[There is a split-second flare of anxiety when Calhir drops in front of her, old reflexes and the myriad warnings from Keiki and her guard pulled to focus, but it fades just as quickly when she claps eyes on him. As she loses her feet, picked up and left with her winter boots dangling just above the snow, she shakes the fur-lined hood of her cloak back, exposing a frostnipped face and exactly how many snowflakes decided to tag along on the flight down in her hair.]
Just me. [Teasing:] Disappointed?
[The heavy sleeves and cloak of her outfit mean there is more restriction than usual to her movements, so it takes Youko quite a bit of shifting to get her arms — and her chilled, bare fingers — up to hold onto his shoulders. She fixes him with a small, apologetic smile for the shock of her hands, habit more than necessity given his own clothing and the unhealthy dusting of frost on him.]
One of the shirei are skulking around too. Why aren't you inside?
Worried, surely. Who knows what you'll do to me away from prying eyes?
[ His retort comes out slightly distracted, as his eyes are drawn to... what else, her hair. The frozen white of tagalong snowflakes is a brilliant contrast to her warm crimson, like she's been set with jewels. A worthy embellishment to one of his favorite sights. Yes that is actually how he thinks about her hair, and he isn't sorry.
He might have stared a little longer, but he does notice the coolness of her touch, a reminder that no matter how picturesque a blizzard victim he thinks she makes, she's probably eager to be inside. He pulls her closer, cradled in his arms, as he turns to make for the entryway. Despite his weight - and hers on top of it - those wide splayed feet of his don't sink as deep into the drifts, and the walk is more loping over the snow than shuffling through it. ]
I was watching the town. There isn't much to do inside.
[ There wasn't much to watch, either, with the snow coming down and most everyone inside - even the pleasure district felt the chill, it seemed. But that sounded mildly more reliable of him than 'playing in the snow.'
He moves through the entryway, and lets Youko to her feet. No snow is better than snow, of course, but it's not the relief it should be - his indifference to the cold and 'watchfulness' have made him careless with the hearth and it's burned down to embers, an oversight he realizes only as he brings her in and sends him over to throw a couple logs on and try to coax them to light with his breath. ]
Haven't got anything that dastardly planned, you know.
[With the way his words linger and drift, she knows exactly what he's fixated on and she shoots him with a cheeky smile, cocking her head to the side, dislodging curls and snow both. The look is the only passing comment she has however, too content to be snug in his arms, watching the easy skimming steps he takes where she would have sunk in to her knees.
Youko hums, thinking, and presses herself just a little deeper into his hold, propping her chin on his chest. Even if this situation was the only way to keep Calhir nearby and her own delegation clear of a diplomatic breach, she didn't like the idea of stranding him alone in an unfamiliar, snowed-in town. Part of her choosing this particular place had been the Imperial En assuring her he could wander the main halls for conversation or to join in the challenging games of wit the courtesans were versed in.]
We could see what shops are open in the morning? Before I'm expected to be a dignified guest.
[Feet back on solid ground, she taps any remaining snow off her boots and shuffles after him, tucking her cold fingers into the sleeves of her robes, watching him try to revive the dying hearth. Nothing speaks to the wealth of this establishment like using firewood when the whole of Tai relies on coal or thorn oak stones. She catches herself beginning to wonder if that was a choice to protect the sensibilities of refined guests or a hint on how badly the people have to compensate the fuel shortages still, and gives a shake of her head before leaning unhelpfully against Calhir's side. Didn't she come down the mountain to put up the Imperial Kei for awhile?]
[ He'd roll his eyes at the cheeky look, but she knows how to fix them in place, pouring out that cascade of red. When she nestles against him it quiets any further thoughts of repartee, and he doesn't respond until she floats her suggestion: ]
Explore the town together? Will we be going like this?
[ Her in his arms, he means, since it seems doubtful the snow will have diminished by early morning. He doesn't by any means sound averse to the idea, but there is a question in there about just how much she can let slip the role of the dignified guest while making personal visits.
He's silent as he tends the fire, but when she leans against him he wonders whether it's just affection or whether she's seeking his warmth. ]
Most of the evening. I wasn't thinking of the fire....
