He laughs, a little surprised. Curiosity is perhaps his greatest strength and his biggest weakness. He wants to know everything about everything all of the time. Living any other way is something he can hardly imagine. "Alright, Harley you shall remain, then. Hm, you could ask my birthday, so you know when to give me a nice gift?"
That shove feels like a victory, and he beams. "What can I say? I'm insatiable, I suppose." The orb is, anyway, eating all his gifts in more ways than one. "My birthday is the seventh of Tarsakh. I was born during a particularly terrible storm, and that's where my name comes from."
It's really not fair that he has such a sweet smile. How is she supposed to keep being dramatic and miserable when he's so cute? Awful. Put him in jail.
"Mine is the twentieth of Flamerule, and my birthday present better be huge."
Of all the gifts she's given him, his favorite is when she looks like that.
"With standards like that, I bet you've had some truly abhorrent mixed drinks. I've had my fair share of those, though. At Blackstaff, most of us learned rather early that you could use a fabrication spell to turn just about any fruit juice, honey water, or similar into alcohol, but there was no accounting for the flavor of the finished product. It was tradition at parties for everyone to combine their concoctions in one cauldron that we would all drink from. Stuff of nightmares, if I could remember half of it." He points at her like she got the answer in a pop quiz correct. "Got it in one! Preferably dry. I can't stand an overly saccharine alcoholic drink."
She laughs. His rambling tangents are usually charming, at least in her opinion. It would be pretty hard to spend time with him if she didn't like listening to other people so much.
"Probably because you got burned on those horrible party drinks. I like anything sweet." She reaches across the table to boop his nose. "Like you, for example."
She can't let corny line go unsaid. A reflex, perhaps, or a curse.
He tilts his head to the side then nods. "Maybe you're right and I was scarred by horrible party drinks." Gale had never actually considered it before, but then again, she makes him think about a lot of things he never considered before. "They're much worse coming up than going down."
Once she's already booped him, he swats at her hand. She's joking, she's joking, she's joking. He sets mage hands to clearing their dishes and stands. "If you're done eating, I suppose now's as good a time as any for you to, ah, perform your examination." Oh no. He'd meant to change directions, distract himself, but hadn't considered how embarrassing the prospect of taking his shirt off would be, and now he can't unsay it.
She nods and hurries to finish her tea as she stands. Speaking of embarrassing Gale--
"Would you be more comfortable if I also took my shirt off, in the interest of fairness?"
Is she joking? She doesn't look like she's joking. She doesn't sound like she's joking. She's already pulling up the hem and most of her thigh tattoos are on display. Hurry, wizard, it's nearly too late!
"Nononono!" He pulls her arms back down and tugs the hem back down into
place too. He's not even sure she's wearing any undergarments, and that's
something he decidedly and intentionally does not imagine either way.
"There's no need for that." He's definitely losing the war against his
flushed skin now, because the blush has pressed its advantage as far south
as the mark. "It's... fine." It's not, really, but as much as he might fuss
and fight, he's a people pleaser, so if she says off with his shirt, then
off it will go.
Gale's hands hover at the buttons briefly, but he reminds himself that this
is strictly clinical and no cause for nerves. He unbuttons it and pulls
both sides apart, exposing his chest and abdomen. The black marking left by
the orb had looked like a tattoo at a glance, but upon closer inspection,
it's deeper, like a scar carved into his skin with a precise blade. He
fidgets under scrutiny. "Do you have favorite tattoos?" A question to
distract him from the matter at hand.
"Yes I do, but apparently you don't want to see it. Now let me work."
She gently leads him to a chair and pushes him to sit. She steals some parchment from his desk. A quill hovers at the ready to take notes, as her own mage hand stays invisible unless it occurs to her to change it.
Once she begins the examination, she is shockingly professional, although not at all a detached clinical demeanor. She's warm and compassionate to his nervous hesitation, but bluntly presses for the answers she needs. They go over his entire medical history from before the orb until now, so she has a point of comparison. She checks all his vitals, records his self-reported sleep and eating habits, has the mage hand sketch diagrams of the mark and precise measurements.
