays of fresh-cut flowers drawing the eye. The menu was (almost) exclusively seafood.
After being sat at their table, Jarod asked for a particular bottle of burgundy, and the waiter left to give them a few moments to look over the menu.
"If you're not in the mood for fish, they do have a few meat selections," Jarod offered in an attempt to be helpful (lest he have chosen unwisely and Ashley was getting a little tired of seafood,) "but I'd stick with the regular menu otherwise. Seafood is really what they do well."
[Ashley] "So do you. I mean, you always do, but..." And she stops herself before she can cram a foot down her throat. It's probably lucky, in this regard, that Ashley isn't a man: she stumbles over words badly enough sometimes as it is without any additional taxation on her frontal lobe. She doesn't attempt to be smooth; it's probably for the better. Her mannerisms, after all, aren't without their charm, even if they would only appeal to a certain type of person.
Regardless, the smile she'd turned in his direction for a moment was slow and a little shy, the way it had been earlier today, and it's already started to fade by the time he...surprises her with the picture. And the picture he'll have shows a moment of dawning, horrified comprehension, snapshotted. Ashley usually avoids having her picture taken; Kage is the only other person in Chicago who has ever managed it, aside from the group shot on the Fourth of July.
She'll allow a second photo, though, a more composed one, and even if the smile might have to be coaxed out of her this time it's a happy one. Happy, for a while.
Ashley is surprised both by the place they've arrived at and that he's managed to get it on short notice, and she doesn't hide the fact. Her eyebrows raise until the left one is covered by a fall of hair as she looks up and around and does her best not to gawk. Fortunately, taking these sorts of things in without getting starry-eyed is practically a skillset, in the Order of Hermes. She manages.
"I'm in the mood for it," she says, with a wry smile. "It's hard to find in Chicago and I'm from the east coast."
There's a pause, and separated by the table as they are she can't lean over to kiss his cheek as she might want to, so instead her fingertips light on top of his hand, very gently. Just enough to get his attention, to express affection. "Thanks. This isn't...it's really not what I was expecting."
[Jarod] Ashley touched his hand. She thanked him, and for that she'd be rewarded with a flash of a smile that seemed honestly pleased. But of course, this was Jarod, and there was always a certain hesitation on his part (even when taking someone to an elaborate and, yes, romantic dinner) to appear as if he was emotionally invested in another person. "Well, you know how it is. Rich assholes like to show off their money. It makes us feel like we have bigger dicks."
But she hadn't just meant the restaurant, and even so, Ashley wasn't the type to be awed by material things (even very tasty ones.) She'd meant that she hadn't expected him to think of her this way - to go to all this trouble on her behalf, to make the gesture of behaving like... well, like a boyfriend. He knew that. So afterward he smiled again as he looked back at the menu (this was a spontaneous expression, as if he couldn't quite keep it contained) and said, "Thank you for humoring me."
When the waiter came back with their wine, Jarod ordered with the relaxed smoothness of someone who was in comfortable and familiar surroundings. (He'd probably eaten here before,) listing off choices for each of the three prix fixe courses (hamachi, tuna and halibut, in that order.) After taking Ashley's order, the man left them alone for a few minutes, returning with the amuse bouche and some fresh-baked bread.
Surprisingly, Jarod actually ate a tiny bit of it, breaking his no-bread rule for the first time in days.
[Ashley] There's a sidelong look at him up from the menu. She's keeping her head slightly angled at the moment so that she can keep both the print and him in view of her right eye; it's a subtle thing, but Jarod has been around her often enough to have picked up on those mannerisms of hers. She compensates for her physical shortcomings as second nature, now, after more than ten years. "Joking about being the kind of guy who needs to compensate doesn't work when I've seen you naked, you know."
Then her eyes, too, redirect themselves. And there's just the quiet addition of, "I'm not humoring you." Even if this were something he genuinely believed - and given how well they've both learned to guard their feelings and affections, he might - she really isn't the sort to go along with something merely out of a desire to be a good sport, after all.
She's a little more uncertain of herself with the menu, but when Jarod lists off choices, that seems to help her a little, make her a little more certain of what she's doing. Really, her concern is about making a mistake; this is the kind of thing that might have been a test, once, at least from the woman who was known for throwing out her students' essays if the quality of the handwriting wasn't what she desired. She, of course, has no hesitation eating the bread.
Ashley is quiet a moment before saying, "I'm glad you invited me along, but I'm...happy this is your last gig." A beat, and she adds, before that could be misinterpreted, "When you've been talking about going back to school you've seemed more...you, I guess." She's not always empathic; one would be a fool to think that it means she's unobservant.
[Jarod] He hadn't been fishing for a compliment when he'd made that teasing remark (Jarod often critiqued himself - it was a habit born of both perfectionism and a wry, subtly self-deprecating sense of humor,) but that didn't mean he wasn't quietly pleased by the unspoken compliment embedded in Ashley's response. Any man would be. (And there was another cliche.) The flash of a grin he afforded her then was decidedly smug, revealing rows of perfectly white teeth and too-sharp canines. Thankfully he chose not to comment on the matter further, lest his ego get a little overbearing.