[ Apologetic, but he puts his arm around her as he stands, licks of flame announcing success. If not the immediate warming of the room - the impressive suite with its high ceiling suits his physical stature and whatever of her social position rubs off on him, but it won't heat as readily as more cramped quarters. ]
Come to bed? I'd be a poor consort if I couldn't at least keep you warm there.
I'm pretty capable of trudging through snowdrifts.
[Even if she has come to like being scooped up and carried by Calhir, being carted like that store-to-store with an audience comprised of any Tai citizens who ventured out for the meager hours of winter sun isn't that appealing.]
I'm surprised you're not faring worse out there. It's so much colder here than in Kei.
[As the fire catches and his arm settles around her, Youko mirrors the gesture, tucking her heavy sleeves over his bare limb, idly pinning them together. She rests her cheek on him while watching the flames build, smiling at the 'consort' line despite her best efforts to keep it in check, her voice going soft and fond against him.]
[ As she settles in the comment unwinds into a story. He's never liked talking about home much. He'll force it, now and again, with others - trying to take a little of the point off of his very apparent rootlessness. With her, and only with her, he sometimes allows himself to truly reminisce. To try to feel again what was good about it, with her as his shield against... everything that comes along with. ]
Back on the mountain, there was a peak, one where we lived. I lived, when I was a child. I guess a lowlander would call it something like 'the house of the four winds'. Higher than the range around it, so the wind could blow in from anywhere. Even we scarcely knew what season it would be the next week. But the wind from the northeast always brought blizzards, and you could be snowed in almost any time of the year. You either learned to like playing in the snow or you were very, very bored.
[ Her question, though, gets a cheeky response, his hand stirring slightly at her side, squeezing her a little closer. ]
Mm, you tell me? Between me and the fire, which burns longer?
[Palanquins might be dignified, but the protest she'd put up would be anything but.]
'A little cold,' he says.
[That little grumbled huff is all she adds before lapsing into quiet, listening intently while he gifts her with a story, another sliver of the life he led put in her careful palms. These little moments he gives her are treasure. It's not hard to picture an infamously deadly mountain in the place of his childhood home, though she doubts a peak like Kechu or Sagarmatha could match the scale of 'the House of the Four Winds'. Picturing Calhir as small and bristling in a blizzard is a much harder image to conjure.]
I'm guessing you learned to like playing in the snow?
[Relaxing into the tighter hold, she shoots him an amused look, his cheeky comment getting answered with a waggish one.]
[Definitely an alarming statement. His definition of rambunctious with solid ground beneath them is already concerning enough. She tightens her claim on his arm, leaning her rib cage into the proceedings like that adds any extra weight — or more likely, protection — to the gesture.]
What kind of terror were you raising?
[Any hope of holding on to a fun, kittenish tone is bled right out of her as her mind fills in more details than his words offer, and her face colors deeper than what the cold inspired. Mouthing 'Twice—?' to herself, she slumps, sinking in his hold, turning away and burying her face in the fur-lining of her cloak and her own snow-damp hair.]
Can't you let me get away with teasing you every once in awhile?
[ He feels the grip, the protectiveness in it, even though he's describing a past now gone. A mixed feeling, because it does chafe at his pride, and yet... that openness with her emotions is much of what he loves about her. He can think of little he'd regret more than if she learned to hide what she was feeling to spare him. ]
Drift diving, avalanche racing...
[ The names of games invented by maniacs or very bored children, for sure.
...the wilting reaction to his retort would be concerning if it wasn't so funny. He barely said anything and she did all the rest. He cuts off a laugh. ]
Sorry, sorry. Your imagination ran right away with that one, didn't it?
[Or the descriptors for suicidal dares! Even if she didn't grow up with heavy snowfall and mountain peaks, she knows avalanches by sheer destructive reputation. The past may be the past, but the idea of him playing some ill-considered game of chicken with a ruthless consequence of gravity makes her stomach turn.]
That's not something you're planning on repeating, right?
[There is a restlessness in the question, likely put there by a highlight reel playing in her head of the average, everyday sort of cavalier things he does. No need to add a rematch with Mother Nature.
