andfire | Open RP Post

Open RP Post

Open RP Post

♦ All characters are allowed to interact, regardless of being in a game with Elsa or not.
♠ This is an IC-spam post; only character journals, please.
♥ Doubles and threadjacking are allowed for maximum derp.
♣ 4th-walling: is allowed; Elsa can take it. She will likely just think you're crazy.
♦ Wank and OOC matters will be deleted.
♠ Crit will be redirected to the HMD

♠♥♣♦

This post has no established setting, to allow for any sort of thread. Voicetesting, smut, derp, violence, angst, crack, memes, any other shenanigans I might be missing are acceptable.

Also backtagging.

Lots of backtagging.

♠♥♣♦

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It starts with a party.

More specifically, a ball, but that is neither here nor there. Ariel is a city full of people from unimaginable walks of life, so it is something of a relief to be able to engage with someone who comes from a seemingly similar background as herself. Hans of the Southern Isles makes no secret of that when he talks about growing up in a castle with twelve older brothers.

Twelve. Elsa isn't even sure if her father had employed that many servants.

There is a little bit of wine, enough to just faintly tickle the nose, and a lot more talking. There is a lot of watching people as they arrive, and dance, and eat, and drink, and dance some more, only to cart off in pairs (and sometimes in threes and fours and groups of more...) There isn't any dancing, at least not on Elsa's part -- even here, without the thrum of her magic in her fingertips, she does not feel very confident in herself to approach anyone long enough to initiate anything like that -- but she is more than content to watch and even giggle faintly (albeit behind an apologetic glance) when a drunken girl cuts in on their conversation to drag Hans out into the floor for a dance.

And toward the end of it all, even if she had kept to herself the whole night, she finds herself feeling strangely comfortable and content.

It's Hans who insists on escorting her back to her apartment at the ball's conclusion. But, as pragmatic and practical as she is, it's Elsa who invites him inside with the insistence of a cup of tea. The invitation comes as only a slight surprise to herself -- she's never invited anyone inside her apartment before -- but she still finds herself mildly insistent on it.

And here they are now in her kitchen, still (fully) dressed in their good clothing, and halfway through their respective mugs of tea. Elsa finds herself thinking of the ball. She finds herself thinking of the people, and how they danced -- some within very close proximity! -- and the way that they touched, and wanted to touch, and wanted to be touched. She thinks of how her fingers don't hum and tingle with magic, and she thinks of what it would be like to touch as well.

So she does.

Elsa has kept to herself the entire night, hardly even moving to extend a hand even in greeting, but she waits until she is in the middle of saying something (whatever it is, it's unimportant) before lowering her tea and reaching out to very delicately trace her fingertips along the lengths of his fingers curled around his own mug. It's hard to not feel the small blossom of panic in her heart when she does, hard to not feel like maybe she was wrong about not having her magic, and so for a split second she almost takes her hand back.

But his hand is warm. Undoubtedly, it is because of the tea, but it is really, really warm.

If there's a way to describe the look on her face as she watches her hand curl around his, it's almost enraptured.]

I'm sorry... [She starts very slowly, eyes not leaving her hand as it rests over his. Her thumb brushes along the back of his hand in a faint and reverent sort of way.

(So warm.)]

I forgot to ask if you even liked tea.

[It's horribly rude to ask a question and not meet his gaze, but she's rather taken with how her hand fits over his, and it's hard to look away from it.]

[For all that Hans is thrown through a loop in a place like this, there are aspects he can pick up on quickly. Balls were familiar, mingling came as natural to him as breathing. Smiles, pleasantries and feigned interest in anyone who happens upon his way.

At least, there's one person for whom his interest is sincere, and he does his best to let it show. Never in his life had he imagined he'd be here, of course, but to be here with Elsa of all people adds another layer of surprise. Here they are, far removed from the rumors of how remarkably withdrawn she is, far removed from the sister he'd redirected his interest to. As a younger man he'd set his sights on Elsa, but the tales of her disinterest in human contact had extinguished those embers before they could really grow to be a flame. He holds little interest in a goal he can't reach quickly, not when he can pave his own paths.

It's remarkable just how much can change when you're uprooted from every thing and every person you've ever known and placed somewhere entirely different. Even more so with someone like Elsa, who was even more ill-fitted to a place like this than he was. He holds no obligation to her, of course, but he's fascinated. Never in his life did he expect to escort the future Queen home after a ball, to be invited into her home and to drink tea with her. He may be insidious, but there's nothing that means more to him than feeling important.

So he stays by her side, watches over her and treats her with the warmth of a fried, but there's an inevitability about this place that makes him wonder just how platonic their relationship can remain, feigned as it is. He expects circumstances might lead to a change, but he doesn't expect Elsa to initiate it. To anyone else, it would seem like such a small gesture, but Hans knows enough about Elsa to be intrigued.

His brows raise in surprise, a change from the eased smile that had been gracing his face throughout the conversation. There's no reason not to look taken aback, though he'll laugh it off with a gentle, good natured chuckle.]

