"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.
"Oh shit! You got me a present?" She pops up, then reels for a second as her tipsy brain objects to sudden movement. "Really? For real?"
She scrambles to her feet and scurries back to the kitchen. There's a loud gasp and delighted squeal when the finds the package and lets herself actually pay attention to it. When she comes back into the study, she's hugging it to her chest. The blooms are a little squashed.
"Why? What's it for? I wasn't gone for long enough for it to be my birthday!" She stops and looks haunted. "Was I?"
She dashes from the room so fast that he only has time to contemplate following her before he hears her on the stairs on her way back up again. "No, no, that's a couple of months away, yet. I just. Well." Wanted to apologize for some unknown incorrect gesture? That is not something he'll say out loud. "You were gone so long." And he missed her, but he's not saying that out loud either. "Consider it a celebration of your return to Waterdeep. A welcome home gift." Good enough.
"And I care very much for you too." He takes her by the shoulders and
kisses her forehead. He laughs a little. Not exactly because he doesn't
believe her. She has taken care of him, and she didn't even run when she
found out the worst of it, when anyone else would have. But he has been 'I
love everyone in this tavern' drunk on occasion, he knows what that feeling
is like. She loves him, she isn't in love with him, she's just inebriated.
"But how can you be sure you love it yet? You haven't seen what's inside.
Maybe it's the most atrocious coat you've ever seen. Go on and open it to
be sure you're not heaping on undue praise."
She goes a little cross-eyed trying to look at his stupid handsome face as he leans in to kiss her forehead. Dummy doesn't even realize he missed her lips. Silly wizard.
"It doesn't matter what's inside," she protests, oblivious to the levels of juicy subtext waiting to be unpacked in that line. "It's from you because you were thinking of me and you're so, so, so nice and you don't even have to be!"
But, even though she knows she will love whatever he gave her, she does open the present anyway. She carefully unpacks every item, lines them up along the desk, and just ... looks at them. For a very long time.
Harley just stands there, beholding the items from the box with wonder, and he thinks maybe he should have gotten her better things if she was going to be so enamored of receiving a gift. The cosmetics set isn't even really a gift so much as a restitution. The alcohol was a simple callback to earlier today, when she said she preferred it sweet. Has no one ever cared enough for her to show her that they did? He could have been much more impressive, he thinks, and should have really put more effort into it.
Or maybe not, because then she might have cried, and he doesn't ever want to make her cry. He comes up behind her to wrap his arms around her middle, a sort of backwards hug. "A promise like that cannot be considered binding when made while inebriated," he points out, dropping his chin to rest on her shoulder. "Besides, you haven't even met my mother," he adds in what will become a common refrain during her obviously teasing marriage proposals.
She leans back against him and brings her hands up to squeeze his arms. She wants to be wrapped up in him. He should hold her forever. Her head tips back onto his shoulder.
Gods damn it all, she really will have to meet Morena.
"Where does she live? I'll go meet her right now."
She should kiss him, but her mouth was recently on a stranger and Gale deserves better than that. She needs to brush her teeth first at the very least.
"Do you want to be married someday? Is that something you can see for yourself?"
He laughs. "My mother is most assuredly asleep right now. She has a business to run and doesn't keep the same odd hours her only child does. I doubt she would take very kindly to being awoken in the middle of the night." Except, it's been so long since he's gone to see her, maybe she wouldn't care at all. Guilt is a slim blade he slides into his own heart, even though he tries to argue to himself that it's for her own good. He's briefly glad that Harley is facing away, because he has never been good at keeping his emotions off his face, and even drunk, she'd be too perceptive to miss it.
"Hmm? Oh. I don't know, actually. It's not really something you consider with a goddess. You can promise yourself to them for your whole life, but they can't ever do the same, so..." So it had never been in the cards with Mystra, and anyone before Mystra seems long ago and foggy. "I'm not sure I ever really considered it in depth. I suppose it would just depend on what my beloved wanted." That has been the guiding light in all his relationships, really.
Harley makes a vague grumbling noise. She can't explain why his answer gets under her skin, but something about it... Yeugh. He should be allowed to learn what he wants and then want it for himself.
