Open RP Post

[andfire]

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.

♠♥♣♦

Comments

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

[andfire]

[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.]

[hanssome]

[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.]

[andfire]

[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.]

[hanssome]

[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.

[andfire]

[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.]

fuuuuck december

[hanssome]

[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.]

[andfire]

[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.]

[hanssome]

[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]

[andfire]

[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.]

any prose is fine i just started with 3rd person

[handsomefoil]

The first chill he felt on a perfectly sunny day (or rather, a day that was programmed to appear and feel sunny) took him by surprise. It was a gradual one, but he noticed thick snow falling heavily in his area and found it strange. Monad, strange? News at 11. He shrugged it off as a glitch and went on his way, not even realizing a certain wary and upset someone was nearby. His own mind and senses were occupied by what had happened not too long ago and didn't notice her there.

The next couple of times were more obvious. He saw her first before the sudden onslaught of ice and snow cut at his face alongside fierce winds which calmed to a brisk breeze after a few seconds. He didn't relate the weather to her at first, but he didn't question it, only because he knew nothing of her abilities. His eyes went to the ground, a hint of a shame rose to his cheeks in a faint red tint. It was rare for him to feel this way, but he knew it was what he deserved after such an abysmal mistake. He didn't know... and he couldn't convey that emotion to her because he didn't deserve it. He felt terrible for the first time in a long time. It was tempting to walk away, to avoid her completely, but he felt taking the punishment was the least he could do. There were no exchanges of words or even any eye contact. He'd remained where he was until the blizzard stopped or she walked away.

After a while of not seeing her around for a while, Henry found himself drinking again. Not in his room, of course, that place was a real buzz kill, but in the business district right in front of the movie theater sitting at a table that belonged to the neighboring restaurant. There was nobody around today. There were no places to go and have a drink, so he brought one of gin bottles with him. This one was full, after deciding that carrying two half-full bottles of gin was too cumbersome, he'd simply refilled one bottle with another. Next to the bottle of gin was a bottle of seltzer water and a couple of limes. A lot of drinks involving gin had lots of sugar in them, but he didn't like his drinks sweet.

Every now and then he swore felt a little chill, and his mind went back to Elsa. It wasn't so much that he felt terrible about it, but on top of that, he couldn't help but recall the emotions he'd gone through during that time he thought she was Sylvia. It also didn't help that she was also a blonde and beautiful, just like Sylvia. Two extreme opposites, yet that common ground made it hard for him to deny that there was an attraction there. It's no surprise to anyone that knew him well that he enjoyed the violence and that day had been no different, but there's a queasiness in his gut for enjoying it and feeling pity for her at the same time. His plan wasn't to get drunk off his ass, but he needed the haze.

He contemplated getting in contact with her somehow, but he wasn't sure how to go about exactly without arousing any suspicions from unrelated parties. Definitely couldn't do that over the network, but that was the only method he knew of that didn't involve knocking at each apartment, door-to-door. When he saw her again next- at least, he'd let her decide first if she even wanted anything to do with him.

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

[andfire]

There comes a point when waking upon the discovery of a new glitch is commonplace. Sometimes, it is really easy to miss them -- not realizing your hair has been changed to a different color, perhaps, or that you haven't spoken to anyone above a whisper all day. Other times, they are impossible to ignore. This is one of those other times.

It starts with waking up to a red silk ribbon tied to the left wrist. One that, no matter how many times it is untied, still finds its way back to the wrist in a perfect bow. The ribbon itself is innocuous enough, easy to ignore -- until there's the magnetic sort of pull on said ribbon, and thus on the wrist it is on. The pull itself, at first, is just as easy as the ribbon to ignore. But as the morning turns to afternoon, turns to dusk, it gets stronger and stronger until you cannot even lower your arm -- and you must follow where the pull is taking you.

So an invisible force has been tugging insistently on her hand on the better part of an afternoon. She had been content to ignore it for most of the day, but towards the evening she finds it's impossible to even sit down with a book before she's finding herself at the door of her apartment.

So she follows it. Quietly, through the halls of the apartment complexes, until it takes her to Souji's door. Distantly, she recognizes that something isn't entirely right. She's nervous, though she isn't entirely sure why.

Thankfully, he won't see her pacing in front of his door a few times before she gives a faint knock on it.

[andfire]

Fortunately for him, he would have to do neither of those things. It's one of those rare and beautiful days that can't keep even Elsa inside -- days that make her think of Arendelle in midsummer, when the wind still blew cool even when the sun was at its highest and hottest. A little muggy, but not uncomfortably so; enough to make the finer hairs on the back of one's neck stick to skin, but not enough for the skin to break out in a sweat. Anna would have said it was the perfect day to go shopping -- and so, as much as it makes her miss her sister to do so without her, she does.

Most of her gowns are too long and thick for this weather, anyway. The cold might not bother her, but the heat is a different story.

She sees him as she's on her way to go back to her apartment, with a simple bag in tow, and it makes her stop. Even though it's been a while since the glitch, she would be a liar if she said she didn't think about it constantly; didn't replay the moments she could remember.

(There are some moments she thinks about more than others, and it confuses her when she finds she can't stop thinking about them.)

