|Nimbus In The Library|
|Summary:||After Nicodemus meets Dominick, he is scandalous with Day.|
|Date:||20/01/12 (OOC Date)|
|Related Logs:||A Study Of Stars, Genius Or Nutter|
|Library — Braeburn House|
In the library of Braeburn, late in the afternoon a few days after kisses and starlight, Septa Day stands up high on a ladder, a dusty tome pulled down to peruse — not that there's so much dust on the book any longer, but the motes dancing lazily in the sun through the windows attest well enough to its condition moments before. She is, as is her habit… not in a habit, but in a simple homespun dress of burgundy linen, her hair pulled back on the sides and worn long — overall simple and becoming. Her sole nod to the typical uniform of a septa is the symbol of the Crone worn about her neck — a small, silver hourglass on a long chain.
It's moments like this that may explain why Nicodemus has such a hard time thinking of Day as a proper Septa, when the woman is tucked up in a chair, out of the robes of one of the faithful, with sunlight and dust motes winking about her golden hair like she was some sort of beautiful illusion cast by the afternoon light. "Gods, but you were well named," Nicodemus murmurs as he steps into the library, seeking out his own dusty tome to read from for a time.
His voice startles her out of her reverie — she blinks as she looks up from the book, then quickly lowers her lashes, blushing. "Nic," she says, softly, watching him through veiled eyes as he looks for a volume of his own. "Were you — ah — looking for something particular?" she asks, closing her book and uncurling from the chair. She comes closer in order to be helpful. That's all. And… one should stand close when speaking in a library. So one's not inclined to speak loudly.
"Just a book," Nicodemus replies, glancing over as the Septa moves closer. For politeness's sake. "I wanted some idea for… oh. Here." He draws the thick, leather-bound volume down. 'An Alchemical Exploration of Weaponry'.
That gets him a look. "Alchemy? Really?" She smiles, leaning a bit closer to have a look; she opens the book while it's in his hands, still, content to have him hold it while she peruses, her head bent just beneath his. "I've always been fascinated with alchemy." She looks up at him, curious. "Have you ever met Dominick, your father's… maker of things?"
"Don't know a lick about it," Nicodemus says, "but there's this boy living in one of the mud huts…" he laughs, glancing over at Day, "Yes. He's the one. I was just thinking some of the things he was playing with might have some established practical applications."
"He's hardly a boy — he's your age," says Day, amused. "And of course his work has practical applications, otherwise your father wouldn't keep him on." She looks up from the book. "He's a little mad, don't you think? But that, apparently, is the curse that comes with the gift of extraordinary intelligence."
"He's stringy," is Nicodemus's opinion of Dominick's boyhood versus his own as he slowly turns a page to study the next one. His lips lift in a small smile as Day speaks on. "He probably is, but he wears it well. Besides, I sort of like the thought of a slightly mad inventor living out behind the manor. Sort of like a ghost, but more useful."
"A bit," Day allows, smirking at Nic's characterization of their resident insane genius. "So long as he doesn't blow himself to pieces." She falls silent, then, head bent to peruse the pages, shoulder lightly touching his.
"Well, then he would be a ghost, and that'd be nearly as good," the young knight jokes as he stares down at the book in his hands. With a small swallow, he returns the lean, pressing their shoulders together more firmly.
Day reaches to turn the page, her fingers just barely brushing his in the process. "I think a ghost would be significantly less interesting than you imagine," she murmurs, eyes still on the text. "It's not very useful to be incorporeal."
"Oh? Have you known many?" Nicodemus asks, glancing towards the septa as their fingers brush. "I could imagine it being useful. Slipping through walls, frightening fair maidens, not to mention you could make an excellent spy."
"There is that," Day admits, eyes still primly on the page, though her lips quirk mirthfully. "Though you would be condemned to look and never touch, as you'd slip through fair maidens just as surely as you would walls."
"In that respect, I think I can empathize with ghosts," Nicodemus murmurs as he watches Day not watching him.
"Can you," Day asks softly, eyes flickering up to meet his.
"Being forbidden touch can be a terrible thing," he whispers, peering down at Day as she peers up at him.
Day takes a soft breath. It takes her a moment to formulate a reply. "I… can't imagine anyone denying you such a thing, my lord," she says, finally.
"Maybe I deny myself," Nicodemus murmurs in turn, gently closing the book and sliding it back on the shelf. "It seems the wisest course."
"I've never been particularly fond of asceticism, personally." She looks away, lifting her chin and setting her shoulders, studying the spines of the books before them.
Nicodemus breathes out softly as the septa looks away. "Rosanna needs you. And you adore her. I don't want to do anything to make you feel as if this was no longer your home."
She blushes, another of those delicate washes of color that turn her ears pink. Day closes her eyes and breathes in, swallowing visibly, a flash of her slender throat. "I apologize for imposing, my lord."
"No, please don't apologize," the knight insists, frowning a little as Day flushes. "I'm sorry, it was crude of me. You weren't… you've never imposed, septa. And you've a right to want to… well, you've a right to it. And gods know I'm… tempted. I just fear there's too much to lose."
"Do you think I don't know my place?" asks Day, rather suddenly meeting his eyes again and lofting a brow.