She said she wasn't humoring him, and he seemed to accept that answer. For all that there may have been a slight worry, he knew Ashley's personality fairly well by now. She wasn't likely to follow someone around purely because they asked her to.
He took a sip of his wine as he mulled over his response to her assessment of his (almost-former) career, testing the burgundy for different flavor notes in the thoughtful way of someone who drank a lot of wine (which he did - when he wasn't drinking tea.) "You have an interesting assumption of my character. Who's to say that the intellectual part of me isn't just as much a performance as the superficial part?" His expression was playfully enigmatic - putting the question forth for its own sake, perhaps. "I've been doing this for almost a decade. No one does anything for that long if it isn't suited to them."
After a pause, he continued. "But you're mostly right. It's a bullshit industry full of ridiculous people who have no concept of anything outside of their own bubble of existence, and I'm getting too old for it - physically and intellectually."
[Ashley] Intellectualism can be quite a performance, an act to put on for other people: any Hermetic knows this. Many of the Tradition members are impressed by little other than Will and one's intellectual inclinations. Ashley herself, while not much of a performer, is quite used to the idea that there are aspects of herself that she should put forward to other people. Consciously or not.
So when Jarod says that, she just shakes her head, taking a sip from her own glass. There isn't any of the slow savoring that he takes with his own; while she enjoys it, she is not as familiar with wines. "I'm sure it is, in some ways," she says. "But I guess it...just seems like you kind of enjoy it more. Parts of it."
Some parts, she is certain - the networking that is necessary in the upper echelons of university life, presenting to his students and speaking with his professors - are all part of it for him. But she remembers the way he'd spoken about doing translation to her, a long time ago, and she can't help but think it has the same sort of significance that poetry does for her. What he's doing...isn't precisely what he'd talked about, but it's at least a little closer on the road to what he wants.
"Not that academia doesn't have its own bullshit to deal with, from time to time," she says, with a glance down into her glass before she sets it back down. There's a thoughtful thinning of her mouth. "Maybe I'll just give up on it now that I can't go back to Northwestern and just be a starving poet, or something."
[Jarod] "Now that's bullshit," he responded with a wrinkle of his nose, as if he found the suggestion distasteful in some way. "If you don't want to be a student anymore, then fine. Don't be one. But don't give up on your life just because a bunch of fucking assholes in suits decided that you're a threat. That's exactly what they want - to keep us from having power or influence in the Sleeper world; to chase us all into the fringes."
Jarod paused when he noticed the server coming back with their first course, quieting for a moment (but for a polite smile and a thank you) until they were left to themselves again. When he spoke again, he sounded a little more relaxed. "You need to be smart, and you need to be safe. But you can do that and still get what you want, if you're patient."
Then again, maybe Ashley really did just want to try a different life, in which case his opinion probably wasn't all that helpful. He shrugged lightly to indicate that his investment in this only went as far as her own did. He wasn't trying to tell her what to do with her life - only making a point.
And really, the food was fantastic, so once he'd taken the first bite of the perfectly composed dish in front of him, it became rather difficult to think of anything else.
"I think this is the best thing I've eaten all week."
[Ashley] Jarod is right, of course. Ashley knows that, and the look that she gives him, a quick glance partially veiled by her eyelashes, says that she knows it. There was a time, and not that long ago, when this particular occurrence probably would have ignited a rage and defiance in her that would have led her to defy them even more openly. That's not gone - perhaps, after all, it will surface later - but there's some reluctance, just now, to begin with it.
Because she's tired, more than anything. She doesn't go so far as to lament this, though; she knows that it wouldn't change anything, and moreover, she has no desire to complain about it. She has no desire to need to complain about it, or to admit to something so human as emotional exhaustion or flagging Will. This still happens to her, even if it doesn't linger nearly as long as it might in a person who was less driven, less determined (someone who might, at this point, be inconceivably traumatized.)
"I'll figure something out," she says, because that sort of capability and self-assurance is all Ashley is ever really able to express, regardless of how she might privately feel. It's different, to actualize a thing by speaking it, and later she'll probably be glad of the fact that he didn't indulge it.
Then there's food, and she turns her attention to it. And is entirely happy to focus on it, and to agree with him, for a while. "...In a long time, for me," she says.
[Jarod] "Well, let's hope the rest of the meal lives up to early promises then." He smiled at her knowingly before taking another bite.
And, as it happened, the rest of the meal more than lived up to early promises. The seafood here was extremely fresh and perfectly prepared, exactly as the restaurant's reputation would suggest. The two of them chatted between bites, and gradually the courses came and went, and the bottle of wine diminished to nothing.
And because it was a special occasion (which shall not be named,) Jarod was the first to suggest that they order dessert. He'd been eying the black sesame panna cotta on a neighbor's table with thoughtful consideration, and ultimately decided to try it. There was tea to be had as well, so he got a cup of dragon's well to go with it.
Ashley would have only gotten a couple of bites into her own dessert before her companion reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and drew a small, black velvet-covered box out it. (Like the kind one might put a piece of jewelry in - this one looked about bracelet-sized.) He set it on the table and pushed it across gently, until it came to rest in front of Ashley's plate.
"As they say, I guess..." he paused, wrapping his tongue around the unfamiliar words, "Happy Valentines Day."
