[Log] Cleansing of the Flowers and Mind
Erasmus enlists Emma's help in clearing his office of a huge flower delivery, words are spoken and agreements about love and patience are made.
The hallway is in a state of heavier use than normal here. A rug has been laid
out to fill the entire chunk of hall before the Commander's office door, and
a desk and chairs have been set up here. The door to the office is closed,
and leaves and petals trail out from it. There is a strong smell of floral
here. Erasmus sits at the desk, slouched and dressed in simple work clothes.
Emma has been escorted this way by guards, dressed practically in a pair of
trim slacks and a blouse that's worn beneath a leathern bodice. "Goodness, I
can smell it all the way down the hall," she mutters under her breath, as she
approaches.
Erasmus glances up and straightens. He looks... ironic more than annoyed at the
state of things, and greets with, "Welcome to my garden hell." He motions,
somewhat ominously to the closed door. Nearby, Hounds are setting down
barrows and large baskets for carting debris off.
"Commander," Emma greets, glancing to the surrounding Hounds as she does so.
"Thank you, I think. Always good to be in a nice-smelling hell." She is
unable to help a grin. "I am quite surprised you can work anywhere near here."
"I think it's seared my nasal passages," Erasmus admits. "You needn't bother
wearing perfume until the tissue regenerates." He smiles, standing finally
and running a hand through his hair. "I... usually sleep in there too, but
it's been couches for the past few days." Woe.
Emma's brows lift. "You sleep in your office? That is certainly dedicated of
you." Her grin turns a bit lopsided. "I will be certain to save any new
scents until you can appreciate them, I suppose."
Erasmus points out, logically, "If I keep to cots, I'll never find a live
situation uncomfortable. Featherbeds will ruin a soldier." He grins, moving
to the door. "I'll, ah, defer to you on what to do with this... I managed to
stuff some pink ones together and sent the lot to Rae, but it didn't make
much of a dent.
Indeed, when he opens the door, the room is dim and the scent overpowering.
There seems to be just enough room for one to walk five steps in, in a sort
of flower jungle path, before movement becomes difficult. The bouquets come
up to one's waist, and are covering the table, desk and, likely, the cot as
well.
Emma says to him, "I think I shall stick with featherbeds, thank you very
much." Her grin widens as she steps past, and into the veritable jungle that
his office has been made into. "Oh, my. This is -- a bit much."
"You detect any sarcasm in all of this?" Erasmus asks cheerily, gesturing for a
lantern and bringing it in with him. The light plays rather nicely on the
flowers, and there's a great variety of them, all in vases.
Emma winds her way through the vases, careful not to knock any over, trying to
get a good look at exactly what is at her disposal. "Sarcasm, or lust," she
teases, peeking through a clump of lilies so that he can see the mirth that
shines in her gaze, eyes bright in the lamplight.
Erasmus grins wide, peering through the place after her like a man checking for
dangerous wild animals. "Really? -This- is a sign of lust? Can't things be
-easier-?"
Emma replies, with a smile, "They can be easier. Some of us don't play games.
We bring single roses." She ducks back out of sight, save for the brightness
of her hair that can be seen through the foliage.
"That's much, much easier," Erasmus admits, wading into the flowers, lantern
held high. It's a bit like watching him try to do ballet, really; delicately
avoiding knocking things over, tiptoeing through... tulips. There is a rustle
and the sound of water, and he curses lightly.
Emma pokes her head up over an elaborate arrangement. "Are you alright?" she
asks. She then winds her way back around toward him, as best she can. "I
hardly even know where to begin, Erasmus, I confess."
Erasmus is bent over, inspecting a fallen vase of orchids. Water must surely be
seeping into the carpet. "I think we have a potential fatality," he muses.
"Yes, it's a little overwhelming." Straightening, he gazes out over the mess.
"Kind of pretty. Conceals the usual mess very well, so I still have time to
clean before you see it -normally-."
Emma leans down to pluck up a branch of the orchids, pursing her lips. "These
are so delicate. They won't last for long, I imagine, either way." She
straightens once again, chuckling at his last words. "I suppose I should be
flattered that you'd feel the need to clean for me."
Erasmus chuckles. "Well. Usually it's only the men coming in here, so it's not
exactly fit for more polite company." What does that mean? Porn woodcuts?
"But yes, I'd like to at least trick you into thinking I know something
about... interior design. My hacienda out in the country is much nicer,
mainly due to the servants," he quickly adds.