Don't tell me it's a spider- [He starts, but his voice falters when her hand doesn't leave his, surprise not leaving his expression even as his smile returns.]

Elsa.. [It's the beginning of a sentence with no end, because he only needs to say her name to be reassuring. His free hand raises, ghosting over the back of hers gently as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It's brazen, really, both as a gentleman and as someone aware of what she's capable of, but he's never been one to shy away from a risk if there's something to be gained from it.]

I love tea. [There's a strange sort of conviction in his voice when he says that. He just barely leans in so his green eyes can search out her blue, as if he needs to make her absolutely certain of his words.]

Edited 2014-12-02 11:29 (UTC)

[She is looking close enough at her hand -- looking at the way that it folds so very delicately over his, and at how much larger his hand is than her own -- that she can follow the faint creases in his knuckles with her eyes. For a moment, she tries to imagine small blooms of frost blossoming within those creases, spreading and swirling along each of his fingers until they are frozen solid. She almost expects it, really, and at such expectation she almost takes her hand back.

Nothing happens, of course. There's no magic with which to make it happen.

She takes her hand back, anyway. Not when his fingertips brush against it, but rather when he leans in to look at her. The action is a little rushed -- she lightly fists her hand over her heart, just over the cut of her gown -- but she tries hard to remain poised. Blue eyes meet green with a look that is almost a little owlish.

But she doesn't step away, even if she does consider it.]

It's a little sweeter, here. [She murmurs, reigning in her expression and finally bringing her tea back up to take a sip. Future Queen or not, her bottom lip comes back wet. She brings her hand up to brush it dry, and returns to watching his hand.] I believe it's the honey. It's different.

[Different, in how it makes her tongue and lips faintly tingle. Or maybe that is just her imagination.]

[If there were ever a point in which Hans wanted the ability to read minds, it pales in comparison to right now. He's good at reading social cues, he's good at reading into situations, but even he's feeling a little perplexed by the way she studies him. It's such a strange and sincere gesture from the woman who had closed herself off almost as artfully as himself, he can't help the way it sets a prickle up the back of his neck.

He feels powerful in this moment, to be caressed by the Ice Queen with no ill effects. It's as if she just unlocked a door that she'd had closed for years, as if she discreetly granted him some form of permission, but for what he could not say.

There is a subject they've managed not to really breach. Sex. For all they're surrounded by it, for all he engages with others to protect himself, they've managed to stay within their bubble quite well. There's only so long they can exist here and pretend that there isn't something between them. Chemistry is powerful, the little sensations of attraction are intensified when it becomes clear that such feelings should be indulged.]

A lot of things are sweeter here. [He says that casually, conversationally, bringing his tea back to his lips to blow faintly on the amber liquid. His eyes don't leave hers through the gesture, though his expression remains innocent enough.] I don't think I mind it so much. [It's hard to say whether he means the tea or being here.] A little change never hurt anyone, after all.

[Elsa is inclined to believe he's talking about the tea. After all, she just mentioned it, and now she's taking another sip of it, and...

His eyes might not leave hers, but hers briefly drop down to his lips when he speaks. Briefly follow their curve. She would be a liar if she said she wasn't at least vaguely curious about them. Vaguely curious about the way they might feel, vaguely curious about the way they might taste --

She busies herself with sipping the tea once more. Her tongue tingles again.

A little change never hurt anyone, after all.

It's impossible to not think that the words were directed at her. Tightness constricts across her chest, and she finds herself lightly turning her head in a way so as to search his face a little closer.] No, it hasn't.

[She hardly knows this man, at least in the capacity that Elsa believes that she should know a man, and yet that fact is becoming more and more mutable as time goes on. There's a part of her that regrets the feeling that her practicality is slipping. There's another part of her that is screaming at her to let be what will be.

Let be -- she reaches out again, this time to tug at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, as if to straighten it-- what will be.]

I think I find it a little exciting, actually... [It's probably a bit (a lot) of an overstatement, or perhaps something said out of trying to reassure herself of this fact, as if that would make it more real. Her hand lingers at the cuff of his sleeve for a moment, before she draws her fingers over the fine threads and ghosts her fingertips back up his arm and to his elbow.]

[She's basically the last cupcake on the plate for how Hans is watching her now. It's an almost guilty kind of desire, like he's waiting for the right moment to snatch something he's had an eye on for a while. He watches her carefully as his words weigh on her, as he expected they would. They were intended to be meaningful, but the subtlety makes it easier for her to think she's calling the shots here.

She's the one who will approach it as she will, he's just being conversational.]

What's the saying again? A life without risk is a life not lived? Although I rather like to think they weren't talking about tea. [That one was a little less subtle, but it's said as her hands reach out for him again. She's bidding him closer, so he moves in. Just a little. Enough that his height can cusp over her with more intimacy, so he needs to look down at her rather than across at her. He ducks his head some, keeping his eyes fixed on hers when he does.

He's a tease. He won't kiss her, he won't touch her. He'll just enter her space and bid her right back. It's an open invitation, but a vague one at best.]