[Ashley] In spite of everything that's happened, she isn't here with him to dwell on what's passed or what she's lost - she's here to enjoy herself for a little while, with someone she likes and cares about. That happens rarely enough as it is, these days. So Ashley doesn't seem put off by leaving the topic behind or moving on to chatting and enjoying dinner and the company for a while.
Ashley is never the sort who talks idly; she isn't fond of smalltalk or the talk people just do to fill up pauses in conversation. In her mind, if a person is going to do that they might as well be silent - wasted Words. (She's a little more like her father than she thinks, sometimes.) She likes to talk to him about other things - art, poetry. Shared interests, because they have quite a few.
It's a special occasion that neither of them have acknowledged yet, and she'd expected to go the rest of the night without it being acknowledged. If it had, she wouldn't have been unhappy with that. After all, it's been a good day and much of their relationship, such as it is, has gone unvocalized. Unusual territory for her - she prefers to have a word for things, prefers to have everything out in front of her, likes to know where she stands with people - but she doesn't push, and during her time in Chicago she's gotten more comfortable, little by little, with letting things be whatever they are.
So when he pulls out a box and says words that are unfamiliar for him (and for her too, a little, admittedly) she just raises her eyebrows at him. And then briefly hesitates before taking the box. "I, um," she says, and she probably meant to say the same thing to him. In theory.
In practice, speech doesn't quite form itself. So she just opens the box.
[Jarod] When one opened a jewelry box, one logically expected to find jewelry inside of it. This... was what made sense, after all. People didn't use jewelry boxes for anything other than jewelry (and watches and the like.) So when Ashley opened the box and found that it... did not have jewelry inside of it at all, she might have a moment of amusement or confusion. But then, Jarod had done this before. He seemed fond of giving bait-and-switch presents.
What was actually inside the box was a folded gift certificate to St. Mark's Bookshop, on the lower East Side (one of the city's more well-regarded independent book stores, and known in particular for their poetry collections and first-edition prints.) There was no dollar amount listed, as was usually the case, so for that she'd have to actually use it to find out, but one would imagine that no listed dollar amount probably meant a larger-than-usual sum. (Or perhaps a sum that could be negotiated.)
Jarod couldn't help but quirk a little smile when he noted the expression on Ashley's face, which he partially hid from her by looking at his food as he took another bite - silent for the moment.
[Ashley] Jarod has done this before - he did draw her attention away when he'd first mentioned Christmas presents, and she seems to be similarly surprised now. There is indeed a moment of confusion, followed by something a touch anxious, though a pleased expression is right on its tail. She's heard of the bookshop - even if she hadn't, it was one of the places she happened across during her forays through New York City over the weekend.
"I, uh..." Ashley isn't quite sure of what the socially acceptable reaction is. Occasionally, she runs into situations like this - situations in which she has no prior experience (she and Bran didn't celebrate and so there certainly weren't gifts, and nothing like this) and in which she's too taken aback to simply let her inclinations guide. "This is really..."
A longer hesitation. There are people who might be concerned about this, worried that perhaps she doesn't like it or that there's something wrong. More likely it's just that she's having difficulty processing. It doesn't linger on for too long, though, and after those few seconds, her hand slides across the table to catch his, fingers gently locking together. A less reserved person might have kissed him then, but Ashley generally isn't the sort who displays affection in front of other people.
"This is one of the nicest things anyone's done for me. Thank you." Perhaps she means the gift, perhaps she means the entire day, all of it. "Happy Valentine's Day." The words are unfamiliar for her too; still, they're genuine and this makes them seem less awkward. Well, mostly.
[Jarod] Her hand caught his, and he let his thumb brush gently along her knuckles as he looked up to meet her eyes. His discomfort here was less than her own (it was a familiar environment, and generally speaking it was often easier for people like them to give gifts than to receive them) but the relationship that he had with Ashley was treading very close to the edge of what he normally considered appropriate for himself, and that in itself made him a touch uncomfortable.
Valentines Day was one of those things. It was something that couples did, and Jarod always had been - and always would be - an I, not a we. (Excluding Ilana, of course.) Then again, sometimes he was also an and I. Dana and I. Nick and I. Emily and I.
Ashley and I.
It didn't really matter though. Today hadn't been about preconceived expectations. He'd just wanted to spend a day with someone he liked, and to make her happy for a little while. That was a sentiment that existed outside of societal rules. It wasn't cultural, just human. And likely chances were... he'd be fine with all of it until someone came along and tried to make him feel as if it meant something more (or less - from his point of view) than it did. And anyway, when did Jarod Nightingale ever give a shit about what other people thought?
(Well, he might give a shit if it was Ashley herself - at least in this circumstance.)
She touched his hand. She said thank you. He didn't tease her for the difficult time she had in finding her words. Instead he just smiled again, less reserved this time.
And when the two of them had finished their dessert and finished paying for dinner, Jarod slipped his wallet back into his pocket and asked, very off-handedly, "So what was that you were saying about my not needing to compensate for anything?"
(Which was probably Jarod-speak for, I'm getting laid tonight, right?)