Emma arches a brow at him, at his mention of his office not being fit for
polite company. "A hacienda in the country. It sounds lovely." That said, she
glances away from him, surveying the flowers once again, the furrow in her
brow hinting she's making an inventory.
"It is, but I see it rarely," Erasmus replies, not sounding too sad about it.
He glances about, raising the lantern again. "They're going to start wilting
and the smell will... change."
Emma glances over her shoulder at him. "Point taken," she says, frowing
vaguely. "Come. If we're to make any sense of this, we'll need to move some
of this out into the hall, or -- somewhere."
"Toss it off the battlements," Erasmus suggests under his breath. "Just...
shift some out there? I could clear my desk for some workspace, or
something." He sounds lost, overwhelmed by the daunting task of tending an
army of blooms.
Emma's frown fades, her expression turning sympathetic. "If it would likely not
offend the sender, I would gladly help you toss them from the battlements.
But yes, let us move some into the hall." She reaches to touch his arm, then,
adding, "Erasmus, we'll figure this out. I know it seems overwhelming, but we
can do this."
Erasmus casts a wary look out the door, where Hounds, some in work clothes,
some in uniforms, mill about looking curious, like onlookers at a terrible
accident. There seems to be some betting going on in low tones. "Damn well
better, or I won't live this one down. Alright, let's go." He sets the
lantern down in the main cleared space and begins stooping to get good holds
on a vase.
Emma crouches down as well, scooping up a vase of her own. "I feel like we're
on display here," she murmurs, shaking her head. The arrangement she lifts is
an elaborate one of exotic blooms, and she wrinkles her nose a bit. "Now this
one, here, is just showing off. I hope you don't ever expect me to compete
with this, because if you do, I'd best just give up right now."
Erasmus laughs, then sneezes, violently, as his face is surrounded. Nothing
goes flying or falling, though. "Oh for crying out loud!" he exclaims,
sounding irritated and putting the vase down. "You, you, you and you, stop
your gawking and get in here!" The elite soldiers outside freeze, and most of
them but for the unfortunate four look like they have funerals to go to,
immediately. "Time for some delegation of this manual labor task!"
Emma breaks into a wide, satisfied smile as Erasmus begins delegating. She
steps into the hall, setting her vase aside, then simply waits. "Excellent. I
would hate to strain myself, you know."
Briskly, orders are given, and Erasmus emerges from the room with another
powerful sneeze. "Would too," he observes darkly, pulling out his heavy desk
chair and arranging it for her to sit close to the table. "I had the idea
this might be fun," he admits, resting against the high back of it and
watching the Hounds struggling out with bunches of flowers. "Not so much now."
Emma moves to settle into the chair he has pulled out, crossing one leg over
the other after she does. She chides, tilting her head to look up at him
where he leans, "It will be fun. They'll clear out some room, and we can sit
on the floor and ..." She breaks off. "Well, maybe 'fun' isn't the right
word. Have you got any brandy? That would make it vastly more entertaining."
Erasmus gazes down at her, his expression bemused. "Now that sounds infinitely
more interesting." The man doesn't move much, just whistles sharply for
attention and makes a small hand signal. A Hound moves off at a jog. "So...
do I need to come up with a list of recipients?"
Emma breaks into a grin. "I knew that would help. Well, we could either come up
with a list of recipients, or start sorting the flowers and work from there.
Maybe I should make you pick some out for me, first, though."
Erasmus gains a funny look that managed to morph into a safe, thoughtful
expression. "Of course," he concedes. "Few times in anyone's life will they
have such an opportunity as this." He eyes the hallway as it begins looking
very elaborate, even for the palace.
Emma leans back from him just a bit with that look, her grin fading. "Well, you
certainly don't have to," she says, hastily. She turns her gaze away,
determinedly watching the flowers as they're brought out.
Surprised, Erasmus glances back down at her. "Hmmm? No, it's fine, what'd I
say?"
"You seemed uncomfortable, when I suggested you pick out flowers for me first,"
Emma says, plainly. She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I'm sorry if I upset
you."
"No... not upset," Erasmus assures quickly, his face reddening. "Don't mind me,
Emma, I was thinking of something else. You can have as many as you like,
I'll even have it all delivered."
Emma grows very quiet. "Something else, or someone else?" She moves to rise to
her feet, saying brusquely. "Let's get this over with."