A chill works its way through the air, bringing with it a few rogue snowflakes, but Elsa finds herself focusing on the drink in front of him and forcing it away. Something about it... about the drink...

Elsa finds herself walking toward him before she even knows what she's doing, each step closer making her heart pound harder. Her steps slow when she comes into his field of vision, until she stops at a nearby chair. She stares at him with a taut expression, and (without taking her eyes off of him) she pulls the chair out. Unlike her usual gowns, she's wearing a thin and flowy sundress, one that stops mid-calf. When she sits, she's careful to tuck the skirt underneath her before dropping down into the seat, and she watches him for another moment.

Her voice comes out terse, but in a way that's trying very hard to be polite.

"What does it taste like?"

The drink? Something else? He'll have to decide what she's asking.

[handsomefoil]

Henry had been too lost in thought and filled with enough drink to feel the light hum of a buzz coming on to notice her light footsteps, but as she nears he notices a single snowflake ride the wind past his face and his brows scrunch up in concentration. He's trying to remember why that bothers him until he finally looks up from the drink to see her walking towards him.

She's much too close now to pretend like he didn't see her, so his eyes are looking straight into hers as he leans back in his seat and simply watches. There's a small lump forming in his throat and he swallows thickly, fingers on the glass twirling it in short turns like one would screw in a bolt, and as she gracefully smooths her dress against her legs he finally breaks his gaze for a moment. He just needs a moment. He can feel her watching him and his jaw goes rigid in an attempt to stop any words from just thoughtlessly spilling out.

When she asks about the drink- a seemingly innocent enough question- he stares at it instead, gaze flickering up at her for only an instant before answering.

"Bitter."

If he had some simple sugar syrup, it would've been 'bittersweet', which would've been far more appropriate of a metaphor. Bitter still works fine, however.

[andfire]

"Bitter."

She's agreeing, although she has never indulged in alcohol such as this. Maybe it isn't about the drink at all.

Her expression hardens, with brows furrowing slightly and lips pursing. Her eyes study his, sharp, before dropping down to the amber liquid in the glass. The air grows chilly -- no snowflakes, this time, but should he breathe out he should be able to see his breath -- and Elsa sits up a little more straight in her chair.

"More than half of the human body consists of water," she begins slowly, as if she's not sure she wants to even say what she's thinking out loud. "I can freeze every last drop, if I so wanted to, and by all means I think it would be well deserved."

One delicate hand reaches out and traps the glass between her thumb and forefinger. She's careful not to touch him, cognizant of how easy it would be to turn his hand into solid ice as she plucks the glass away to inspect it closely.

She doesn't hide the way that the glass frosts over. It's a bold move, perhaps only the second time she has been so brazen with her magic in front of someone else, but...

When a man kills you, there is no longer room for secrets.

Her eyes flick back to him, staring squarely into his.

"But ...it would not make me any better, to do such a thing."

She knocks the shot back. By no means is she experienced in such a thing. It's obvious in how she has to actually swallow twice, and upon the second swallow one of her shoulders rise in a grimace. There is a soft sound in the back of her throat as she brings the glass down on the table, and brings her free hand up to swipe at her lips.

"Ugh. How can you even stand it?"

But her fingers are still wrapped around the glass.

Pour her another, Henry.

[handsomefoil]

When she echoes him, he does let out a breath. Then he dawns on him that his hunches were correct, that the ice and snow were most definitely connected to her. He says nothing, however, just idly twisting his glass again during the bit of silence before she starts to speak again.

He looks at her this time, hanging on to her every word with mounting interest. If she'd been so powerful, why didn't she protect herself? His mind races with different reasons and circumstances as she takes the glass from him- he retracts his hand with a bit of surprise- and watches the glass frost over. How...magical, he's tempted to say.

The foggy breath hanging in the air says it all. It's quite impressive. Perhaps it's not that she didn't wish to use her powers on him, but she simply couldn't. He remembers a few gestures and expressions of confusion or surprise on her face, especially when he first advanced towards her...he tries not to think too much about it. Especially when present company would notice.

"Mm." It's barely a grunt, and she knocks the drink back with some trouble. He's unable to hide the bit of a smirk, but he feels she probably needs it more than he does so he doesn't say anything about it.

"Practice," he replies, reaching for the gin and power about a finger's worth. The drink she'd taken was for him, so he'd made it a bit strong. "And the intended effects are worth it."

Then he tops it off with the seltzer water. Usually he prefers the more bitter taste of tonic water, but he didn't feel like shopping for more. Seltzer worked just fine, still bitter enough, and perhaps for the best if Elsa decides to keep drinking, which apparently she does.

He hadn't brought an extra cup, but he's fine with taking a break.

[andfire]

He would be quite handsome, if he smiled.

"Practice..." She watches him pour the drink with rapt interest, because it's easier to watch that than anything else. And once it's topped off, she brings it up to inspect it again before knocking it back. It goes down easier than the first, but her face still automatically pulls a grimace.

"It's probably hilariously ironic of me to say it... But I think I prefer for it to burn."