Once they have gone through all her questions, and a back over some to verify consistency, she dismisses the mage hand and looks over all the information.
"There you go, was that so terrible? You survived!"
It surprises him a little, how readily she puts him at ease during the
examination. Part of him has worried that she would poke and prod, press
her fingers into the tender flesh marked by the orb, but she's never unkind
or thoughtless. He's scientific minded enough that once he's distracted
from his embarrassment, he's keen to help her with her examination,
providing as many details as he can think of that might be relevant.
"Barely," he says with a put-on sigh. "Hopefully I was a satisfactory
object of study. I'm more used to being one who does the studying." It is a
testament to her skills that he doesn't even rush to button his shirt.
She hums in vague sympathy at his terrible, terrible ordeal.
"I have more questions, but I suspect they'll be answered in your own research, so I'll hold back for now. I do want to follow up regularly, and I especially want to monitor the dark veins under your eye."
The examination complete, she shrugs off the professional demeanor and turns to give him a very blatant once over.
"But the real medical mystery is how in the hells do you have such a good body when the only thing you do all day is stay in and read!" She's not blind. She knew he was fit for a wizard, and had definitely enjoyed confirming it with hugs and cuddles, but there's a difference between knowing someone has a decent build and actually seeing it.
In summary, Gale is hot and nobody even knows it. It's a terrible tragedy.
Gale nods as she says all this. "I will show you the notes we've gathered. They're... thorough, so there will be a lot to look through. We've got it all in the study." It's perfectly reasonable, scientific. Still, he's the subject, and his hand creeps to the lines under his eye, pale enough to be missed at a glance. He's vain enough to be a little self conscious about it.
The next part still catches him off guard, and a pop of surprised laughter escapes his lips. "A little professional decorum, if you will?" He turns slightly aside to button his shirt, not enough to really make a difference and only joking, because of course she's already seen. "Exercise is important for one's health?" he offers. He doesn't mention that Tara is often the one encouraging him to get up and move rather than sitting at his desk for hours, often with the threat of being clawed. "It's not like vigorous movement is impossible in small spaces."Â
"I will not," she promptly replies, and further demonstrates her commitment to unprofessionalism by tilting her head so it is completely obvious, even to someone as flirt impaired as Gale, that she is checking out his butt. She even whistles at him, the menace.
He's right that exercise is important and that it is perfectly reasonable that nothing about his home would prevent him from it with a little effort. She nods acceptance at the answer and says, "Ah. Tara makes you do it."
He sighs and spins in place, though that just leaves her ogling elsewhere.
Gale huffs. "Actually, as a boy, I got very sick with ruddy pox. I had to be hospitalized for weeks, and once I recovered, regular exercise was prescribed as a part of my recovery, to regain my strength. It became something of a habit after that." Because Tara made him do it. But he's not going to just admit it so easily.
Harley very nicely lets him pretend they don't both know that Tara runs this house and his life. She also very nicely offers light applause for that turn.
"I'll get dressed and then I've got to go out and get the stuff I hauled back appraised. What are you getting up to today?"
Hiding in his 'tower' and avoiding the world, but he knows better than to say that plainly.
"Research, as always. Trying to solve this," he gestures to his chest - did he do up an extra button after she ogled him? - then continues, "Is a full time sort of business."
Harley rocks back on her heels. Her hands twist the fabric of her stolen shirt. Not his anymore, never his shirt again.
"Yeah, guess so."
She's been so lonely underground, but he was living usual days and is more used to solitude. After an entire night and morning with her glued to his side, he has probably had enough of her hanging around. She's not easy company, she knows. So as much as she wants to cajole him into coming out with her, better to give him a break. Don't push her luck or his tolerance.
"I'll, uh. Well, bye!"
She turns on her heel and rushes out of the room and up the stairs, where she dresses in a hurry and grabs her pack. She runs back down the stairs and out the door without another word of goodbye.
Eventually, hours and hours later, she stumbles back through his 'tower' door in a very pleasant mood. The lingering smell of liquor might have something to do with it.