Erasmus is even more surprised, and straightens. "No, not someone else," he
corrects firmly. "What'd I do or say to make you think that?" Some of the
Hounds glance over.
Emma quite clearly checks herself, not dismissing his words, nor arguing with
them. "Erasmus, we're surrounded by flowers someone else sent you," she says
in a low voice. "I'm a touch paranoid." The words are self-deprecating, her
expression quite sheepish. "And I know it's ridiculous, trust me. And just
where -is- that brandy?"
"You're jealous, because of the great joy this gesture has caused me?" Erasmus
pursues the issue closely, trying to get a grip, perhaps.
"Green with it," Emma says, unable to help a laugh. "I'm sorry. I really am
being silly. I admit it freely. I'll keep it in check, I promise."
Erasmus says nothing, thumb hooking absently at his belt and his gaze directed
at a side wall of the hallway. The Hound sent away trots back with a tray
containing a full bottle of brandy and two crystal glasses, which he sets on
the desk.
Emma's laughter fades, and she glances down. "I'm sorry," she says, before
moving back into the office to begin her task. She folds her arms over her
chest as she goes, cheeks darkening.
"Would be quite swell if people asked me what's on my mind sometime," Erasmus
mutters in a tone that may or may not carry. He stalks to one of the lines of
vases already brought out, and stares at them hard, as if artistic creative
force could be tortured out of the arrangements.
Emma pokes her head back out of the office door. "I said I was sorry, and I'll
do that in the future," she says, without rancor or prompting. "Are you
bringing the brandy or staying out there?"
Erasmus says nothing still, though directs a steely look at a Hound nearby. It
is an older soldier, one of the lieutenants, and the men exchange looks. Then
the Hound lifts a hand and makes some sign, numbers of fingers, perhaps,
looking ironic. The Commander's lips purse and he glances away. "Did you want
a glass?" he asks.
Emma's brows lift. She'd have to be blind to miss at least part of that
exchange. "Please, if you would be so kind," she says. Her gaze fixes on the
lieutenant, his face one she'll not likely forget any time soon.
The lieutenant watches his Commander looking oddly sad, though it's an
expression that is corrected as he finds he's being watched. Turning, the
older soldier resumes his work, as Erasmus nods and moves to the desk to pour
one glass.
Emma's brows draw together, though she slips back into the office wordlessly.
Troubled, she settles onto the floor, trying to take stock of what's left
inside.
Erasmus takes the glass and steps just inside the office, bending to set the
glass near her. "I'll be outside, delegating," he says quietly, straightening.
Emma lifts her gaze. "Erasmus, please," she says. "Stay in here and tell me
what is on your mind." Her alto is soft, and though she doesn't plead, she
adds, "I hoped we could do this together."
Erasmus composes thoughts a moment, before noting, "I was thinking of you with
nothing on but all the rose petals in this room. Not really something I
should be saying in polite company, even if asked. I'm sorry you assumed the
worst of my hesitance." He looks to her, expression inward. "I need to tend
to something. Do feel you need to finish this, one of the men will help you
if you want to go."
Emma blinks up at him, taking a deep breath with his words. "Hold a moment,
Commander. Will you close the door, that I might speak my mind without your
men overhearing? Just another moment of your time is all I ask."
Erasmus gazes down at her a moment before taking a step to the door and
reaching to pull it shut. "There you go, Lady Emma," he states, as flower
petals blow past his boots.
Emma pulls herself to her feet, and says, "Have some mercy on me, Erasmus. I
care for you, and that terrifies me." She steps over to him, putting herself
in rather intimate proximity, if he permits it. "I'm not used to feeling this
way, and it puts me off balance. And I think I would like to kiss you, now."
The stony expression melts a little, and Erasmus considers that in something
less of a brickwall-mode. Then, "I won't get wordy about it, Emma, because
I'm not sure if it'll help anything. But I'll have mercy, and a kiss."
Emma lifts a hand, as if to rest her palm on his cheek. Her brow furrows, as
she says, "Please don't discard me for being human." She takes a deep breath,
before leaning in to press her lips to his, eyes slipping closed.
The kiss is merciful, despite the admission of the thought of before, and
Erasmus is ever the gentleman. Whatever hurt the humanness caused seems
relaxed from him by the end of it. "Speaking of merciful," he breathes
against her lips, some glimmer of humor returning. "Thanks for not slapping
me for that little admission."