The look she shoots him as that laugh cuts off could almost pretend at being scathing, if not for the plain embarrassment accompanying it, or the pout.]
I'm not going that stir-crazy. And you need an audience for feats of daring.
[ The red-tinged face that turns to him to stubbornly deny the obvious almost sets him laughing again, and he has to look away to preserve what remains of her dignity. Only for a moment, though; once he's fought it back he decides he wants to see more of that expression after all, and he turns to lift her up so that they're face-to-face. ]
[There is no salvaging her dignity at this juncture, especially not with him picking her up like she weighs nothing, forcing her face-to-face with him. Her still cold fingers scrabble free of her sleeves to catch his arms in protest, and she tries to avoid meeting his eyes, looking stubbornly away at one of the heavy woven tapestries hung over the windows, red-faced and stubborn. But it's not nearly as hostile as the decent impression of a startled, puffed up cat she is doing calls for.]
... ruinous. [She tucks her chin back against her shoulder, mumbling:] It's well-established my stamina is finite.
Ruinous? Does it feel that bad? Being at that point of exhaustion? Going beyond?
[ Serious, curious, almost innocently asked. For being the one who'd be doing the ruining in question. And he is curious, just what the shape of her enjoyment is and what limits he needs to respect... but he's not unaware that earnestly asking her to expand on the topic when she's getting embarrassed will probably embarrass her more. The misfortune of having too cute a pout. ]
[That barrage of questions make her hands tighten, and pull a discontent litany of muffled noises out of her. For someone who loves her, he is such a bully, too quick to corner her with his curiosity when she is so flustered she wants to squirm right out of his hands. And for what? To get her to describe what being that spent and overstimulated feels like? To hear her say it sometimes already aches in best worst way, enough to make her cry in relief? To admit the muscles in her thighs will tremble the next day in the least opportune moment and remind her of him viscerally? To build onto his already too healthy ego?]
It just— it feels like—
[Like Heaven is sparing her blushes in his place as a droplet of melted snow slides down the nape of her neck and down between her shoulder blades, setting off a shiver and a trio of kitten sneezes.]
...you're cute even when you're sneezing in my face.
[ Unfair. She was turned away. Mostly. But feeling her shiver like that... he does feel a twinge of guilt. He played with her too long. ]
I said I could at least keep you warm and I didn't. [ He shakes his head, remorseful. Exaggerated but not false. ] Time for bed.
[ ...it would be nice if he carried her over bridal style, same as he brought her in, but when she's already in his hands and it's all of fifteen feet to the bed... she's getting carried over like the cat she resembles. He flips the cover back with his tail and sets her down...
Then doffs his top and climbs right in on top of her. Still otherwise clothed so it seems like this is just his idea of the quickest way to warm her up. And he's probably not wrong, overall, but a few more bit of melting slush drip from his plumage, dripping down onto her. ]
[There's a slightly stuffy, 'Sorry,' issued from where she hastily buried her face in her shoulder, a few seconds too late to catch herself, and just a few moments before he carts her off towards the bed. Her legs kick a little in transit, treading air until he deposits her on the mattress. Time for bed, like he said.
Not that she has long to even attempt to wriggle out of her damp outer layers or the thick boots she was kitted out with when Calhir decides to settle right on top of her, like an extra large chicken trying to nest. She starts to argue with his proclamation to stay just like that and warm up, when slush dribbles off of his feathers and hits the thinner, bare skin of her neck, making her squeak at the sharp, sudden cold. A second bit striking her jaw sets her wriggling and squirming, struggling to get some distance before a third hits, hands pressing up against against his chest.]
[ ...a rumble passes through him when her hands press up on him, discontent that it's turning him on more than he expected to be, even as he realizes the problem and rises up slightly, giving her room to move and grabbing the corner of the blanket to dab the melt from her face. ]
Sorry. Do you want to move down?
