middaeg | (closed) January catch-all

There's a hint of restlessness setting in— a battle-readiness, like a coiled snake, ready to spring and strike at an instant. The adrenaline levels are still high, and Cú attunes himself to the wards and barriers surrounding the place as if he was ready to react for even the gentlest of the sea breeze.

This level of wariness is excessive, but old habits die hard. That's how he can be truly reliable, in his mind. And when Soren says it aloud... he settles just a little bit, content. Before that grim determination returns.

"I can go with you. It's ridiculous they're keeping you in these shackles still—" Especially with everything going on. Puts Soren in more danger. If they want Mirrorbounds to risk their necks investigating whatever's happening, putting a hamper on their safety is a stupid move. Cú rarely gets any feelings towards Coven (positive or negative), but here he feels rather passionately.

—or maybe it's just an easy spot to redirect the frustration at.

"Tomorrow morning." Even without the adrenaline taut along their Bond, Soren would be feeling a similar level of hyper vigilance, one he usually experiences when anticipating an ambush. Caster's frustration hits him, too, but Soren doesn't let the rash of his indignance overtake him. Instead, he appreciates it as a sign that someone is on his side. That, of anything, is a boon when faced with uncertainty.

"Let's stay inside for a while," decides Soren, trying to lend him some of his level-headedness across the Bond. "Perhaps the whole night, if need be. I'm not eager to set foot out there again just yet." He needn't explain why. "If you don't mind helping me settle in while my vision recovers..."

Redirecting that energy into guiding Soren around, instead of checking at every barrier (every trap, and if every concealed weapon is well in its damn place) is much better choice. He approaches back to Soren, unhurriedly takes his hand in his. Grip light, but firm.

"The couch in the backroom work to get some sleep." he takes his first steps as a guide and mentions the stairs when they reach them "—watch out, the first step is here, total five of them—"

His grip grows firmer, just in case, he had to be a source of balance for his dragon. It's easier to be done in the physical world, easier to anchor with his body and strength that he can offer— because mentally it's him who is leaning on the level-headedness that Soren is radiating.

There's something grounding and meditative in focusing on guiding and being guided, of being mindful of every step and turn it takes to reach a destination. Together, they achieve a state of mind balanced between awareness and tranquility. Their nerves still twist beneath the placid surface, but they can tread it without a hitch, without stepping too far into the treacherous deep. They also reach the backroom couch, where Soren sinks into the cushion and leans into his palms to rub gently at his recovering eyes with a soft groan.

"She didn't hurt you too badly, did she?" It seems almost unnecessary to ask, for if he were really hurt, he'd likely be able to tell. Nonetheless... "I felt her hit you with a wicked ice spell."

Breathe in, breathe out— feels as even they breathe in the same rhythm. It's elevating, and simultaneously grounding— and only when it ends, with Soren now drowning into the cushion, Cú realizes he had never been in sync with anyone. Not like that. Bond helps, it's probably a big factor. Again, it shows how much they still don't know about this magic.

He paces to the cabinet with alchemical ingredients and other necessary items. Like a bottle of whiskey, but while it tempts him, he is looking for something else.

"My fire saved me, she didn't account for that" Among many concoctions and half-products, some are there specifically to alleviate pain during the procedure, or heal if things go awry. "—am still having chills, but I'll grab a blanket and survive"

Once the right bottle is found, he takes a pinch of the dried herb and adds it, mixing it with a shake of his hand. That's when he joins Soren on the couch, sliding the bottle into his hand.

"Dunno how much it will help, but it neutralizes simple hexes" If instead of being a temporary curse, the blinding spell truly hurt Soren's eyes, they'll need a proper healer.

"Thank you," replies Soren, fastening his grip over it and thumbing its shape to register where the opening is. He considers settling closer to the other man with the understanding of his chills in mind, though he's not as useful to that end as a fire dragon might be. He tilts the bottle up to his mouth and imbibes it with little hesitation, wincing slightly as he bears the flavor on its way down.

"Looks like you got stuck with the wrong dragon," he remarks. "I'm a useless reptile when it comes to cuddling up."

Cú cocks an eyebrow at Soren (which he can't really see, nevermind), suddenly moving closer— he grabs the blanket, unfolds it with a flick, and throws it over both of them. Should his aim be precise, it would land on their shoulders, perfectly ready to wrap themselves into it— but his aim leaves some to be desired (thanks, chills) and it partially falls over their heads too.

"I'm glad I'm stuck here with you—" And glad neither of them was here alone. The ambush could end much, much worse. His voice slides into a teasing tone "But keep saying things like that, and I'll wonder if you're jealous."