If he's still awake then he'll be able to catch her heading up for a bath, and if he's already asleep she will bathe first and then slip into bed next to him.
After an evening spent particularly close (metaphorically and literally) and a companionable morning, Harley's sudden departure is a surprise, and all Gale can do is raise his eyebrows in reaction to the whirlwind. She doesn't even say a proper goodbye, and he has to intentionally silence the niggling voice that insists she won't be coming back for another month, if at all. Why do such a thorough exam, then? Take precise measurements? The more logical part of his mind counters as he unconsciously twists the ring on his little finger. Still, she left so suddenly, and despite her capricious nature, he can only conclude that he must have done something wrong. As he cleans the dishes -- manually, without the use of magic, to give him something to do with his hands -- he reexamines every part of their interaction that morning like a puzzle, or perhaps a lanceboard game, trying to find his error. Sometime after Harley's departure, Tara slinks in the door. "I know what you're going to bring up, and let me just be clear, you are making incorrect assumptions," Gale says. "Well, hello to you too, Mister Dekarios! I thought we taught you better manners than that." She hops up onto the counter. "Say, apropos of nothing, don't bipeds exchange rings when they marry?"
Gale's hand jerks as surely as if she'd swatted him. "In many cultures, yes, though it is a mutual exchange accompanied by some ceremony. Besides, this is the wrong finger." Even though they're fussing, he pauses in his chores to make Tara a bowl of bacon and whipped cream. "I accidentally drained the magic from her ring. You know how she is, this is just a joke."
"You're still wearing it, though."
"The joke is still funny." He doesn't meet her gaze, and she doesn't press further.
* * * When Harley slips in later, there's a package waiting on the table, wrapped in pink paper and blue ribbons, with purple hyacinths cut from the bushes out front tucked into the bow.
Inside is the promised cosmetic set, an extensive kit of various colors, powders, and creams. Alongside that, there's a bottle of sweet agrumello and a box of assorted cookies from Gale's favorite bakery.
Even though it's late, there's light coming from the open door of his study, because he always has pitiful sleep habits, but also because he wants to know if and when she comes home.
Harley notices the package in passing, but can't imagine that it might be for her. It stays untouched on the table. She tries to sneak through the house, but when she sees the open study she realizes he must have heard her come in. No point hiding from him, but she still hesitates before stepping into the room.
She clears her throat and affects a casual air as she pulls a chair up next to him and leans her elbows on his desk.
"Ah, as a shark must keep swimming or else risk perishing, I fear that if
the gears ever stopped turning-" He taps his own temple, "-that it would be
the end of me in short order." He finishes the last few notations on a
complicated magical diagram before turning his chair to face her with a
warm smile. "Did you enjoy the contents of the package I left for you,
then?" He smelled the liquor, but mistakes the sweet scent for the bottle
he got to make up for whatever it was that he did to chase her away.
He starts talking about sharks for some reason so she folds her arms to make a pillow to rest her head, prepared to only half pay attention while he meander around whatever point he wants to make.
When he stops talking it takes her a second to register that he ended with a direct question. She squints muzzily up at him as she runs the words back in her mind.
Now he's the one to look confused. "Yes? The... colorful box on the table as you come through the door." Colorful like she is, like flowers blooming after the last snow. "You did open it, didn't you?" He hadn't put her name on it only because it seemed so obvious. He wouldn't get himself a gift, and if it had been for Tara, he would have wrapped it in paper but not tied ribbons around it that would be difficult for her to remove. Obviously. So, because she did not open the package that was clearly intended for her, he concludes that he really must have done something wrong to upset her. "You didn't open it then. Ah. Well." Well then, he'll just have to try harder to make it up to her, clearly. "At any rate, you look like you've had quite the full day! You're probably tired. I could run you a bath? Make tea?" He's already standing to push his chair back under the desk.
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"I give you gifts all the time, and still you ask for more!" She taps his new ring for emphasis. "Alright. Tell me your birthday, you greedy man."
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"Mine is the twentieth of Flamerule, and my birthday present better be huge."