[ The drip is coming off his shoulders and 'hair', so if she's just under his chest she should be fine! A little suffocating, maybe, but it's... not like she should be entirely unused to that position, at this point. ]
[Wedging herself up, she turns her cheek into the soft blanket and his care, welcoming the removal of the melted snow from her skin. Her legs are too firmly pinned to remedy half her complaints, but while one hand stays firmly where she was pressing at his chest, the other withdraws, going to the fastener at her collarbone, hidden in the fur.]
But I don't think I need my cloak and boots in bed...
[ His turn to be a little embarrassed. Was he so hasty out of concern for her sneezing, or was he just that eager to get in bed with her? Up further, on his knees, lifting the blanket like a tent. He reaches, feeling his way down her legs to the boots - a perhaps not strictly necessary approach, but then he does want to feel how damp her bottoms are and do away with those, too, if it's too much. But first the boots come off. ]
[The further he feels down her legs, the more obvious the snow depth outside becomes, measured in progressively worse off fabric starting from low on her thigh. The thick riding boots apparently have kept her from actually feeling how wet and cold the legs of her trousers got below the knee. Until they're pulled off, of course, and then she experiences it for herself, hissing softly at the feel against her skin.]
[ Plenty of room for her to scoot out on her own, at this point, but he obliges, shifting to kneel at her side, a hand settled at hers in case she wants any help, a small frown emerging at the hissing sound she made. The other runs through his feathers, trying to cast out those insidious ice crystals that were attacking her. ]
I'll come wait for you there, next time.
[ The best he can offer by way of apology, for making her trudge out like this. ]
[Scooting off the edge of the mattress, she first unfastens her cloak rather than working around it, dropping the mass of fabric and fur onto the edge of the bed, before moving on to divesting herself of the offending pants. It takes a little bit of fiddling through the parts in her outer robes to find the drawstrings, but then it's easy enough to slip them off her hips and kick unceremoniously free of the soggy, cold fabric.]
Not sure that would go over well. The guards are all on edge up there. Not that I can blame them...
[That is just the evidence and aftermath of a years long usurpation and civil war.
Patting down the rest of her clothes, she deems the longest outer layer to be too damp as well, quickly untying it and slipping it off to join the cloak, before smoothing her palms down her hair, checking for anything she needs to wring out. Satisfied there isn't, she crawls back up to settle next to Calhir, tucking her very chilled legs against him to start leeching some of his warmth.]
Takasato did sound curious to meet you, but I think that might have to wait until we're back in Kei.
[ He rumbles a disgruntled acknowledgement. That was why he was quartered down here in the first place. ]
...is there anything I can do for you? While we're here?
[ He should be gathering up those soggy clothes and hanging them by the fire, but it's hard when Youko's warming her poor cold legs against him. And, more selfishly, when she'll have to stay a bit longer if they're slower to dry. He pulls the covers back over her and rubs her calves with his hands, trying to restore them. ]
This doesn't suit someone as warm as you.
[ She's a summer creature in his mind, warm to touch. She just doesn't feel her usual self like this. ]
[At that grousing noise, she shifts so she can settle a hand against his knee, thumbing gently at the scales, considering what he could do. Making him wait around for her like a concubine, bored and ignored, wasn't remotely the goal of setting this up. She had honestly hoped he would enjoy the change of scenery and that by the summit's end she might have been able to introduce him to Takasato — the boy from her world who became Tai Taiho — but the atmosphere in Hakkei Palace is still too tense for suggesting something like that. There is one idea that comes to mind and that she thinks he'd be adept at, but it makes her uncomfortable to imagine issuing real orders to him.]
Do you want me to give you an assignment?
[Picking at the edge of the covers, she lets herself lay back down into the spot he'd placed her originally, pulling the thick comforter with her, watching him and his concentrated efforts with a small smile.]
Mm. You're probably right about that. When it snowed where I grew up — [She slips her free hand out from under the covers, spreading out her pinky and thumb as far from the three middle fingers as she can stretch them.] — it was only about this much in the whole season.
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Just me. [Teasing:] Disappointed?
[The heavy sleeves and cloak of her outfit mean there is more restriction than usual to her movements, so it takes Youko quite a bit of shifting to get her arms — and her chilled, bare fingers — up to hold onto his shoulders. She fixes him with a small, apologetic smile for the shock of her hands, habit more than necessity given his own clothing and the unhealthy dusting of frost on him.]