"I wonder if you're fond of flattering yourself with the fantasy of my jealousy," retorts Soren dryly as he's engulfed by the blanket, but he makes no move to carve any distance between them once it's been gained. The playful dip in mood sparked Soren's own playful side, a glimmer buried beneath his otherwise serious disposition. "I have nothing to envy right now. When you warm up a little more, I anticipate it will become quite pleasant for me under here."

Soren is becoming a little heat vampire. Even for someone who prefers keeping his distance to people, it's hard for a dragon in winter to resist the siren call of another's body warmth — even less so when the source emanates from someone he is Bonded to, a witch with a fiery signature at that. What's worse, he has discovered just how much he enjoys being wrapped up in someone he has grown used to enough to drop his guard with. Soren doesn't trust Cú in nearly the same way he trusts his other Bondmate, so his nerves still vibrate with anticipation of close and comfortable proximity... but the idea is one he's already warming up to.

Some call it flattering oneself, he calls it pride and confidence. But he's glad to hear that nonetheless, jealousy is such a tiring, pointless feeling. Good to joke about, but bringing problems and complications should it arise.

"That's right, you get to enjoy my warmth all for yourself." Cú prefers teasing and keeping things light, especially with threats looming behind the door. Threats he'd very much want to challenge but has gained enough wisdom to know when it is not the time to attempt such folly. "And your wish is my command, I shall make it as pleasant as possible."

It doesn't require much effort to channel the magic through the evocation spells, enchanted into the tattoos. Activating only of them to raise the body heat only a little. So that's what he does. Rising the coziness level.

Soren sighs as he relaxes into the heat and against Cú. He never loses sight of the need to remain alert in the eye of an unknown storm should it come battering their doors down. If that woman were smart, she should expect that her targets have assumed a defensive stance, no longer in a position to be ambushed. With each blink, traces of the dim light and color slips into the void that his vision had become. The potion is doing its job. When his sight has improved sufficiently, he makes a note to inform Ranulf why he hasn't come home and that he's doing just fine now, though he sends that sentiment across their connection. He's fine. Safe. In the clear.

"Not the worst way to spend the night," he remarks, adjusting the blanket around himself for fuller coverage while he surreptitiously snuggles up closer to his heat source, linking their arms loosely in the process while his head falls to his shoulder. His tail also scoots along the cushions to press against his calf, the spikes at the end folded close to his tapered tip to render them harmless. With his free hand, he starts working at his boots, eager to peel them off for Maximum Coze.

Oh, that's a smart move. Getting rid of the boots makes it possible to bring the legs up to the couch, lie on it even.

"Shame we don't have more pillows. You can always use my lap as one though" Because that's the perfect time to offer that, right? But Cú knows he's too tense, too high-strung even though creating this loop of calm and level-headedness across the Bond to tap for each other is helping— he won't be able to fall asleep anytime soon. It's a vigil hour, like one lifetime ago, somewhere else— at least it's warmer, more comfortable, and the company is better.

His hand finds its way into Soren's hair, testing. An answer to the tail around his calf. Something in his chest coils, almost stealing his breath, and then sinks.

Soren's breath halts as well, the same feeling threading with Cú's. This is excitement, a thrill that couples almost seamlessly with the pervading danger outside of their fortress, that spikes his pulse. It taps perfectly into his draconic hormones. They won't be sleeping anytime soon — there's no way they can submit to the level of relaxation necessary to slip into unconsciousness. This potent combination, this subdued anxiety mixing with the suspense of limbs encroaching and the electric sensation of his hair parting by another's fingers, all while trying to find calm and comfort in each other's presence. Someone new, but not so new that he's pushed on edge. They're Bonded. He's already accepted him, become an extension of him. Beneath the sheets in the dark, Soren seeks the bright eyes of his partner and finally finds them, locks his gaze, curls his tail about his ankle in silent reply to Cú's body language and shifts his weight further atop his lap, tilts his head into the touch.

"...Maybe not as a pillow," he murmurs with a sweep of his tongue over his lips, his eyes over the Child of Light who breaks through the retreating darkness of his healing blindness. He settles his hand on the shoulder opposite his. "My sight is swiftly returning, and I'm quite glad for it."

The contours of his collarbone, the stray wisps of blue hair falling over them, the wild comeliness of his features mingling suitably with the smoky and piquant woodsy scent of him. There can be no denying the appeal he has, how he must cause so many women (and men) to swoon... including a queen who obsessed over him to the point of his death. Sure, he could have observed his charms objectively. Soren had never been one to fall for the charms of anyone but Ike for the longest time, but wrapped up in this moment here with Cú, the swelter of heat that pulses low hits him rather personally. He cannot shake the notion that grips him now, to lay claim to the catch that is already "his", give his other dragon another one to detect a little more strongly on him.

(closed) January catch-all

ceiling cats here

Re: ceiling cats here

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