[Ashley] There is some part of Ashley that is still not sure how to handle all of this, even after he smiles at her and says nothing, doesn't tease her. She isn't used to getting gifts, and not like this. It's hard for her, sometimes, to not take a competitive approach to gift-giving, to not feel as though she has to reciprocate in a measure that is even to what was given. There's a power dynamic in gift giving, subtle though it is, and power dynamics are the one thing that is never lost on her.
She tries not to look at it that way, though. She tries to take it for what it is and not concern herself with the fact that he's paid for most of this trip and for new clothing and that for a little while she'll probably be living off the good will of others. She tries to convince herself that even if she's inclined to look at it pragmatically, this is something of a reward for forming ties to others. But she tries not to look at it that way either.
All told it's fortunate that Jarod is not wont to linger long on the subject. It makes the entire affair easier for them both.
After they've finished, Ashley wraps an arm around his waist on the way back out to the cab. It's likely that it's as much for warmth as it is out of a desire for closeness; women's formalwear isn't known for its abilities to keep out a chill, particularly not in the middle of February in the northeast.
"Don't let it go to your head," she says to him. Teasing, though; playful and comfortable. "I think I am ready to head back, though."
[Jarod] And that may have been Ashley-speak for, probably, but don't look so pleased with yourself.
"Too late," Jarod replied with a wry smile.
The funny thing about studying communication (in all its myriad forms) was that the more one learned, the more it became evident just how fluid and subjective all forms of language ultimately were, when put into practice. It wasn't the signifier that had meaning, but the signified. The same word could be interpreted a thousand different ways. People could have entire conversations without speaking a word of it out loud. So it often was, with these things.
Jarod flagged down a cab, and the two of them rode back to the hotel. It wasn't that late, really. Had they wanted to, they could have spent a few more hours on the town, finding some trendy place to go hang out for the remainder of the evening, but the two of them had been on their feet all day, and Jarod had to work the next morning. Neither of these totally legitimate reasons had anything to do with why he didn't voice a complaint though. Jarod was a self-motivated sort of person. If he wanted to go out, he went out. If he wanted to stay in, he stayed in.
When they got back inside, he closed the door and took off his coat, hanging it up in the closet. He left his shoes and his jacket there as well, loosening his tie as he walked into the small living area.
"Thank you for going out with me. It was... a lot more fun than working."
[Ashley] Ashley and Jarod often do have conversations without speaking aloud - or, at least, with speaking only a little of what's actually meant. This suits Ashley just fine, because even though nonverbal communication is often much more difficult for her to understand, she doesn't have any difficulty getting her own point across. She's comfortable with action, with demonstration.
Some day, there might be an occasion in which he shares a telepathic bond with her. If he does, he might come to understand better why she has difficulty speaking and understanding others, sometimes: there's such purity in it, being a concept and having only to think or feel to have it completely shared and understood, that anything they say to each other here seems watered down. Squeezed through a funnel.
Once back inside the room she's all too happy to slip her own shoes off. She's not accustomed to wearing this sort of footwear, though she happily made the sacrifice for a few hours. She follows him back into the living area, reaching behind her neck to loosen the clasp of the necklace she's wearing so she can remove it and set it aside.
"I'm glad you invited me," she says, with a sidelong look toward him. "I honestly didn't expect to be doing anything today. It was a good surprise." She means: she didn't expect him to feel that way, to want to make the gesture. She's still surprised that he did, and a little uncertain.
There's a smile, a little touched with nostalgia, with something wistful. "Last year I was still working through my Jhor and Kage came over and made me tea. It was good to do something this year."
[Jarod] "Last year I was in Tokyo. I think I spent the evening of the 14th in my hotel room watching movies and getting drunk on sake." He smirked a little at the memory, but there wasn't really any bitterness in his voice. He wasn't complaining, merely sharing information, as she had done. Jarod didn't seem like the sort to waste an evening that way when he had other options, especially not while in a place like Tokyo, so there was probably a story behind that. Maybe it involved Emily, but if so... that much he wasn't tremendously inclined to talk about.
He slid his tie free from around his neck and hung it on the back of a chair, pulling open the top couple of buttons on his shirt so that his neck had breathing room. "This year was much better."
(Well, one would hope.)
He noticed Ashley removing her necklace, and a little bit of tension he hadn't even realized was present in the back of his neck gradually eased away. It wasn't as if the silver had really concerned him - not tonight. It was just instinct. A constant note of warning in the back of his mind. (Like her, he had a hard time trusting - both people and fate.)
"It's not over yet though," he pointed out matter-of-factly as he wandered toward the open bedroom door. If Ashley didn't seem inclined to follow, he'd pause once there and gesture for her to join him. Then he flipped on the light and walked over to pull the curtains closed over the large window. Opening up one of the drawers in the bureau, he pulled out a little bottle of massage oil and set it on the end-table next to the bed. Then he smiled and started unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, pulling it out from around his waist and sliding it off his shoulders.
"Any chance I can convince you to let me do one more thing for you?"
[Ashley] With the silver gone, she lifts up one of her legs so that she can unwrap the chain from around her ankle. The movement is quick and deft, if not quite practiced; it's rare for her to have occasion to not wear it around her neck, though she has clearly done it before. Who knows how long she's carried it as a focus. (If he'd seen the one Bran also wears, well, there might be a good guess at that.)