Emma's own kiss is a tender thing, and though she does not seek to deepen it,
she's in no hurry to pull away. Her eyes flutter open as he speaks, and she
laughs, very softly, with his expression of gratitude. "Well, at least now I
know how I can surprise you, some day," she teases. She leaves her hand on
his cheek, thumb stroking lightly there, once. "I'll try to be less of an
idiot in the future, my dear." A pause, and she adds, smile turning lopside.
"My dear Commander, that is."
Erasmus smiles, leaning just faintly into the touch. The slip of address brings
a low chuckle up, but he notes quietly, "Perhaps we should both remember
we're human, and have been hurt in the past." His gaze searches her eyes, as
if clues on how to do this without losing sanity could be found there. "A
little more mercy before it needs to be begged would help both of us."
Emma's smile warms once again, and she leans in to touch her forhead to his.
"Let us give one another the benefit of the doubt, then, and mercy. Erasmus,
I swear I'll not cast you aside for a single mispoken word." Her eyes meet
his, and she pulls back that she might actually focus. "Just like these
thrice-damned flowers, we'll get through this."
A hand finds her slender one, and Erasmus pulls gentle fingers to his lips for
another brief kiss. "I'm sure it will be tricky enough without single words,
but... thank you." He smiles, the last of whatever emotion seized him
evaporating. Giving the hand a gentle squeeze, he lets go. "Let's tame some
flowers."
"Just be patient with me, hm? I'm not used to actually -caring- what a man
thinks about me." She gives him a sheepish smile. "I hope we're back on the
same page again." That said, she takes a breath, and steps back. "You still
need to pick which flowers you want to give me. Saving, of course, the petals
you'll save for some indeterminate day in the future -- if you're lucky."
Erasmus lets out a breath as she moves off, and also looks sheepish. If more
odd thoughts occurred, he has retained the grace not to voice them again. "I
think... the Princesses should have one vase each, tastefully done, and then
I will order up a picnic lunch with wine, and we can throw them over the
walls to Kolvir together."
Emma considers that for a moment, her cheek dimpling briefly with her smile. "I
think that is a perfect solution, Erasmus. Let me find the nicest vases,
then, and I'll start arranging. And maybe one for Taleyn, to remind her that
her cousin is thinking of her." She straightens her leather bodice, then
looks to the door. "We'd best open that, before they think either I've killed
you or you've got me in here with petals."
The hallway is in a state of heavier use than normal here. A rug has been laid
out to fill the entire chunk of hall before the Commander's office door, and
a desk and chairs have been set up here. The door to the office is closed,
and leaves and petals trail out from it. There is a strong smell of floral
here. Erasmus sits at the desk, slouched and dressed in simple work clothes.
Emma has been escorted this way by guards, dressed practically in a pair of
trim slacks and a blouse that's worn beneath a leathern bodice. "Goodness, I
can smell it all the way down the hall," she mutters under her breath, as she
approaches.
Erasmus glances up and straightens. He looks... ironic more than annoyed at the
state of things, and greets with, "Welcome to my garden hell." He motions,
somewhat ominously to the closed door. Nearby, Hounds are setting down
barrows and large baskets for carting debris off.
"Commander," Emma greets, glancing to the surrounding Hounds as she does so.
"Thank you, I think. Always good to be in a nice-smelling hell." She is
unable to help a grin. "I am quite surprised you can work anywhere near here."
"I think it's seared my nasal passages," Erasmus admits. "You needn't bother
wearing perfume until the tissue regenerates." He smiles, standing finally
and running a hand through his hair. "I... usually sleep in there too, but
it's been couches for the past few days." Woe.
Emma's brows lift. "You sleep in your office? That is certainly dedicated of
you." Her grin turns a bit lopsided. "I will be certain to save any new
scents until you can appreciate them, I suppose."
Erasmus points out, logically, "If I keep to cots, I'll never find a live
situation uncomfortable. Featherbeds will ruin a soldier." He grins, moving
to the door. "I'll, ah, defer to you on what to do with this... I managed to
stuff some pink ones together and sent the lot to Rae, but it didn't make
much of a dent.
Indeed, when he opens the door, the room is dim and the scent overpowering.
There seems to be just enough room for one to walk five steps in, in a sort
of flower jungle path, before movement becomes difficult. The bouquets come
up to one's waist, and are covering the table, desk and, likely, the cot as
well.
Emma says to him, "I think I shall stick with featherbeds, thank you very
much." Her grin widens as she steps past, and into the veritable jungle that
his office has been made into. "Oh, my. This is -- a bit much."