One of the shirei are skulking around too. Why aren't you inside?
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[ His retort comes out slightly distracted, as his eyes are drawn to... what else, her hair. The frozen white of tagalong snowflakes is a brilliant contrast to her warm crimson, like she's been set with jewels. A worthy embellishment to one of his favorite sights. Yes that is actually how he thinks about her hair, and he isn't sorry.
He might have stared a little longer, but he does notice the coolness of her touch, a reminder that no matter how picturesque a blizzard victim he thinks she makes, she's probably eager to be inside. He pulls her closer, cradled in his arms, as he turns to make for the entryway. Despite his weight - and hers on top of it - those wide splayed feet of his don't sink as deep into the drifts, and the walk is more loping over the snow than shuffling through it. ]
I was watching the town. There isn't much to do inside.
[ There wasn't much to watch, either, with the snow coming down and most everyone inside - even the pleasure district felt the chill, it seemed. But that sounded mildly more reliable of him than 'playing in the snow.'
He moves through the entryway, and lets Youko to her feet. No snow is better than snow, of course, but it's not the relief it should be - his indifference to the cold and 'watchfulness' have made him careless with the hearth and it's burned down to embers, an oversight he realizes only as he brings her in and sends him over to throw a couple logs on and try to coax them to light with his breath. ]
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[With the way his words linger and drift, she knows exactly what he's fixated on and she shoots him with a cheeky smile, cocking her head to the side, dislodging curls and snow both. The look is the only passing comment she has however, too content to be snug in his arms, watching the easy skimming steps he takes where she would have sunk in to her knees.
Youko hums, thinking, and presses herself just a little deeper into his hold, propping her chin on his chest. Even if this situation was the only way to keep Calhir nearby and her own delegation clear of a diplomatic breach, she didn't like the idea of stranding him alone in an unfamiliar, snowed-in town. Part of her choosing this particular place had been the Imperial En assuring her he could wander the main halls for conversation or to join in the challenging games of wit the courtesans were versed in.]
We could see what shops are open in the morning? Before I'm expected to be a dignified guest.
[Feet back on solid ground, she taps any remaining snow off her boots and shuffles after him, tucking her cold fingers into the sleeves of her robes, watching him try to revive the dying hearth. Nothing speaks to the wealth of this establishment like using firewood when the whole of Tai relies on coal or thorn oak stones. She catches herself beginning to wonder if that was a choice to protect the sensibilities of refined guests or a hint on how badly the people have to compensate the fuel shortages still, and gives a shake of her head before leaning unhelpfully against Calhir's side. Didn't she come down the mountain to put up the Imperial Kei for awhile?]
Were you out there watching the town for awhile?
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Explore the town together? Will we be going like this?
[ Her in his arms, he means, since it seems doubtful the snow will have diminished by early morning. He doesn't by any means sound averse to the idea, but there is a question in there about just how much she can let slip the role of the dignified guest while making personal visits.
He's silent as he tends the fire, but when she leans against him he wonders whether it's just affection or whether she's seeking his warmth. ]
Most of the evening. I wasn't thinking of the fire....
[ Apologetic, but he puts his arm around her as he stands, licks of flame announcing success. If not the immediate warming of the room - the impressive suite with its high ceiling suits his physical stature and whatever of her social position rubs off on him, but it won't heat as readily as more cramped quarters. ]
Come to bed? I'd be a poor consort if I couldn't at least keep you warm there.
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[Even if she has come to like being scooped up and carried by Calhir, being carted like that store-to-store with an audience comprised of any Tai citizens who ventured out for the meager hours of winter sun isn't that appealing.]
I'm surprised you're not faring worse out there. It's so much colder here than in Kei.
[As the fire catches and his arm settles around her, Youko mirrors the gesture, tucking her heavy sleeves over his bare limb, idly pinning them together. She rests her cheek on him while watching the flames build, smiling at the 'consort' line despite her best efforts to keep it in check, her voice going soft and fond against him.]
Not willing to trust that job to the fire?
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[ Palanquins are dignified, right? ]
It's a little cold.