She doesn't idly carry it in one hand or set it aside as well. The moment she has it back in hand she reaches up to tie it back around her neck. It isn't because of him - Ashley simply hasn't let this aspect of her Tytalan training die away. She probably never will.
She doesn't need to be beckoned to follow him into the bedroom once that's done. Ashley flicks a quick smile in his direction, then stands up on tiptoe so she can wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him beneath the hinge of his jaw. It's not leading; after she's lingered a moment she lets go and drops back down so he can make his way back into the room.
She raises her eyebrows when he pulls out the bottle. It's another kind, thoughtful thing for him to do - something else that probably shouldn't be entirely unexpected by now but is. "I can be convinced," she says after a moment, reaching up to slide one of the straps of the dress off of her shoulder. The other is not long to follow.
There's a moment's pause, a pensive glance in his direction. "You know," she says, "I actually got you a present while I was in China. I found a very old collection of poetry from the Song Dynasty while I was looking around there. I figured I'd give it to you later, because I didn't want you to think it was just because..." Of Christmas, she means. Still, it isn't hard to guess what happened to it.
[Jarod] Ashley mentioned the present she'd gotten him, and she'd be able to see the subtle shifts of expression that marked the progression between mild surprise, pleasure and disappointment - finally ending up with a brief flash of anger that he mostly repressed.
"I take it this didn't survive the fire? Well, thank you for the thought, anyway. I'd have liked it."
He crossed the few steps back over to where Ashley stood, coming around behind her so that he could get the zipper on her dress. He pulled it down slowly, leaning forward to place a kiss to the back of her neck. Lips brushed her skin, lingering for a long moment as he traced his fingers down her spine.
"I really need to convince you to go to fancy restaurants with me more often," he teased gently, placing another kiss just below her earlobe, then on the edge of her ear. "You smell... really nice," he breathed quietly, his voice a delicate hum against the sensitive ridges of cartilage. At some point, without much encouragement, the dress slid down to the floor. It would have been easy to keep going, but he didn't. Instead, Jarod stepped away and pulled the belt free from around his waist, allowing Ashley to finish getting undressed while he did the same.
"Lie down?" he asked, though she more than likely wouldn't need the cue.
[Ashley] He says he would have liked it, thanks her for the the thought, and the wistful little smile that's been touching her features is turned on him then. Brightens, as much as such a thing can. She understands why he's angry - part of what was so heartbreaking for her about losing her apartment wasn't just losing her possessions or her home or her sense of security. It was the thought of everything that was destroyed, the old and valuable books she had and the artwork she had in her bedroom. Things she would have liked to save, but couldn't possibly have had the time.
She wonders, still, whether it was the right decision to set her apartment on fire. She did it to protect herself, to keep them as much in the dark about who she is and to keep her documentation and the things she knows out of their hands. It was, she knows, a selfish thing to do. "Figures it'd happen on the rare occasion I tried to be thoughtful," she says, with a short laugh.
Because sometimes she tries to be, in her gift-giving. For all the pragmatism she professes there are times when she just likes to make someone else happy.
His lips touch the back of her neck and his fingers trail down her spine and there's a shiver she suppresses, manages to until he breathes against her ear. She reaches back and slides her fingertips along his jaw while he lingers there, her eyes fluttering closed. "You aren't going to hear any complaints from me," she says quietly. Not that she'd even know what's in Chicago - high class restaurants aren't really where she's spent most of her time.
He asks her to lie down, but she doesn't. Not immediately. She turns to him, watches as he slides his belt free and then steps close so she can kiss him, her hands finding the waistband of his pants, the clasp. She works it free with one hand and lets the other slide past the line, lightly trailing her fingertips across the sensitive skin below his navel. After she's slid the rest of his clothing partially off his hips she steps away, pulling the rest of her own free before tugging the sheets back and lowering herself to the bed. She glances over toward him, folding an arm behind her head while she waits.
[Jarod] [Life 2 / Prime 2 - Because losing one's home and possessions and career definitely gives one the right to an epic massage - diff 5 -1(focus) -1(resonance)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 6, 9 (Success x 4 at target 3) [WP]
[Jarod] He wasn't the only one who could play that game of tempting distraction. Ashley returned the favor easily enough, and for a moment Jarod lost himself in kissing her, his nostrils flaring to let out a heavy breath when she touched his skin. Sensuality was a heady thing for him - a state of being that he could embody completely and effortlessly, and when he was happy (as it was possible he was right now) it was like being swallowed by a warm, clear, beautiful ocean. It was like bathing in moonlight. (It was like home.)
He breathed slowly when Ashley left his side, calming more aggressive instincts, and finished undressing (and neatly folding his expensive clothes on the back of a chair) before climbing up to join her on the bed. His hand touched her stomach, fingers spreading out to trail up to her sternum, then he leaned in and kissed her again, slowly and with an almost reverent kind of softness. His lips left a lingering sensation behind - nerve endings that warmed and glittered with sensitivity. It was a subtle thing, but noticeable. Like his resonance (Sensuality - not winter [she was sleeping tonight]) had left a mark on her skin.
