Private Tales Whispers Beneath the Battlements

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
He planned to be here more often? Such a statement was bold, and somewhere within her, Faye liked hearing him declare such a thing.

She followed him towards the workshop, an amused smile quirking at her lips. "Oh? Intend on becoming best friends with Cathán then?" It was much too easy to tease him. The workshop looked as it always had, except cleaner than the last time. Pausing her projects for a few days allowed her to clean and organise, to make room for the future commissioned work she would start in the next week.

Faye moved to sit at her stool, where a magnifying glass and precision tools were kept. This is where all her fine details were made, with the gentle help of her dragon's fiery breath to make her work malleable.

"Or did you still wish to learn how to cut glass and make a stained window?" She asked, leaning back against the workbench with her elbows. "You can after next week..."

Because she could not cut him out from her life. The harder she tried to push him away, the stronger she wanted to pull him in. Faye knew this was turning hard for him, that she was the one standing in the way of something... that may turn her happier.
 
Talorgan’s ears warmed at her teasing, though he tried to play it off with a crooked smile. His gaze flicked toward Cathán, who shifted with a low rumble that made his chest tighten despite the dragon’s clear ease around them.

“Best friends, hm? I’d settle for… tolerated,” he said quietly, half in jest, though there was truth to it. “He seems not to think I mean you any harm.”

Talorgan busied himself by setting the stones gently down upon the bench, careful not to scatter her neatly arranged tools.

“You’d best have patience if you mean to teach me. My hands are better at breaking things than shaping them.”

He leaned against the edge of the bench, arms loosely folded, and for a moment he just watched her framed in the lamplight, elbows propped, hair tumbling around her face. The sight tugged at him in ways he couldn’t name.

“Still,” he added after a breath, softer now, “if it means spending time here, all the better.”
 
  • Ctuhlu senpai
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