Maybe she hates it because it's too familiar.
Her hands run over his arms in gentle, careful strokes.
"Well I want it, and I'm gonna keep asking. So hurry up and get on board."
"Ask me again next week, we'll reconsider the matter then," he jokes, not realizing what he's helping to begin. "So, you... weren't angry with me earlier, then?"
It happens so fast that for a second, Gale is left just sort of flapping his hands, unsure how to respond. At least it turns out to be muscle memory, even if it has been a long time since anyone kissed him on the mortal plane. His hands land on her waist and tug her closer. He kisses her back in a way that proves that tongue is good for more than just wagging all the time. She is warm and eager and... and...
And she tastes like alcohol. And he is a cad.
He doesn't push her away so much as step backwards with his hands still on her waist, like they might snap back together magnetically otherwise. "You've been drinking," he declares.
His hands are on her waist pulling her against him and his tongue is in her mouth and her head is spinning. She should have kissed him this morning. She should have kissed him a hundred times by now.
Then he moves away, but she's not ready to let him go yet so she moves with him. Her hands clutch at his shirt.
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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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She scrambles to her feet and scurries back to the kitchen. There's a loud gasp and delighted squeal when the finds the package and lets herself actually pay attention to it. When she comes back into the study, she's hugging it to her chest. The blooms are a little squashed.
"Why? What's it for? I wasn't gone for long enough for it to be my birthday!" She stops and looks haunted. "Was I?"
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"I love it," she says in a voice dangerously close to sincerity. And then, because she's a little too drunk to stop herself, "I love you."
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"And I care very much for you too." He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her forehead. He laughs a little. Not exactly because he doesn't believe her. She has taken care of him, and she didn't even run when she found out the worst of it, when anyone else would have. But he has been 'I love everyone in this tavern' drunk on occasion, he knows what that feeling is like. She loves him, she isn't in love with him, she's just inebriated. "But how can you be sure you love it yet? You haven't seen what's inside. Maybe it's the most atrocious coat you've ever seen. Go on and open it to be sure you're not heaping on undue praise."
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"It doesn't matter what's inside," she protests, oblivious to the levels of juicy subtext waiting to be unpacked in that line. "It's from you because you were thinking of me and you're so, so, so nice and you don't even have to be!"
But, even though she knows she will love whatever he gave her, she does open the present anyway. She carefully unpacks every item, lines them up along the desk, and just ... looks at them. For a very long time.
"Gale Dekarios, I'm gonna marry you for real."
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Or maybe not, because then she might have cried, and he doesn't ever want to make her cry. He comes up behind her to wrap his arms around her middle, a sort of backwards hug. "A promise like that cannot be considered binding when made while inebriated," he points out, dropping his chin to rest on her shoulder. "Besides, you haven't even met my mother," he adds in what will become a common refrain during her obviously teasing marriage proposals.
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Gods damn it all, she really will have to meet Morena.
"Where does she live? I'll go meet her right now."
She should kiss him, but her mouth was recently on a stranger and Gale deserves better than that. She needs to brush her teeth first at the very least.
"Do you want to be married someday? Is that something you can see for yourself?"
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"Hmm? Oh. I don't know, actually. It's not really something you consider with a goddess. You can promise yourself to them for your whole life, but they can't ever do the same, so..." So it had never been in the cards with Mystra, and anyone before Mystra seems long ago and foggy. "I'm not sure I ever really considered it in depth. I suppose it would just depend on what my beloved wanted." That has been the guiding light in all his relationships, really.
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Maybe she hates it because it's too familiar.
Her hands run over his arms in gentle, careful strokes.
"Well I want it, and I'm gonna keep asking. So hurry up and get on board."
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"No! What? Is that why you got me presents?"
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But Harley doesn't think, she just does, and that's why her mouth is on his before her brain can check in.
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And she tastes like alcohol. And he is a cad.
He doesn't push her away so much as step backwards with his hands still on her waist, like they might snap back together magnetically otherwise. "You've been drinking," he declares.
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Then he moves away, but she's not ready to let him go yet so she moves with him. Her hands clutch at his shirt.
"Not too much! Please?"
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