When he pulled away, he directed her to turn onto her stomach and get comfortable, and he shifted to crouch next to her, squeezing a small amount of oil onto his palm. It smelled like almond oil and a blend of lavender and sandalwood, among other more subtle notes. Jarod warmed it in his hands before he touched her back, sliding his hands slowly from the base of her spine to her shoulders, then down again. His touch was light at first, hands spread as he worked the oil into her skin. Then the massage began in earnest, and his thumbs found points of tension along the muscles as he applied pressure to them, working them loose in slow, practiced motions.
And here too, moreso than when he'd kissed her, a sensation of relaxed, luxuriant sensuality followed his touch and settled into her skin. It could have been chalked up to the wonderful smell and a really, really lovely massage causing a bit of a trick of perception, but... of course that wasn't all it was.
[Ashley] This is how people like the two of them have learned to be happy. They both know, from long experience, that it doesn't always last long and that life isn't nearly so full of the warmth and fulfillment that they might have been promised. It exists in moments. They steal it, survive long enough to gather them up and hold to them in times without - or, at least, this is what Ashley does.
Jarod might be happy, and she clearly is. He climbs up to join her and she grins at him, open and - for once - without that reluctance, that shyness, that so often accompanies it. She can't remember smiling that way since this summer, but she doesn't tell him that. She doesn't need to.
Her hand finds the side of his face and rests there lightly while he leans down and kisses her, affectionate and almost tender. The sensation his touch leaves doesn't surprise her. He's done something similar to this once before - a year ago, now, the first time she came back to his apartment. She'd been upset about what had happened to Morgan (Enid) then, in China. Lifetimes ago, it seems like.
Tension is almost always present in her. Like him, it's very difficult for her to relax, though for her it often manifests as anger or aggression, a readiness to fight, like a dog that's never sure when it's going to be thrown into the pit. Nevertheless, as he works he can gradually feel it bleed away, and she closes her eyes and, for a little while, loses sense of time. Loses wariness.
[Jarod] In a way, this could be considered another lesson - a very, very pleasant one - in what it meant to fully understand and manipulate a living pattern. This was something that Jarod had understood since even before his Awakening. Like Ashley's Will, and her hunger, it was as much an irrefutable part of him as his blood. Take away all of his money, his influence, his charm... even his beauty. He would still have this. He would still be this. (Venus as a boy.) Touching her this way came as naturally as breathing.
There was a kind of communication in it as well. He slid his hand across her skin and it said: you are precious to me. He focused on a knot of tension in the muscle, massaging it loose with practiced care, and it said: I want you to be happy. I want you to feel good. This, perhaps, more than anything else he'd done that night, was evidence to the fact that he wasn't lying when he'd said that he cared about her. That didn't mean that he had the same desires or expectations of her that she might have of him (people were different, and they defined their relationships differently,) but this wasn't a game to him. Ashley was not a prize to be conquered in some way.
At some point during their tentative adjustment period, she'd stopped being a Hermetic Adept and chantry-leader, and started just being Ashley. Though perhaps she had always been more human to him than she was to most.
He was thorough and attentive tonight (he often was, but not always like this,) and didn't move away from her back until he'd felt the very last lingering note of tension chased away beneath his fingers. Then he spread out to the rest of her body, to shoulders and arms and legs. When he got to her feet, he was mindful not to tickle her and ruin the relaxed state he'd been trying to put her in.
"Just for the record," he commented gently as he picked up one foot and pushed his thumb into the arch, a little smile lighting on his face, "...you have adorable feet."
[Ashley] Ashley doesn't know how many of Chicago's magi privately consider her cute. It's not something they voice to her, and with good reason - she's just not the kind of personality who seems terribly receptive to that variety of compliment (in all likelihood, that's part of her charm.) She is blissfully unaware of the times when they've thought about trying to beep her nose or see if they could get away with picking her up, tousling her hair or tickling her. She's also unaware of the fact that they want to hug her and usually don't, and when they do they carefully assess the situation to see whether it will result in a lashing with Mind.
It's a good thing she doesn't know those things. She works hard to be taken seriously: she could've been dismissed, with a lesser personality, as tiny and weak and one-eyed. Something to be pitied. That's what "cute" or "adorable" or any words in that domain usually mean to her - a dismissal.
They don't mean that right now. Still, she lifts her head and looks around at him, a wry smile touching her features. "Do I? They look like feet to me." She wiggles her toes at him, briefly.
Her touch is passive - she's accepting something he's giving to her. But that alone communicates a lot, in and of itself: that she is willing to be passive. That she is willing to let go. That at least for right here and right now and today, she feels safe with him. There's warmth. She wasn't lying to him either.
[Jarod] "You do," he insisted calmly, no more likely to be discouraged in his opinion than she was. As if to confirm this statement, he bent his head down and kissed the sole of her foot lightly. This was not something he was normally known to do (kissing someone's foot had certain connotations that didn't exactly fit his image or strong-willed personality,) but it happened as a natural whim, and soon enough he'd moved on to the other foot, applying another drop of almond oil to his hand before continuing.
