"I suspected," he answers. Surely, not all of what Tara has acquired was legally purchased either. His intentional ignorance doesn't absolve him, though. "Still, that just means it's dangerous instead of expensive. There is still a cost."
"So I get to start lecturing you about being healthier, then?" he counters. He blows a puff of air to get her hair out of his face. His arms are still around her middle, and he leaves them right where they are.
But she's right. At the end of the day, you can care people, you can point out potential consequences of their actions, you can ask them to make certain choices, but you can't choose for them. Not if you truly care about them. "Alright," he says softly. "I won't ask you to go again."
"Now the lectures, that might actually chase me away. If I listened to any, which I will not."
She settles back down on top of his chest and tries to let sleep come, but they've chatted enough for her to get a second wind. Plus she has a lot more pieces of the puzzle to turn over in her mind.
Her head pops back up.
"Is it sexually transmitted? Is that why you sidestepped a rebound?"
I don't have a flabbergasted enough icon for their interactions
"Noted," he replies, grinning to himself. No lectures, then, but he will sneak her more vegetables.
"What? Gods, no!" he sputters. "I'm not sure it's even removable at all, though I'm working on theories, and none of them involve that. You've seen the marking, it's lodged in my chest, not elsewhere." He flicks her arm. "I just have no interest in anything so casual. Not that I never tried... romantic companionship of a briefer nature, before Mystra, when I was a younger man. It never brought me much enjoyment though, the way it did others. You may think it ridiculous, but I'm afraid I'm just uninterested unless my heart is in it."
"It's not the sort of thing most people would take well from someone they've just met, so I don't exactly bring it up unprompted." Not that he meets many new people these days, but who's counting. " 'Yes, hello, I have a magical bomb in my chest, and I have to consume magic to keep it from killing me and blowing myself and many others up. Would you care to come over for tea?' "
Gale is silent for a moment, thoughtful. "It's that easy? I rather thought you would put up more of a fuss about it than that."
"Hmm." She twirls the ends of her hair around a finger. It's a shame he can't see how absurdly shit-eating her grin is. Coquettish fluttering of lashes. The whole bit. "My magical bomb was in my head."
And that's the end of that story!
"I could put up a fuss if you want, but it's got nothing to do with me so I don't really see the point."
"Wait, what?" That's some sort of odd joke. Right? A metaphor about mental health? "Not literally, surely?"
"Oh." That isn't what he expected, and he has to reshuffle some things in his mind. He had assumed that Harley was the type to simply barrel right through any boundary at her leisure, but perhaps that wasn't quite the case. "No, I appreciate it, honestly. I didn't realize it was an option."
"Literally. Here." She twists to move one of his hands from around her and guides it up the back of her neck, to a knot of scar tissue no bigger than a fingertip at the base of her skull. "Feel that?"
His fingers are gentle but still curious, running over the knot of scar
tissue to discern the details in the dark. "Someone did this to you." It's
not a question, because of course she didn't do it to herself. He thinks of
the former lover she mentioned, though, and wonders about the unspoken.
"But it's gone now?" Not a question asked in fear - two bombs in one bed
would hardly be worse than one - but with hope.
Harley isn't used to gentle hands and goes tense at the first touch, but melts over him as curious fingers explore the scar. She drops her head to his shoulder again with a sigh.
The way she goes from tense to taffy reminds Gale of a stray cat that has
been kicked too many times. Once he's understood the details of the scar,
he keeps stroking his fingers over the back of her head and neck, rhythmic
and gentle. If it weren't so late and so dark, he wouldn't dare, but this
feels like a liminal space outside of time. Like the Astral plane, but
instead of infinitely large, this space is so small that it exists only for
the two of them. "You're safe here," he whispers. From him, but also any
one else who might try to find her.
The dark and quiet doesn't feel oppressive with company. Gale is a soft place to rest. She's grateful that she doesn't have to ask him to keep touching her in that careful, soothing way, and that he won't press for more to keep her place here.