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"Anything I don't have to pay for. And yours is red wine. Full-bodied, I'd guess."
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"With standards like that, I bet you've had some truly abhorrent mixed drinks. I've had my fair share of those, though. At Blackstaff, most of us learned rather early that you could use a fabrication spell to turn just about any fruit juice, honey water, or similar into alcohol, but there was no accounting for the flavor of the finished product. It was tradition at parties for everyone to combine their concoctions in one cauldron that we would all drink from. Stuff of nightmares, if I could remember half of it." He points at her like she got the answer in a pop quiz correct. "Got it in one! Preferably dry. I can't stand an overly saccharine alcoholic drink."
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"Probably because you got burned on those horrible party drinks. I like anything sweet." She reaches across the table to boop his nose. "Like you, for example."
She can't let corny line go unsaid. A reflex, perhaps, or a curse.
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Once she's already booped him, he swats at her hand. She's joking, she's joking, she's joking. He sets mage hands to clearing their dishes and stands. "If you're done eating, I suppose now's as good a time as any for you to, ah, perform your examination." Oh no. He'd meant to change directions, distract himself, but hadn't considered how embarrassing the prospect of taking his shirt off would be, and now he can't unsay it.
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"Would you be more comfortable if I also took my shirt off, in the interest of fairness?"
Is she joking? She doesn't look like she's joking. She doesn't sound like she's joking. She's already pulling up the hem and most of her thigh tattoos are on display. Hurry, wizard, it's nearly too late!
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"Nononono!" He pulls her arms back down and tugs the hem back down into place too. He's not even sure she's wearing any undergarments, and that's something he decidedly and intentionally does not imagine either way. "There's no need for that." He's definitely losing the war against his flushed skin now, because the blush has pressed its advantage as far south as the mark. "It's... fine." It's not, really, but as much as he might fuss and fight, he's a people pleaser, so if she says off with his shirt, then off it will go.
Gale's hands hover at the buttons briefly, but he reminds himself that this is strictly clinical and no cause for nerves. He unbuttons it and pulls both sides apart, exposing his chest and abdomen. The black marking left by the orb had looked like a tattoo at a glance, but upon closer inspection, it's deeper, like a scar carved into his skin with a precise blade. He fidgets under scrutiny. "Do you have favorite tattoos?" A question to distract him from the matter at hand.
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She gently leads him to a chair and pushes him to sit. She steals some parchment from his desk. A quill hovers at the ready to take notes, as her own mage hand stays invisible unless it occurs to her to change it.
Once she begins the examination, she is shockingly professional, although not at all a detached clinical demeanor. She's warm and compassionate to his nervous hesitation, but bluntly presses for the answers she needs. They go over his entire medical history from before the orb until now, so she has a point of comparison. She checks all his vitals, records his self-reported sleep and eating habits, has the mage hand sketch diagrams of the mark and precise measurements.
Once they have gone through all her questions, and a back over some to verify consistency, she dismisses the mage hand and looks over all the information.
"There you go, was that so terrible? You survived!"
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It surprises him a little, how readily she puts him at ease during the examination. Part of him has worried that she would poke and prod, press her fingers into the tender flesh marked by the orb, but she's never unkind or thoughtless. He's scientific minded enough that once he's distracted from his embarrassment, he's keen to help her with her examination, providing as many details as he can think of that might be relevant.
"Barely," he says with a put-on sigh. "Hopefully I was a satisfactory object of study. I'm more used to being one who does the studying." It is a testament to her skills that he doesn't even rush to button his shirt.
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"I have more questions, but I suspect they'll be answered in your own research, so I'll hold back for now. I do want to follow up regularly, and I especially want to monitor the dark veins under your eye."
The examination complete, she shrugs off the professional demeanor and turns to give him a very blatant once over.
"But the real medical mystery is how in the hells do you have such a good body when the only thing you do all day is stay in and read!" She's not blind. She knew he was fit for a wizard, and had definitely enjoyed confirming it with hugs and cuddles, but there's a difference between knowing someone has a decent build and actually seeing it.
In summary, Gale is hot and nobody even knows it. It's a terrible tragedy.