When he was finished, he slid his hands up the length of her body, from her ankles to her back and around the sides of her rib cage, and there was a gentle nudge as he indicated that he wanted her to roll onto her back. When she'd done so - and gotten comfortable again - he put his hands around the sides of her neck and gently massaged the muscles there, paying particular attention to the base of her skull and the tension that tended to collect in the muscles at the top of the spine. This shifted gradually around to her face, which he handled very delicately, kneading her temples and making light sweeps of his thumbs over her eyes and forehead. His fingertips slid into her hair and massaged her scalp, feeling the contours of her skull - the place where it had been broken before.
When he was done, he traced along the side of her face affectionately, and couldn't entirely resist the urge to brush her lower lip with his thumb.
More oil was applied to his hands, and he spread them across her stomach the same way he'd done to her back, sliding up along the contours of her chest, over breasts, over collar bones, then slowly back down again.
[Ashley] It's when he touches the base of her skull that whatever tension was remaining slowly ebbs away. Her eyes are closed, and at the moment she's managing not to think about much of anything at all - except what he's doing, of course. He has this effect in a way that other people haven't. Maybe it's that he, too, is so entirely given to his drives and instincts in spite of the way he might present himself to other people. They're alike in this.
When his fingertips move over her skull he can feel the ridge of scar tissue that disappears beneath her hairline. He can feel the place where bone merges with metal plate merges with bone again beneath her scalp, the slight indentation it's left. She doesn't tilt her head away from him or give him a look when he does it, and when his hand lingers on her left side, the senseless side, she doesn't seem to mind.
As his hands move over her, her own drifts up and comes to rest on his stomach. She lets out a sigh, a languorous stretch, and her hand drifts lower - if he weren't as sensitive as he is, he might not even be aware of it. When she touches him the gesture is light at first, and she runs her fingertips over him as she opens her eyes and looks back up at him.
And then moves up, her lips finding the place near the hollow of his throat. She kisses him there once, twice, and murmurs, "Lie back?" Her touch is still almost teasing, and gradually her lips move just over where his blood hums under his skin. It's instinctual, sensing his response and the vitality that moves through him both, Willing it into sight. She, too, is taken to doing this sometimes.
[Life 1, -1 focus.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 7, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 3)
[Jarod] He hadn't really planned on stopping just yet, and a little surprise was evident in his manner when she sat up to kiss him. Muted, of course, but the hesitance alone was enough to suggest that he wasn't really used to having his sexual partners stop him at this particular juncture. (Actually, he wasn't used to having anyone stop him at all.) There was a sound in the back of his throat - a short hum that touched her lips when she found the pulse of blood between his collar bones. When she asked him to lie back, he tilted his head to one side and regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, as if trying to decide how to interpret the sudden role-reversal.
Ultimately he didn't resist the suggestion. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he did as she asked, lowering himself down onto the bed and stretching out, one arm draped over his head on the pillow (not at all unlike the way she'd been posed earlier) and one knee bent with his foot resting flat on the mattress.
[Ashley] It's likely that she's a bit more assertive than most people he's generally with - or, at least, has been with more than a few times. Controlling personalities typically don't tolerate each other well over time; they're prone to the sorts of arguments that plagued their earlier interactions. All told, it's probably a little surprising that they've gotten here after all of that and in spite of the less attractive qualities they both possess.
It would probably be safe to say that at least for Ashley, that's part of what makes it appealing and exciting and interesting. Her interest in conflict isn't just scholarly, but nor is it simple brutality: she has always been attracted to people who are like herself, similarly driven and Willful but different in an approach or belief. Maybe it's a little surprising that she isn't seeking to simply dominate and force her own beliefs as part of the dynamic, and hasn't, really.
He smiles and she smiles back at him for a heartbeat, then stretches out next to him, partially raised on an elbow. Her hand finds its way between his legs and skims up and down the length of him, delicate enough to only just provide a distraction from the nipping and kissing at his throat and collarbones. She feels the way his blood pulses, the way his nerves hum.
Her mouth finds its way downward, as these things do. Gradually. When it eventually joins her hand, she doesn't seem to have an intention of stopping. Perhaps he expected the giving of attention to be more one-sided tonight, but she seems to have other plans.
[Jarod] For all his momentary hesitance, Jarod enjoyed being touched far too much to ever complain about it. A clever person could manipulate him this way (and sometimes they did.) That didn't mean he wasn't capable of exercising restraint, only that he didn't often have a good enough reason to try.
He'd been in a kind of semi-aroused state before he felt her hand on him, his mood equally as relaxed and languorous as hers had been, but there was a shift when her fingertips trailed over sensitive nerve-endings, and he closed his eyes and pulled in a long breath, hardening underneath her touch. The response was quick enough to be considered rather enviable (and in fact some of his partners had made teasing comments to this effect) but it wasn't really unusual for anyone who was strongly attuned to their own Life pattern.
When he felt her body shift, he opened his eyes again and watched her move - watched as her lips touched where her fingers had been, and there was a gentle moan as he rolled his head back, biting down on the edge of his thumb.
No, he absolutely did not look as if he was going to complain. On the contrary, every single cue his body gave her seemed to be along the lines of: Don't. Stop. So it was probably a good thing that she didn't seem to have that intention.
[Ashley] They aren't calling themselves a couple - though Jarod might concede to an and I, and Ashley might do the same - but after a while of sleeping together, and with the kind of intimacy they have, they experience different moods. Different ways of having each other. And even if it isn't as easy for her to tell with him how he's feeling or what he's thinking, Ashley's own feelings come across easily.
