"You aren't allowed to talk to me when my clothes are off!" she calls back. Which isn't a law on any books, but does seem like some sort of obscure etiquette that she'll roll with.
Harley changes into one of her dresses. Temple-raised kids mostly get donated hand-me-downs but a little tailoring and some stolen dye worked wonders to make it look nice, if not brand new. A quick use of a spell scroll freshens her up since she won't be so rude as to make Gale wait for her to fully bathe. A dab of sugared violet perfume and a shake of her curls, and she's ready as she'll ever be.
She reopens the door and curtsies deeply. "You are permitted to speak again."
"My apologies!" he calls through the door, and it's not clear whether he's
genuinely apologizing or intentionally flaunting this newly established
rule.
There's an entirely different person standing in the doorway when it
reopens, and Gale loses a few seconds to staring, eyebrows raised. "Um," he
says, clears his throat, then says, "Yes, well, we may begin the tour
properly at your leisure, madam."
Harley misinterprets his reaction and looks down at herself with a furrow between her brows. She smooths her hands down her front and worries a worn spot between her fingers.
"I didn't say that!" he blurts, not realizing that isn't actually a disagreement and that it makes it sound even more like that's exactly what he meant. "You look..." The word 'lovely' is the first thing to come to mind, but that sounds too much like flirting, which feels inappropriate, so he continues with, "Very put together, comparatively speaking."
"No no, wait!" He stretches out a hand, but doesn't actually touch her, feeling like that would be too presumptuous between strangers. "You look nice, honestly. I just didn't take you for the sort to wear dresses."
Different confused expressions flit across her face, because what ... what does that mean. How is she meant to take that? What sort of sort does he take her for?
"Well, I ... do? It's a very normal thing to wear."
"Yes, they are," he agrees, nodding way too hard and fast. He's so embarrassed and turning so red that he can't make eye contact, so he just stares at one of her cheekbones.
It's a little bewildering — people don't just do that, start conversations
over like they didn't happen — but he's relieved anyway, sighing and
deflating like a popped balloon when she closes the door.
When she opens the door again, he's ready for his third impression. "Indeed
we shall!" And he holds out his arm for her to take, trying to find his
footing as a perfect gentleman.
Harley rests her hand on the crook of his elbow and lets him lead her through the tour. He isn't allowed to rush through anything this time. She has follow up questions on everything he points out, sometimes asking for more information and sometimes pressing for his personal opinion. More than once she tugs him in a different direction because something catches her eye. Harley wants to know everything.
So different than the first time Gale rushed her through the tour, this
time he takes his time, answering all her questions in almost obnoxious
detail. When she argues, he seems to have even more fun, displaying a bit
of wit that hadn't yet been apparent.
By the time they're through, evening has fallen, and Gale looks surprised
to see the sky outside entirely dark. "Are you hungry?" he says.
Her stomach grumbles immediately at her question and it's her turn to flush red from embarrassment. She presses a hand to her gut as if she can shut it up that way.
"Are we allowed to eat off schedule?"
The last temples to take her in were very particular about rules and routines.
Gale blinks at the question like he wasn't expecting it, but then nods.
"Yes, we're allowed to eat outside of set mealtimes, but if you do, you're
on your own in preparing your food. I can make you something."
Unexpected kindness makes her imagine their wedding for a second before she can talk herself down. Someone being a little bit nice is no reason to lose her head. He probably gets extra credit for it.
Her adoring expression makes him beam. He's not entirely altruistic in his kindness, then — he is a good boy, his mother had made sure of that, but he also yearns for praise. "Then follow me, as the tour isn't yet complete!" He leads her first to the dining hall, just to show her where she would be having dinner if they hadn't run late on their tour.
Next, he heads towards the kitchens. "Apprentices are expected to help with dinner. You'll have an assigned day for kitchen work once per tenday. Whether or not you have any cooking experience, you'll have some task you can help with, and you'll pick up more skills as you go. I'll help get you acquainted with the layout." Unlike the dining room with its vaulted ceilings, this is a working kitchen not meant to impress. It is, however, large and clean, with a well stocked larder adjacent to it.
She finally releases his arm once they get to the kitchen, since he surely can't cook with her hand at his elbow. She clasps her hands behind her back and roams along the length of the counter.
"I have experience being kicked out of many kitchens. But I am fairly proficient at scrubbing!"
"A useful skill in a kitchen! What about chopping?" He heads into the larder to get what he needs, fetching onions, garlic,and tomatoes, amongst other things he nestles into a basket.
He had been holding out a knife, but at that he pulls it back to his chest,
brows furrowed. "I can't tell if you're joking. You really need all your
fingers; somatic components are more difficult without them."
He considers this for a long moment, knife still held close to his chest while he frowns. Finally he sighs, turns the knife around, and hands her the handle. "You are chaos. Let's see how chaos fairs at chopping an onion."
He gets out a cutting board and sets her up at a spot on the counter, eyeing her warily as he prepares the rest, getting out a pot, setting it over a flame he magics up, putting in a dollop of butter once he's got it heated.