"You detect any sarcasm in all of this?" Erasmus asks cheerily, gesturing for a
lantern and bringing it in with him. The light plays rather nicely on the
flowers, and there's a great variety of them, all in vases.
Emma winds her way through the vases, careful not to knock any over, trying to
get a good look at exactly what is at her disposal. "Sarcasm, or lust," she
teases, peeking through a clump of lilies so that he can see the mirth that
shines in her gaze, eyes bright in the lamplight.
Erasmus grins wide, peering through the place after her like a man checking for
dangerous wild animals. "Really? -This- is a sign of lust? Can't things be
-easier-?"
Emma replies, with a smile, "They can be easier. Some of us don't play games.
We bring single roses." She ducks back out of sight, save for the brightness
of her hair that can be seen through the foliage.
"That's much, much easier," Erasmus admits, wading into the flowers, lantern
held high. It's a bit like watching him try to do ballet, really; delicately
avoiding knocking things over, tiptoeing through... tulips. There is a rustle
and the sound of water, and he curses lightly.
Emma pokes her head up over an elaborate arrangement. "Are you alright?" she
asks. She then winds her way back around toward him, as best she can. "I
hardly even know where to begin, Erasmus, I confess."
Erasmus is bent over, inspecting a fallen vase of orchids. Water must surely be
seeping into the carpet. "I think we have a potential fatality," he muses.
"Yes, it's a little overwhelming." Straightening, he gazes out over the mess.
"Kind of pretty. Conceals the usual mess very well, so I still have time to
clean before you see it -normally-."
Emma leans down to pluck up a branch of the orchids, pursing her lips. "These
are so delicate. They won't last for long, I imagine, either way." She
straightens once again, chuckling at his last words. "I suppose I should be
flattered that you'd feel the need to clean for me."
Erasmus chuckles. "Well. Usually it's only the men coming in here, so it's not
exactly fit for more polite company." What does that mean? Porn woodcuts?
"But yes, I'd like to at least trick you into thinking I know something
about... interior design. My hacienda out in the country is much nicer,
mainly due to the servants," he quickly adds.
Emma arches a brow at him, at his mention of his office not being fit for
polite company. "A hacienda in the country. It sounds lovely." That said, she
glances away from him, surveying the flowers once again, the furrow in her
brow hinting she's making an inventory.
"It is, but I see it rarely," Erasmus replies, not sounding too sad about it.
He glances about, raising the lantern again. "They're going to start wilting
and the smell will... change."
Emma glances over her shoulder at him. "Point taken," she says, frowing
vaguely. "Come. If we're to make any sense of this, we'll need to move some
of this out into the hall, or -- somewhere."
"Toss it off the battlements," Erasmus suggests under his breath. "Just...
shift some out there? I could clear my desk for some workspace, or
something." He sounds lost, overwhelmed by the daunting task of tending an
army of blooms.
Emma's frown fades, her expression turning sympathetic. "If it would likely not
offend the sender, I would gladly help you toss them from the battlements.
But yes, let us move some into the hall." She reaches to touch his arm, then,
adding, "Erasmus, we'll figure this out. I know it seems overwhelming, but we
can do this."
Erasmus casts a wary look out the door, where Hounds, some in work clothes,
some in uniforms, mill about looking curious, like onlookers at a terrible
accident. There seems to be some betting going on in low tones. "Damn well
better, or I won't live this one down. Alright, let's go." He sets the
lantern down in the main cleared space and begins stooping to get good holds
on a vase.
Emma crouches down as well, scooping up a vase of her own. "I feel like we're
on display here," she murmurs, shaking her head. The arrangement she lifts is
an elaborate one of exotic blooms, and she wrinkles her nose a bit. "Now this
one, here, is just showing off. I hope you don't ever expect me to compete
with this, because if you do, I'd best just give up right now."
Erasmus laughs, then sneezes, violently, as his face is surrounded. Nothing
goes flying or falling, though. "Oh for crying out loud!" he exclaims,
sounding irritated and putting the vase down. "You, you, you and you, stop
your gawking and get in here!" The elite soldiers outside freeze, and most of
them but for the unfortunate four look like they have funerals to go to,
immediately. "Time for some delegation of this manual labor task!"
Emma breaks into a wide, satisfied smile as Erasmus begins delegating. She
steps into the hall, setting her vase aside, then simply waits. "Excellent. I
would hate to strain myself, you know."