She's done this for him before on several occasions. Sometimes it's passionate or intense, sometimes it's idle and relaxed, and once in a while, like now, it's slow. Affectionate. Giving, because he does a lot for her and it isn't lost on her: she could just take what she wants from him, let him lead and assert himself. But she doesn't want to.
She's not like this with most people. With most people, when she gives back, it's out of a desire to keep them from holding something over her.
She's attuned to him right now and all of those cues are telling her not to stop. So she doesn't, and she seems quite intent on finishing what she's started. Very patiently. The soft sound that reaches her ear is just encouragement.
[Jarod] She wasn't in a hurry tonight, and of course, neither was he. So things built up slowly, but not so much so that her jaw would start to hurt. (These were things he was conscious of in a way that a straight man might not always be.) And of course they'd done this before, so it was hardly new territory for either of them, but that didn't make it any less enjoyable. There was always a faint note of surprised appreciation when Ashley voluntarily decided to do this for him, partly because her character tended to lead one to certain assumptions. And while it was entirely possible that Ashley didn't perceive oral sex as anything particularly noteworthy, Jarod probably preferred to imagine that it wasn't something she did lightly (that if she did, it was because she really wanted to.)
The muscles in his abdomen stood out as they tensed, and there was a soft arch to his spine as he stretched out, pushing his arms above his head and against the wooden frame behind him. There were more sounds - gradual at first, deep breaths and occasional muted hums of pleasure. He had to check his natural instinct to control the pace - to lie still - but he did finally let one of his hands trail down his chest (it lingered a little, playing across his skin) to touch the side of her face and then move up to curl his fingers into her hair.
"Ash..." He whispered her name softly, shortening it as his voice trailed off. There was an audible breath - it hitched a little - before he continued. "Bu tingzhi. Cela se sent parfaite.." He moved fluidly between languages when he wasn't wholly aware of what he was saying, something she'd heard him do before. "...You're amazing. Fuck." (The last bit turned into more of a growl.)
And then the talking stopped, and he knotted his fingers more tightly in her hair. A flush of pink spread across his skin, blood flowing into capillaries that reached up to the surface. It turned his lips red. He bit down on the lower one a bit roughly before pulling in a sharp breath. Then he moaned. Loudly. And Ashley, with her heightened awareness, would be able to feel the surge of sensory input that radiated out from her touch.
His hand left her hair so as not to hurt her, and instead the pillow behind his head took the brunt of his physical aggression. (And if she sleeps on it later, she might notice a small tear in the fabric.)
When she stopped, he grew still, catching his breath, and Ashley wouldn't be given much time to recover before he pulled her up to join him and kissed her deeply, pushing his tongue past her lips.
[Ashley] As with most things, it can generally be assumed that if Ashley does them, it's only because she wants to. In practice this isn't entirely true - if only because people can want different things. They can want conflicting things, and in fact, she often does. Her leadership at the chantry has been an internal war, a constant battle to determine whether she should do what makes her happy or what will best benefit her enlightened Will and her role as a Hermetic. For a long time, her happiness was frequently what was sacrificed.
Which is, perhaps, part of the reason she's here with him. It's a relief, once in a while, to have something in her life that she isn't conflicted about. He's one of those things. Kage is another.
There's a moment shortly after he whispers her name that she forgets everything else, immersed in listening and in feeling the shifts in his blood. There are moments when she is undeniably tied to the physical world, when instinct and Will and blood become one entity, and thus far that's often been with him.
After he grows still she takes a moment to catch her own breath and leans down to place a nuzzling kiss against his hip. When he pulls her up with him it doesn't take her long to respond in kind, to press against him and tangle her fingers into his hair; her own responses are heightened right now.
[Jarod] [Life 3 - who needs a condom when you have magic? - diff 6 -1(focus) -1(practiced) -1(slow)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 6 (Success x 3 at target 3) [WP]
[Jarod] She tasted like him. He didn't seem to mind, and luxuriated in the kiss in the deeply sensual manner that so often went along with heightened physical awareness and strong sexual motivations. At this point, even delicate touches felt like an electric current on his skin.
It took some effort to force himself to concentrate on working an effect, at which point he pulled away and grew quiet for a moment, running his tongue lightly across his lips as he hand rested with fingers splayed on his lower stomach. It was a necessary distraction though, and an effect that Ashley was familiar with by now. (Neither of them wanted her to get pregnant.)
He wasn't in so much of a hurry when he rolled over and nudged himself up between her legs, so he paused, propped up on both arms and smiled before leaning in to kiss her again. Then he slid down a little and found one of her nipples, pulling it into his mouth. He spent a long moment there, playing with it gently between his teeth, and when he lifted his head away he pushed into her with one smooth, easy motion. It made his breath catch briefly.
Ashley's skin smelled like the massage oil, and when he moved against her their skin slid fluidly. And the last thing he said to her before both of them got lost in each other was, "I love the way you feel. I love the way you taste." He paused, kissed the side of her throat. "I wish I could stay here forever."
Here, with her. Here, on fire. Here, happy. Here, far away from everything else.
And maybe, for a little while, they could be all of those things - and nothing more.