She hums a tune as she chops the onion, something popular in Baldurian taverns. The cuts are rough and uneven in shape and size, but the onion is undeniably in multiple pieces. Technically a success.
The fumes sting her sinuses, so she's red-eyed and sniffly when she brings the cutting board over. If anyone asks, she will be saying that Gale's tour brought her to tears.
"Not bad," Gale agrees as he scoops the onions into the pan, where they start to sizzle. "But it will be easier if you hold the knife properly." Without asking permission, he puts his hand over hers, adjusting her grip. He also shows her how to curl the fingers of her off hand under so that she can grasp what she's cutting without risking her fingertips. He gives her peppers to chop next, standing beside her to finely chop garlic.
Something about him reaching across her and touching her hands makes her posture automatically switch to flirt mode. She stands up straighter and squeezes her arms against the sides of her ribcage, which makes her breasts plump together under her stays. She inclines her head just so to let her perfumed hair slip off her shoulder and expose the pale length of her throat. Her eyelids lower so she can peer through her lashes.
It's a cheap trick, but one that works often enough that it's become a habit.
The heat creeping up the back of her neck is entirely involuntary, however.
"So how were you selected for the grand high honor of being my guide?"
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Harley changes into one of her dresses. Temple-raised kids mostly get donated hand-me-downs but a little tailoring and some stolen dye worked wonders to make it look nice, if not brand new. A quick use of a spell scroll freshens her up since she won't be so rude as to make Gale wait for her to fully bathe. A dab of sugared violet perfume and a shake of her curls, and she's ready as she'll ever be.
She reopens the door and curtsies deeply. "You are permitted to speak again."
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"My apologies!" he calls through the door, and it's not clear whether he's genuinely apologizing or intentionally flaunting this newly established rule.
There's an entirely different person standing in the doorway when it reopens, and Gale loses a few seconds to staring, eyebrows raised. "Um," he says, clears his throat, then says, "Yes, well, we may begin the tour properly at your leisure, madam."
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"No good?"
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Harley shrinks into herself with a grimace and edges back into the room.
"Hold on, I'll change again."
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"Well, I ... do? It's a very normal thing to wear."
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Then she does exactly that.
"Mister of Waterdeep, shall we begin the tour?"
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It's a little bewildering — people don't just do that, start conversations over like they didn't happen — but he's relieved anyway, sighing and deflating like a popped balloon when she closes the door.
When she opens the door again, he's ready for his third impression. "Indeed we shall!" And he holds out his arm for her to take, trying to find his footing as a perfect gentleman.
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So different than the first time Gale rushed her through the tour, this time he takes his time, answering all her questions in almost obnoxious detail. When she argues, he seems to have even more fun, displaying a bit of wit that hadn't yet been apparent.
By the time they're through, evening has fallen, and Gale looks surprised to see the sky outside entirely dark. "Are you hungry?" he says.
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"Are we allowed to eat off schedule?"
The last temples to take her in were very particular about rules and routines.
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Gale blinks at the question like he wasn't expecting it, but then nods. "Yes, we're allowed to eat outside of set mealtimes, but if you do, you're on your own in preparing your food. I can make you something."
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Unexpected kindness makes her imagine their wedding for a second before she can talk herself down. Someone being a little bit nice is no reason to lose her head. He probably gets extra credit for it.
"I mean, I'm not going to turn that down!"
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Next, he heads towards the kitchens. "Apprentices are expected to help with dinner. You'll have an assigned day for kitchen work once per tenday. Whether or not you have any cooking experience, you'll have some task you can help with, and you'll pick up more skills as you go. I'll help get you acquainted with the layout." Unlike the dining room with its vaulted ceilings, this is a working kitchen not meant to impress. It is, however, large and clean, with a well stocked larder adjacent to it.
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"I have experience being kicked out of many kitchens. But I am fairly proficient at scrubbing!"
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She's made it this far in life without severing any noticeable parts, so she's probably not all that bad. Probably.
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He had been holding out a knife, but at that he pulls it back to his chest, brows furrowed. "I can't tell if you're joking. You really need all your fingers; somatic components are more difficult without them."
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"S'pose we'll find out together."
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He gets out a cutting board and sets her up at a spot on the counter, eyeing her warily as he prepares the rest, getting out a pot, setting it over a flame he magics up, putting in a dollop of butter once he's got it heated.
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The fumes sting her sinuses, so she's red-eyed and sniffly when she brings the cutting board over. If anyone asks, she will be saying that Gale's tour brought her to tears.
"Still got ten fingers. Not bad."
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Something about him reaching across her and touching her hands makes her posture automatically switch to flirt mode. She stands up straighter and squeezes her arms against the sides of her ribcage, which makes her breasts plump together under her stays. She inclines her head just so to let her perfumed hair slip off her shoulder and expose the pale length of her throat. Her eyelids lower so she can peer through her lashes.
It's a cheap trick, but one that works often enough that it's become a habit.
The heat creeping up the back of her neck is entirely involuntary, however.
"So how were you selected for the grand high honor of being my guide?"
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