Briskly, orders are given, and Erasmus emerges from the room with another
powerful sneeze. "Would too," he observes darkly, pulling out his heavy desk
chair and arranging it for her to sit close to the table. "I had the idea
this might be fun," he admits, resting against the high back of it and
watching the Hounds struggling out with bunches of flowers. "Not so much now."
Emma moves to settle into the chair he has pulled out, crossing one leg over
the other after she does. She chides, tilting her head to look up at him
where he leans, "It will be fun. They'll clear out some room, and we can sit
on the floor and ..." She breaks off. "Well, maybe 'fun' isn't the right
word. Have you got any brandy? That would make it vastly more entertaining."
Erasmus gazes down at her, his expression bemused. "Now that sounds infinitely
more interesting." The man doesn't move much, just whistles sharply for
attention and makes a small hand signal. A Hound moves off at a jog. "So...
do I need to come up with a list of recipients?"
Emma breaks into a grin. "I knew that would help. Well, we could either come up
with a list of recipients, or start sorting the flowers and work from there.
Maybe I should make you pick some out for me, first, though."
Erasmus gains a funny look that managed to morph into a safe, thoughtful
expression. "Of course," he concedes. "Few times in anyone's life will they
have such an opportunity as this." He eyes the hallway as it begins looking
very elaborate, even for the palace.
Emma leans back from him just a bit with that look, her grin fading. "Well, you
certainly don't have to," she says, hastily. She turns her gaze away,
determinedly watching the flowers as they're brought out.
Surprised, Erasmus glances back down at her. "Hmmm? No, it's fine, what'd I
say?"
"You seemed uncomfortable, when I suggested you pick out flowers for me first,"
Emma says, plainly. She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I'm sorry if I upset
you."
"No... not upset," Erasmus assures quickly, his face reddening. "Don't mind me,
Emma, I was thinking of something else. You can have as many as you like,
I'll even have it all delivered."
Emma grows very quiet. "Something else, or someone else?" She moves to rise to
her feet, saying brusquely. "Let's get this over with."
Erasmus is even more surprised, and straightens. "No, not someone else," he
corrects firmly. "What'd I do or say to make you think that?" Some of the
Hounds glance over.
Emma quite clearly checks herself, not dismissing his words, nor arguing with
them. "Erasmus, we're surrounded by flowers someone else sent you," she says
in a low voice. "I'm a touch paranoid." The words are self-deprecating, her
expression quite sheepish. "And I know it's ridiculous, trust me. And just
where -is- that brandy?"
"You're jealous, because of the great joy this gesture has caused me?" Erasmus
pursues the issue closely, trying to get a grip, perhaps.
"Green with it," Emma says, unable to help a laugh. "I'm sorry. I really am
being silly. I admit it freely. I'll keep it in check, I promise."
Erasmus says nothing, thumb hooking absently at his belt and his gaze directed
at a side wall of the hallway. The Hound sent away trots back with a tray
containing a full bottle of brandy and two crystal glasses, which he sets on
the desk.
Emma's laughter fades, and she glances down. "I'm sorry," she says, before
moving back into the office to begin her task. She folds her arms over her
chest as she goes, cheeks darkening.
"Would be quite swell if people asked me what's on my mind sometime," Erasmus
mutters in a tone that may or may not carry. He stalks to one of the lines of
vases already brought out, and stares at them hard, as if artistic creative
force could be tortured out of the arrangements.
Emma pokes her head back out of the office door. "I said I was sorry, and I'll
do that in the future," she says, without rancor or prompting. "Are you
bringing the brandy or staying out there?"
Erasmus says nothing still, though directs a steely look at a Hound nearby. It
is an older soldier, one of the lieutenants, and the men exchange looks. Then
the Hound lifts a hand and makes some sign, numbers of fingers, perhaps,
looking ironic. The Commander's lips purse and he glances away. "Did you want
a glass?" he asks.
Emma's brows lift. She'd have to be blind to miss at least part of that
exchange. "Please, if you would be so kind," she says. Her gaze fixes on the
lieutenant, his face one she'll not likely forget any time soon.
The lieutenant watches his Commander looking oddly sad, though it's an
expression that is corrected as he finds he's being watched. Turning, the
older soldier resumes his work, as Erasmus nods and moves to the desk to pour
one glass.
Emma's brows draw together, though she slips back into the office wordlessly.