[ As she settles in the comment unwinds into a story. He's never liked talking about home much. He'll force it, now and again, with others - trying to take a little of the point off of his very apparent rootlessness. With her, and only with her, he sometimes allows himself to truly reminisce. To try to feel again what was good about it, with her as his shield against... everything that comes along with. ]
Back on the mountain, there was a peak, one where we lived. I lived, when I was a child. I guess a lowlander would call it something like 'the house of the four winds'. Higher than the range around it, so the wind could blow in from anywhere. Even we scarcely knew what season it would be the next week. But the wind from the northeast always brought blizzards, and you could be snowed in almost any time of the year. You either learned to like playing in the snow or you were very, very bored.
[ Her question, though, gets a cheeky response, his hand stirring slightly at her side, squeezing her a little closer. ]
Mm, you tell me? Between me and the fire, which burns longer?
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[Palanquins might be dignified, but the protest she'd put up would be anything but.]
'A little cold,' he says.
[That little grumbled huff is all she adds before lapsing into quiet, listening intently while he gifts her with a story, another sliver of the life he led put in her careful palms. These little moments he gives her are treasure. It's not hard to picture an infamously deadly mountain in the place of his childhood home, though she doubts a peak like Kechu or Sagarmatha could match the scale of 'the House of the Four Winds'. Picturing Calhir as small and bristling in a blizzard is a much harder image to conjure.]
I'm guessing you learned to like playing in the snow?
[Relaxing into the tighter hold, she shoots him an amused look, his cheeky comment getting answered with a waggish one.]
If left... unattended? Who can say.
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[ A perhaps alarming statement when combined with knowledge of how blase he can be about his physical resilience. ]
I was... rambunctious.
[ ...in other, less innocent senses, he may still be. He raises an eyebrow at her ambivalent response. ]
I didn't realize I was leaving you cold. I promise from now on I'll last twice as long.
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[Definitely an alarming statement. His definition of rambunctious with solid ground beneath them is already concerning enough. She tightens her claim on his arm, leaning her rib cage into the proceedings like that adds any extra weight — or more likely, protection — to the gesture.]
What kind of terror were you raising?
[Any hope of holding on to a fun, kittenish tone is bled right out of her as her mind fills in more details than his words offer, and her face colors deeper than what the cold inspired. Mouthing 'Twice—?' to herself, she slumps, sinking in his hold, turning away and burying her face in the fur-lining of her cloak and her own snow-damp hair.]
Can't you let me get away with teasing you every once in awhile?
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[ He feels the grip, the protectiveness in it, even though he's describing a past now gone. A mixed feeling, because it does chafe at his pride, and yet... that openness with her emotions is much of what he loves about her. He can think of little he'd regret more than if she learned to hide what she was feeling to spare him. ]
Drift diving, avalanche racing...
[ The names of games invented by maniacs or very bored children, for sure.
...the wilting reaction to his retort would be concerning if it wasn't so funny. He barely said anything and she did all the rest. He cuts off a laugh. ]
Sorry, sorry. Your imagination ran right away with that one, didn't it?
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That's not something you're planning on repeating, right?
[There is a restlessness in the question, likely put there by a highlight reel playing in her head of the average, everyday sort of cavalier things he does. No need to add a rematch with Mother Nature.
The look she shoots him as that laugh cuts off could almost pretend at being scathing, if not for the plain embarrassment accompanying it, or the pout.]
... no.
[Yes.]
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[ The red-tinged face that turns to him to stubbornly deny the obvious almost sets him laughing again, and he has to look away to preserve what remains of her dignity. Only for a moment, though; once he's fought it back he decides he wants to see more of that expression after all, and he turns to lift her up so that they're face-to-face. ]
Would having a little more of me be so bad?
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... ruinous. [She tucks her chin back against her shoulder, mumbling:] It's well-established my stamina is finite.