"I think assuming you'll know how you feel, after experiencing something you've never experienced, may be dangerous," Nicodemus replies with a small shrug. "I've read the poems and stories, too. Deep affection doesn't tend to encourage rationality."
"Do you just think that I'm simple-minded," says Day, flatly.
Nicodemus blinks. "No?" he queries, peering back at Day.
She steps back from him, turning her face away once more. "This is idiotic," she whispers, going back to retrieve her book.
"Suppose it is," he agrees, though perhaps he doesn't mean the words in the same way she does. Because, as Day turns away, Nicodemus reaches out to curl a hand around her arm, tug her back around and kiss her amid the dusty books and the afternoon sunlight.
Her hands curl into fists against his chest, shoulders hunched — but only for an instant. Then she's kissing him back, hot and sweet and fierce, hands uncurling only long enough to bunch the front of his tunic up in them again. Her body leans eagerly into his, shivering.
His breath catches as that hint of struggle melts into a sweeter surrender, and his own hands curl at her waist to tug her closer as his kiss deepens. Not content with just a single moment of indulgence this time, one kiss melting into the next and then the next.
Day rises up on her toes to compensate for those few inches difference in height, the better to fit her body to his, and to experience that sweet thrill of friction as they move against one another. She kisses him in deep, heady draughts, hands sliding up to curl in his hair. "What — " she breathes in the space between kisses, "makes you think — I even — want you?"
"Not sure," Nicodemus answers, hid fingers kneading her skin through her gown as his mouth tangles with hers. "Maybe it's—" he sucks decadently on her bottom lip, "all in my mind."
The treatment of her bottom lip elicits a low, sweet moan. She trails kisses along the line of his jaw to his ear, delicately testing her teeth there. "You think," she whispers, tongue tracing the outer curl of his ear, "very… highly of yourself, Ser."
"Oh, no," Nicodemus argues, tilting his head back and sucking in a small gasp as she nips his ear, "I am a humble sort." His fingers seek out the laces of her dress, to ease them loose enough that he might worm a hand inside. "I know Kitt's the charming one."
There's a loud click — the catch on the library doors — and Day startles, springing back from him. They're hidden by the shelves, at least, which gives them a moment's grace before they're intruded upon. She smooths her dress with trembling hands, color high and lips well-kissed, selecting a book at random to peruse. Whoever it was who'd thought they might benefit from the wisdom (or folly) stored in that room changes their mind, however. The door clicks closed again, and for the moment, no one comes.
Day swallows a giggle, hiding her face behind the book, eyes seeking him over the top of it. She listens in silence, then cautiously peeks out around the stacks.
Nicodemus freezes, stepping quickly back and holding very still as the door opens. If he doesn't move, maybe they won't spot him hidden as he is behind the shelves. He breathes out slowly as that plan actually… works out, and then he peers at Day with a wry smirk and a shake of his head. "We are both sodding idiots," he decides around a grin.
"All clear," Day confirms, leaning back against the shelves and breathing out. She glances down at the book, snrrks when she realizes she was 'reading' it upside down, and puts it back. "We're not doing anything wrong," she says, reasonably enough, though she blushes still. She glances at him. "We're both adults. I've taken no vow of chastity. I'm certainly not going to expect you to marry me. We know better."
"And yet, I've a feeling if my father heard I was loosening your ties in the library, he would be less than approving. Appearances and all that. There are girls it's acceptable for a knight to enjoy with no intent to marry and then there are girls that cause scandals. I somehow think a holy chosen of the Seven is among the latter," Nicodemus muses, still smirking softly.
"Maiden, Mother, and Crone — have you always been this vascilating?" Day says with a frown. She sighs, throwing up her hands. "Never mind, then. Just — let's forget it."
"I didn't say we should stop," Nicodemus points out, brows lifting. "I'm just suggesting we shouldn't get caught. But, of course, if you've changed your mind…"
Day's eyes flash temper and wounded pride. "Don't," she says, her voice low, visibly swallowing what looks like hurt. "Don't… kiss me and then start musing, all cool-headed, about why we shouldn't. And don't act as though you can take or leave me, without a care. If you want me, act like it. And if you don't… stop it."
Nicodemus swallows in turn. He draws in a slow, shaky breath. "Will you come to my room, tonight?" he asks softly.
"Will you change your mind between here and the door?" asks Day. Despite the barb, her eyes are leery and vulnerable.
Silently, Nicodemus shakes his head, letting his fingers slide gently through Day's hair. "I won't."
Day is still for a moment, her eyes sliding shut despite her as his fingers caress her hair. Then she lifts her lips to his, kissing him slow and deep, honey-sweet and full of promise. She lets that be her answer.
He smiles softly against her lips before returning her kiss, matching her pace and making it something slow and richly sweet and languid. He ends it with a shivering breath and smiles softly down at Day. "A good afternoon to you, Septa Day."
A little dazed, Day blinks her eyes back into focus, taking a very similar breath. She steps back, cheeks and ears pink, and clears her throat, smoothing her hair and dress. She curtsies properly. "Good afternoon, my lord." And with that, she steps past him to exit the library.