Troubled, she settles onto the floor, trying to take stock of what's left
inside.
Erasmus takes the glass and steps just inside the office, bending to set the
glass near her. "I'll be outside, delegating," he says quietly, straightening.
Emma lifts her gaze. "Erasmus, please," she says. "Stay in here and tell me
what is on your mind." Her alto is soft, and though she doesn't plead, she
adds, "I hoped we could do this together."
Erasmus composes thoughts a moment, before noting, "I was thinking of you with
nothing on but all the rose petals in this room. Not really something I
should be saying in polite company, even if asked. I'm sorry you assumed the
worst of my hesitance." He looks to her, expression inward. "I need to tend
to something. Do feel you need to finish this, one of the men will help you
if you want to go."
Emma blinks up at him, taking a deep breath with his words. "Hold a moment,
Commander. Will you close the door, that I might speak my mind without your
men overhearing? Just another moment of your time is all I ask."
Erasmus gazes down at her a moment before taking a step to the door and
reaching to pull it shut. "There you go, Lady Emma," he states, as flower
petals blow past his boots.
Emma pulls herself to her feet, and says, "Have some mercy on me, Erasmus. I
care for you, and that terrifies me." She steps over to him, putting herself
in rather intimate proximity, if he permits it. "I'm not used to feeling this
way, and it puts me off balance. And I think I would like to kiss you, now."
The stony expression melts a little, and Erasmus considers that in something
less of a brickwall-mode. Then, "I won't get wordy about it, Emma, because
I'm not sure if it'll help anything. But I'll have mercy, and a kiss."
Emma lifts a hand, as if to rest her palm on his cheek. Her brow furrows, as
she says, "Please don't discard me for being human." She takes a deep breath,
before leaning in to press her lips to his, eyes slipping closed.
The kiss is merciful, despite the admission of the thought of before, and
Erasmus is ever the gentleman. Whatever hurt the humanness caused seems
relaxed from him by the end of it. "Speaking of merciful," he breathes
against her lips, some glimmer of humor returning. "Thanks for not slapping
me for that little admission."
Emma's own kiss is a tender thing, and though she does not seek to deepen it,
she's in no hurry to pull away. Her eyes flutter open as he speaks, and she
laughs, very softly, with his expression of gratitude. "Well, at least now I
know how I can surprise you, some day," she teases. She leaves her hand on
his cheek, thumb stroking lightly there, once. "I'll try to be less of an
idiot in the future, my dear." A pause, and she adds, smile turning lopside.
"My dear Commander, that is."
Erasmus smiles, leaning just faintly into the touch. The slip of address brings
a low chuckle up, but he notes quietly, "Perhaps we should both remember
we're human, and have been hurt in the past." His gaze searches her eyes, as
if clues on how to do this without losing sanity could be found there. "A
little more mercy before it needs to be begged would help both of us."
Emma's smile warms once again, and she leans in to touch her forhead to his.
"Let us give one another the benefit of the doubt, then, and mercy. Erasmus,
I swear I'll not cast you aside for a single mispoken word." Her eyes meet
his, and she pulls back that she might actually focus. "Just like these
thrice-damned flowers, we'll get through this."
A hand finds her slender one, and Erasmus pulls gentle fingers to his lips for
another brief kiss. "I'm sure it will be tricky enough without single words,
but... thank you." He smiles, the last of whatever emotion seized him
evaporating. Giving the hand a gentle squeeze, he lets go. "Let's tame some
flowers."
"Just be patient with me, hm? I'm not used to actually -caring- what a man
thinks about me." She gives him a sheepish smile. "I hope we're back on the
same page again." That said, she takes a breath, and steps back. "You still
need to pick which flowers you want to give me. Saving, of course, the petals
you'll save for some indeterminate day in the future -- if you're lucky."
Erasmus lets out a breath as she moves off, and also looks sheepish. If more
odd thoughts occurred, he has retained the grace not to voice them again. "I
think... the Princesses should have one vase each, tastefully done, and then
I will order up a picnic lunch with wine, and we can throw them over the
walls to Kolvir together."
Emma considers that for a moment, her cheek dimpling briefly with her smile. "I
think that is a perfect solution, Erasmus. Let me find the nicest vases,
then, and I'll start arranging. And maybe one for Taleyn, to remind her that
her cousin is thinking of her." She straightens her leather bodice, then
looks to the door. "We'd best open that, before they think either I've killed
you or you've got me in here with petals."