"Yeah," she answers, just as quiet, in a voice thick with sleep.
It's hard to say who falls asleep first, though Gale will claim it was Harley just for the sake of banter. Regardless, he falls asleep with his hand on the nape of her neck and his fingertips in her hair, and it's the first time in months he sleeps easily.
Harley sleeps lightly, and blinks awake with every shift and change of breath to check on him. She stirs a little when Tara creeps into the room to curl up on her pet wizard's chest, and offers the tressym a tired smile and a friendly pet.
When Gale eventually wakes and tries to move, she grumbles a sleepy protest and holds him tighter. He will have to try and escape several times, or accept his fate and stay in bed until she's ready to rise.
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"Gale, everyone I know and everything I do is dangerous." She pauses, considering. "And also everyone I do."
There's a sweep of her hair across his face as she shakes her head. Focus up, Harley.
"Anyway, it's my own choice."
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But she's right. At the end of the day, you can care people, you can point out potential consequences of their actions, you can ask them to make certain choices, but you can't choose for them. Not if you truly care about them. "Alright," he says softly. "I won't ask you to go again."
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She settles back down on top of his chest and tries to let sleep come, but they've chatted enough for her to get a second wind. Plus she has a lot more pieces of the puzzle to turn over in her mind.
Her head pops back up.
"Is it sexually transmitted? Is that why you sidestepped a rebound?"
I don't have a flabbergasted enough icon for their interactions
"What? Gods, no!" he sputters. "I'm not sure it's even removable at all, though I'm working on theories, and none of them involve that. You've seen the marking, it's lodged in my chest, not elsewhere." He flicks her arm. "I just have no interest in anything so casual. Not that I never tried... romantic companionship of a briefer nature, before Mystra, when I was a younger man. It never brought me much enjoyment though, the way it did others. You may think it ridiculous, but I'm afraid I'm just uninterested unless my heart is in it."
she flabber on my gast til i con 💦
"Well I don't know! You've been very cagey about the whole thing! There could be other marks!"
She tries to boop his nose, misses and pokes the apple of the cheek on the first try, and then finally gets it.
"It's not ridiculous. If that's not your thing then it's not your thing and I won't bring it up again."
LOL
Gale is silent for a moment, thoughtful. "It's that easy? I rather thought you would put up more of a fuss about it than that."
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And that's the end of that story!
"I could put up a fuss if you want, but it's got nothing to do with me so I don't really see the point."
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"Oh." That isn't what he expected, and he has to reshuffle some things in his mind. He had assumed that Harley was the type to simply barrel right through any boundary at her leisure, but perhaps that wasn't quite the case. "No, I appreciate it, honestly. I didn't realize it was an option."
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"Literally. Here." She twists to move one of his hands from around her and guides it up the back of her neck, to a knot of scar tissue no bigger than a fingertip at the base of her skull. "Feel that?"
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His fingers are gentle but still curious, running over the knot of scar tissue to discern the details in the dark. "Someone did this to you." It's not a question, because of course she didn't do it to herself. He thinks of the former lover she mentioned, though, and wonders about the unspoken. "But it's gone now?" Not a question asked in fear - two bombs in one bed would hardly be worse than one - but with hope.
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"Mmhm," she murmurs in soft, sleepy confirmation.
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The way she goes from tense to taffy reminds Gale of a stray cat that has been kicked too many times. Once he's understood the details of the scar, he keeps stroking his fingers over the back of her head and neck, rhythmic and gentle. If it weren't so late and so dark, he wouldn't dare, but this feels like a liminal space outside of time. Like the Astral plane, but instead of infinitely large, this space is so small that it exists only for the two of them. "You're safe here," he whispers. From him, but also any one else who might try to find her.
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"Yeah," she answers, just as quiet, in a voice thick with sleep.
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When Gale eventually wakes and tries to move, she grumbles a sleepy protest and holds him tighter. He will have to try and escape several times, or accept his fate and stay in bed until she's ready to rise.