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[ Serious, curious, almost innocently asked. For being the one who'd be doing the ruining in question. And he is curious, just what the shape of her enjoyment is and what limits he needs to respect... but he's not unaware that earnestly asking her to expand on the topic when she's getting embarrassed will probably embarrass her more. The misfortune of having too cute a pout. ]
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It just— it feels like—
[Like Heaven is sparing her blushes in his place as a droplet of melted snow slides down the nape of her neck and down between her shoulder blades, setting off a shiver and a trio of kitten sneezes.]
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...you're cute even when you're sneezing in my face.
[ Unfair. She was turned away. Mostly. But feeling her shiver like that... he does feel a twinge of guilt. He played with her too long. ]
I said I could at least keep you warm and I didn't. [ He shakes his head, remorseful. Exaggerated but not false. ] Time for bed.
[ ...it would be nice if he carried her over bridal style, same as he brought her in, but when she's already in his hands and it's all of fifteen feet to the bed... she's getting carried over like the cat she resembles. He flips the cover back with his tail and sets her down...
Then doffs his top and climbs right in on top of her. Still otherwise clothed so it seems like this is just his idea of the quickest way to warm her up. And he's probably not wrong, overall, but a few more bit of melting slush drip from his plumage, dripping down onto her. ]
Just stay like that and warm up.
[ Very serious about that. ]
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Not that she has long to even attempt to wriggle out of her damp outer layers or the thick boots she was kitted out with when Calhir decides to settle right on top of her, like an extra large chicken trying to nest. She starts to argue with his proclamation to stay just like that and warm up, when slush dribbles off of his feathers and hits the thinner, bare skin of her neck, making her squeak at the sharp, sudden cold. A second bit striking her jaw sets her wriggling and squirming, struggling to get some distance before a third hits, hands pressing up against against his chest.]
Calhir—
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Sorry. Do you want to move down?
[ The drip is coming off his shoulders and 'hair', so if she's just under his chest she should be fine! A little suffocating, maybe, but it's... not like she should be entirely unused to that position, at this point. ]
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[Wedging herself up, she turns her cheek into the soft blanket and his care, welcoming the removal of the melted snow from her skin. Her legs are too firmly pinned to remedy half her complaints, but while one hand stays firmly where she was pressing at his chest, the other withdraws, going to the fastener at her collarbone, hidden in the fur.]
But I don't think I need my cloak and boots in bed...
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[ His turn to be a little embarrassed. Was he so hasty out of concern for her sneezing, or was he just that eager to get in bed with her? Up further, on his knees, lifting the blanket like a tent. He reaches, feeling his way down her legs to the boots - a perhaps not strictly necessary approach, but then he does want to feel how damp her bottoms are and do away with those, too, if it's too much. But first the boots come off. ]
Is the rest too damp?
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Apparently, yes. Let me up?
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I'll come wait for you there, next time.
[ The best he can offer by way of apology, for making her trudge out like this. ]
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Not sure that would go over well. The guards are all on edge up there. Not that I can blame them...
[That is just the evidence and aftermath of a years long usurpation and civil war.
Patting down the rest of her clothes, she deems the longest outer layer to be too damp as well, quickly untying it and slipping it off to join the cloak, before smoothing her palms down her hair, checking for anything she needs to wring out. Satisfied there isn't, she crawls back up to settle next to Calhir, tucking her very chilled legs against him to start leeching some of his warmth.]
Takasato did sound curious to meet you, but I think that might have to wait until we're back in Kei.
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...is there anything I can do for you? While we're here?
[ He should be gathering up those soggy clothes and hanging them by the fire, but it's hard when Youko's warming her poor cold legs against him. And, more selfishly, when she'll have to stay a bit longer if they're slower to dry. He pulls the covers back over her and rubs her calves with his hands, trying to restore them. ]
This doesn't suit someone as warm as you.
[ She's a summer creature in his mind, warm to touch. She just doesn't feel her usual self like this. ]
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Do you want me to give you an assignment?
[Picking at the edge of the covers, she lets herself lay back down into the spot he'd placed her originally, pulling the thick comforter with her, watching him and his concentrated efforts with a small smile.]
Mm. You're probably right about that. When it snowed where I grew up — [She slips her free hand out from under the covers, spreading out her pinky and thumb as far from the three middle fingers as she can stretch them.] — it was only about this much in the whole season.
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