[Oh...

A hint of color flourishes across her cheeks. The air is suddenly very thin. Curious.

Elsa's hand ticks back away from his elbow when he moves in, as if suddenly afraid to touch it. She lowers her own head, suddenly finding the starch collar at his throat very interesting.]

I believe it's something like that... [Come to think of it, though, his throat is very interesting, especially in conjunction with the curve of his jaw, and the shape of his lips.]

[It's hesitant, and she almost stops herself halfway through, but she brings her hand up to rest her palm against his jaw and draws her thumb over his cheek. Warm. The corner of his mouth is almost touching the heel of her hand, and for a very brief moment she pictures him turning his head just enough to touch them against her palm, which leads her to wonder what it would be like to feel them there, and against her neck, and against the hollow of her throat --

-- she doesn't even realize how she's moved closer to where they are almost belly-to-belly, now.

Without bringing herself to look away, she sits her tea down on the counter.]

Yes.

[It's hard to say if that is to confirm her previous thought, or to grant him some kind of unspoken permission. It's probably a little bit of both. Her hand moves back just enough so that her fingers can curl behind the nape of his neck, and she draws him down to her. Her lips touch his as her other hand takes his own tea to rest it on the counter as well. It isn't really a kiss; it isn't really not a kiss, either.

For a brief instant, she's content to just free his hand from holding his tea to let him do with it what he pleases. But the instant is over just as quickly, because she's guiding his hand to rest against the sequined fabric of her gown at her hip. Her lips part against his in something that is a little more genuine. Hesitant, but genuine.

The air is still thin, and her heart is pounding, but it's impossible to ignore the flutter of excitement in her chest.]

[He studies every movement she makes carefully, the curiosity is reflected in his eyes as they focus on her. It's clear she's the most interesting thing in this room, the kitchen might as well be pitch black and nonexistent for all he cares about it and anything but her. There's something about it that's akin to watching a child take its first steps, he doesn't want to breath too hard and startle her as she finds confidence in her actions. He doesn't want to seem idle, but he's a lion stalking prey in this moment.

Every rise and fall of her chest, every flick and flutter of her eyes and lashes, shift of her stance and twitch of her fingers is leading to a point she's slowly making. He's enthralled by what she's showing him, and he can't hide that from his eyes. His interest is burning in them, he's barely breathing when her soft hand that's just barely warmed by the tea rises to touch his face.

His eyes flick down, as if feigning something polite when he knows where she's going with this and wants for her to proceed. It could be called submissive to take the observant approach, but he wants for this to be entirely initiated by her.

Though he bends easily to the hand on his neck, he draws in a gasp of surprise as she connects their lips together. His eyes widen, but he feigns that hesitation briefly until she goes so far as to take his tea from him. His eyes flicker down to being almost shut, but not enough that he'll miss the whole show. His hand hardly needs the guidance, but the assurance that she wants to be touched is enough for him.

His hand slides past her hip to splay on the small of her back, the other trailing up her spine to trace his fingers into the fine ends of her hair. The part of her lips is enough for him to cusp their lips better, letting his bottom lip drag over hers gently and coaxingly]

[His fingers trail along the dip in her back, and she arches a little with it, as if bending to conform to the way he's cusped over her. She isn't aware of it at first, between fighting the expectation of a sudden burst of magic that won't come and letting herself just experience the feeling of his lips against hers. It's only when she feels his fingers toying with the end of her hair that she does, and she breaks away with a quiet gasp. They are still almost nose-to-nose when she ducks her chin a little, with eyes darting a little wildly between his with something that can only be described as guilt.

Ah. This is... Probably not what Prince Hans had in mind when he had offered to escort her home from the ball. Not that Elsa wouldn't put it past some of the more less-than-savory characters Ariel had to offer, of course, but Hans had never treated her with anything less than undivided respect. It would be intolerable of her to take advantage of that--

-- the neckline of her gown is cut to leave most of her shoulders bare, and one of those shoulders begins to rise, as if she is about to push herself away, at least until something flashes across her eyes (something a little wild, and not easy to put into words) and she brings one hand to draw her plait over her shoulder, as if to move it out of his way. She takes a deep breath as her eyes fall back down to the curve of his bottom lip.

-- and everything moves in one swift motion. Her eyes sweep back up to his, as if asking for the briefest confirmation (she even gives a faint nod, yes) before falling shut again as she brings both of her hands to his face, keeping him in place as her back straightens again and she meets him in a far more definitive kiss. She takes a quick breath through her nose and holds it as she cants her head to meet him openly, daring a quick taste of his bottom lip before trapping it between her own.

She twists a little in her place so that her back meets the counter, drawing him along with her so that she is effectively trapped between it and him, and dares another quick taste of his mouth.

Followed by another. And another; each one more fervent than the last.]

if you breathe in, then i breathe in and slowly let go

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fuuuuck december

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any prose is fine i just started with 3rd person

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the spaces in between two minds and all the places they have been

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