brave_kreyu | OOM All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness -Part Three

"I gathered as much, as we approached."

Skellig shifts slightly to lean forward and duck his head under the water - going face first helps keep the water off his wings, even if they're not being 'seen' at the moment - and also gives him a brief respite from the 'noise' surrounding them. Even with his ears 'off', it is still loud in this space.

He resurfaces, looks at her. Now she's armed with the soap...

The soap smells of honey and cinnamon as she puts some on her hands.

She smiles softly at him, then starts working on the front of his head first. She massages the soap into his hair, gentle circles, massaging his scalp.

His eyes are shut, because he has no desire for soap to get in them - even though he knows Kreyu's hands are careful, along with her fingers - and it is obvious as he sighs, that that feels very nice.

"Could get used to this."

"I wouldn't mind if you did," she answers. She works her way through all of his hair that she can reach from the front, then moves behind him to reach the back. Slow, careful, thorough. Hopefully, he's not asleep by the time she asks him to duck his head under the water again.

He isn't asleep, but he has definitely drifted off a bit into the haze that lingers between levels of consciousness, and it takes an extra blink or two before he does as she asks and ducks his head to rinse.

"I would offer to do yours," he says, a little unsure. "I just do not know if I would get it sufficiently?" After all, she has a lot more hair than he does.

"I think you could, but we don't have to do it now," she replies. "My hair gets a bit...frizzy just after it's been washed, disobedient."

She kisses him, soft and gentle. The smell of honey and cinnamon mixed with HIS scent surprisingly alluring.

"You are a wild creature, my dragon."

He returns the kiss, equally soft. While there are many things they could do in this space...simply existing, relaxing, enjoying each other's company...is quite nice. A welcome respite from the chaos.

"It would make sense it would resist being tamed."

"Perhaps that IS the reason," she replies. "Or as good a reason as I'm likely to find."

She grabs some rags, starts to wash her body with the soap. "Stay in here TOO long, and I'll start to look like a prune."

"As would I."

He waits until there is a pause in her motion enough for him to lean in, press a kiss to the side of her head, lips brushing her temple.

"I would still find you alluring, even with wrinkled skin."

She flushes. "I would find you alluring too." She passes him the soap, then rinses off the soap on her skin.

Once they're finished washing up, there are cloths available to use as towels to dry off. She slips easily back into her linen gown and sandals, then starts to unfold the bundle of clothing for Skellig. "Oh good, everything is here."

Skellig dries himself, watching her as she dresses and then as she unfolds the bundle of clothing.

"I will admit I had no clue what you asked for them to fetch for me," he says. "My focus was on your friend and his leg. I had to tweak a few nerves to align them better..."

Curiously, he steps closer and looks at the clothes, then at her.

"The kilt will be familiar enough, although the linen is finer," she says as she passes it to him. The linen is indeed much softer than that of his old kilt.

"Given that you are used to milder climes, you may be able to do without the top." The item she unfolds is also white linen, something like a vest. "I'm not sure how it will interact with your wings, I may need to modify it."

"And you can just slip your feet into the sandals, then adjust the straps." They are fancy sandals, with tiny bits of gold embossed onto the leather.

Dressing himself in the kilt has become automatic and familiar as well, the motions now well-practiced. He appreciates the feel of the linen against his skin, a tighter weave. Studying the top, he contemplates just how he would make it work with his wings - they would need to modify it just a bit, to allow for room.

"I would wear it if it would best suit the role you would have me play," he says. "Would your man wear it, after we have now completed our journey to the city?"

Sitting on a low bench, he studies the sandals before working to put them on.

(He misses his boots.)

Adjusting the straps, he glances over again at the vest, then at her.

"Possibly. But you could get away without it, especially since I'm known as a foreigner here." She fiddles with the pot of kohl, the lid is stuck. "My husband may wear what pleases him."

His hands freeze in their efforts to tie the strapping of the sandals, when her words meet his ears.

my husband

His heart jumps in his chest, an odd-flutter overtaking his senses briefly (a similar wave of emotion ripples across his senses, akin to that which hit him when she had her fingers buried in his wings) before he clears his throat.

Quietly: "...you would consider me that?"

Kreyu is not sure what to make of his reaction.

"Presumptuous of me, I know," she says, almost babbling. "But it's, it's the closest thing to 'mate' that they'd understand."

"It is not presumptuous," he shakes his head. "It makes sense, and I do not mind it. I just meant...I felt as if you would rather just introduce me as...lesser."

Skellig is NOT used to being treated as an equal, and he's unsure of how to respond to it in this situation. He looks up at her.

"I am honored to be your mate," he says firmly. "I would be just as honored to be your husband."

She shakes her head. "It would feel WRONG, to introduce you like that. You're my equal, my mate."

Her joy is a bright fire as she wraps her arms around him in an embrace when he says he would be just as honored to be her husband.

Skellig returns the hug, wrapping her snugly in his arms - and even with his wings 'hidden', they are still there, secure and strong around her body. His armband, the one she gave to him, is pressed against her bicep, warmed by their skin.

"Perhaps we will have to consider this our honeymoon," he muses, lips pressing against hers lightly. "If you would give me the honor of being my wife...I am certain in this city, we could find a priest."

Make it official.

He kisses her deeply.

Kreyu was about to explain that priests aren't involved in weddings here, but then Skellig is kissing her deeply.

She presses her body to his, returns his kiss with equal fervor. When she HAS to break for breath, she laughs, the sound bright and joyous. "There's no real ceremony for a wedding, here," she explains. "It's a matter of living together and letting your community know that you are married. Those who are spouses goes to every house in their village, introduces themselves as husband and wife. There is often a celebratory feast too."

Her laugh is a welcome addition to the noise, the echoes in this room, and his voice is breathless (both from the kiss and from relief) when he speaks.

"I am not much for ceremonies," he replies, reaching up to brush her hair back from her face again. "Though I will admit, the night that we laid together beneath the stars, on the beach...I felt as if something changed, then. With us, your hands in my wings...everything became sharper. More focused. It was if our souls..."

He intertwines their fingers, looking down at how her hand fits in his.

"Joined. I could hear, better. I did not mention it before, as I could not...explain. Still cannot explain it. But perhaps..."

Perhaps that was all the ceremony needed.

"Perhaps no other marriage ceremony would fit such as you and I," Kreyu muses. Her hand brushes his cheek. "A joining in flesh to join our souls together."

"I do not mind, if we can never explain it." She kisses him gently. "Shall we go back up to our room, for our honeymoon?" There is hunger in her gaze, but no DEMAND.

"If I knew better where exactly our room was, I would be tempted to sweep you from your feet, carry you to our bed."

His energy is practically electric at this point, Light beaming brightly within his soul. And he's certain that much more dramatic and romantic gestures have been made within the halls of this establishment.

"But as I am unfamiliar, I suppose we could walk."

"I could give you directions from your arms," Kreyu offers. "It's almost a straight shot from here. Take a left out the door, go up the stairs, then take your first right, go to the end of the hall."

With that, Skellig quickly gathers up the things they have left strewn about, gathering them up into the bundle with a clean cloth, and hands it to her.

"Hold this, my love?"

And then once she takes it, he does just as described, laughing as he sweeps her up into his arms, one of hers wrapped firmly around his neck (even though he would never drop her) to steady herself as he navigates out the door and into the hall.

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