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The next part still catches him off guard, and a pop of surprised laughter escapes his lips. "A little professional decorum, if you will?" He turns slightly aside to button his shirt, not enough to really make a difference and only joking, because of course she's already seen. "Exercise is important for one's health?" he offers. He doesn't mention that Tara is often the one encouraging him to get up and move rather than sitting at his desk for hours, often with the threat of being clawed. "It's not like vigorous movement is impossible in small spaces."Â
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He's right that exercise is important and that it is perfectly reasonable that nothing about his home would prevent him from it with a little effort. She nods acceptance at the answer and says, "Ah. Tara makes you do it."
She knows them. How can he keep forgetting?
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Gale huffs. "Actually, as a boy, I got very sick with ruddy pox. I had to be hospitalized for weeks, and once I recovered, regular exercise was prescribed as a part of my recovery, to regain my strength. It became something of a habit after that." Because Tara made him do it. But he's not going to just admit it so easily.
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"I'll get dressed and then I've got to go out and get the stuff I hauled back appraised. What are you getting up to today?"
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"Research, as always. Trying to solve this," he gestures to his chest - did he do up an extra button after she ogled him? - then continues, "Is a full time sort of business."
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Harley rocks back on her heels. Her hands twist the fabric of her stolen shirt. Not his anymore, never his shirt again.
"Yeah, guess so."
She's been so lonely underground, but he was living usual days and is more used to solitude. After an entire night and morning with her glued to his side, he has probably had enough of her hanging around. She's not easy company, she knows. So as much as she wants to cajole him into coming out with her, better to give him a break. Don't push her luck or his tolerance.
"I'll, uh. Well, bye!"
She turns on her heel and rushes out of the room and up the stairs, where she dresses in a hurry and grabs her pack. She runs back down the stairs and out the door without another word of goodbye.
Eventually, hours and hours later, she stumbles back through his 'tower' door in a very pleasant mood. The lingering smell of liquor might have something to do with it.
If he's still awake then he'll be able to catch her heading up for a bath, and if he's already asleep she will bathe first and then slip into bed next to him.
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Sometime after Harley's departure, Tara slinks in the door.
"I know what you're going to bring up, and let me just be clear, you are making incorrect assumptions," Gale says.
"Well, hello to you too, Mister Dekarios! I thought we taught you better manners than that." She hops up onto the counter. "Say, apropos of nothing, don't bipeds exchange rings when they marry?"
Gale's hand jerks as surely as if she'd swatted him. "In many cultures, yes, though it is a mutual exchange accompanied by some ceremony. Besides, this is the wrong finger." Even though they're fussing, he pauses in his chores to make Tara a bowl of bacon and whipped cream. "I accidentally drained the magic from her ring. You know how she is, this is just a joke."
"You're still wearing it, though."
"The joke is still funny." He doesn't meet her gaze, and she doesn't press further.
* * *
When Harley slips in later, there's a package waiting on the table, wrapped in pink paper and blue ribbons, with purple hyacinths cut from the bushes out front tucked into the bow.
Inside is the promised cosmetic set, an extensive kit of various colors, powders, and creams. Alongside that, there's a bottle of sweet agrumello and a box of assorted cookies from Gale's favorite bakery.
Even though it's late, there's light coming from the open door of his study, because he always has pitiful sleep habits, but also because he wants to know if and when she comes home.
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She clears her throat and affects a casual air as she pulls a chair up next to him and leans her elbows on his desk.
"You're still up. Working on something?"
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"Ah, as a shark must keep swimming or else risk perishing, I fear that if the gears ever stopped turning-" He taps his own temple, "-that it would be the end of me in short order." He finishes the last few notations on a complicated magical diagram before turning his chair to face her with a warm smile. "Did you enjoy the contents of the package I left for you, then?" He smelled the liquor, but mistakes the sweet scent for the bottle he got to make up for whatever it was that he did to chase her away.
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When he stops talking it takes her a second to register that he ended with a direct question. She squints muzzily up at him as she runs the words back in her mind.
"What-- Something for me?"
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