Her eyes drop away, but when they look back up again there's a faint smile in them. She reaches for the bottle this time -- frost prickles slowly across the glass from her fingertips -- and pours it herself this time. Two fingers' worth, just like he had done, but she doesn't top it off. This time she kicks it back easily -- a grimace -- and slides both the empty glass and the bottle toward him.

His turn.

"Who is Sylvia?"

[handsomefoil]

If he didn't know any better, he'd think he's found himself a great drinking partner. She's rather bold, and quite fearless judging by this encounter alone. Most people don't like to confront their killers so readily and couple that with possible intoxication.

He relaxes gradually as she drinks, the tangles of emotions and discomfort in his heart starting to unravel. His social skills are practiced, at best, but she's good at this. She's much better at dispelling the tension than he could ever hope to be. That's probably the perks of being genuinely a good person.

He gestures needlessly to the bottle as she takes it onto herself to pour her drink. He doesn't assume people's tolerance levels. Then raises an eyebrow as she ignores the seltzer and tips back the gin. Nobody really drinks straight gin, do they? At least, he doesn't enjoy it anymore... maybe back in the college days. Ah, those were the days.

As the bottle and glass are moved back towards him, he touches the rim of the glass where he lips had been and noticed a distinct chill. It's still fascinating, the icy powers she wielded, and perhaps could and would easily kill him in an instant. As he pours the gin, he chews at his lower lip and smiles. It's a smile out of nervous habit, and like Elsa, he doesn't top it off with the selzter either.

It's not that he's intentionally ignoring or avoiding her question, but he'd rather get the drink down before he goes into it. He lets out a hiss, baring his teeth slightly at the strong taste and then sets the glass down.

"She's my ex," he says flatly. There's a bit of a pause before he continues. "Though...it's hard to truly explain who she is."

[andfire]

Fearless, or inexperienced. It burns like hellfire, and she has to fight not to suck a breath in through her teeth, but there's something strangely solid about the burn and the taste. Something satisfying, like scratching an itch that is difficult to reach.

She relaxes when she hears him hiss. Perhaps it's knowing that she wouldn't have been the only one to react in such a way. It's as though a layer of formality falls away as she leans against the table to listen to him speak. Next time, if there is a next time, she won't fight it as hard.

Her nose is warm, even a little pink, and her lips are starting to tingle. It makes her focus on his lips, wondering if his are doing the same.

"She hurt you. Deeply."

It's not a question.

"... no one holds that much anger for someone who had not hurt them deeply."

[handsomefoil]

From his point of view, he'd be much like Elsa. It's not like him to hold a grudge against anyone for something they had no control over. Not saying he didn't have a choice, but he had no idea it was Elsa. She was the furthest thing from his mind when he'd been stuck in that room with nothing but his own anger and regrets. Her curious body language and openness further relaxes him and he tips a little splash of gin into the glass.

The tingle is more on his tongue than his lips, but he's felt the sensation before she even came to view. It's not quite numbing yet, but it's a pleasant distraction and he's not a heavy drinker. He can still form coherent thoughts.

Can't say much for his emotions, though. He has to fight to keep those in check as she continues the conversation about Sylvia. Perhaps it is time he actually talked about it in a healthy way, rather than bottle it up so tight that it hurts and leads up to killing her on sight.

"Aye, she did, as she did countless others I imagine, but that's no excuse." The seltzer gets poured in this time. He likes to pace himself. "I should never've lashed out the way I did, but I did. Extremely unprofessional...immature. Terrifying."

He doesn't drink the whole thing all at once, now sipping thoughtfully. "I don't expect forgiveness, but I do want ye' to know how deeply ashamed I am. I'm sorry, Elsa."

[andfire]

Elsa's gaze follow his hands (more specifically, his fingers, and how they hold onto the bottle and then the glass) while he fixes the drink. Distantly, it makes her think of the way those fingers had (gently) caressed her face while she choked on air and blood. They way they held her close. Those hands had done other things too, terrible things, but in the haze of the moment the terrible things, somehow, come second to the others.

It takes her a moment to realize what he's saying, and when she does she closes her eyes and returns to sitting up completely straight again. Formal.

"Don't." Her voice is gentle, but firm. "What's done is done."

She reaches for the glass again. This time, she isn't careful to not touch him. Her fingertips lightly draw along the back of his hand (cool, but not cold) before she plucks it from his grasp, swirls it, and finishes it off. Again, she grimaces, and again, she welcomes the burn. Any other time, she would probably find it incredibly rude to do such a thing, but...

... But when a man kills you, there's also no room for overt politeness.

She finishes off the drink, and moves to pour another. Three fingers full, topped off with seltzer. Rather than drink it this time, she holds the glass out to him; not necessarily for him to take, but rather... (and this is, perhaps, a testament to how foolishly bold she's starting to feel)... to just drink from her hand.

(Though he is still very much free to take it from her, if he's more inclined.)

"The past is in the past."

She is very clearly not just talking about their little incident, but Sylvia, too.

[handsomefoil]

The abrupt forgive and forget mindset is a pleasant surprise, though it makes plenty of sense. As long as he's absolutely sure of it, he can finally let out a breath of relief. Even just breathing normally around her is a welcome feeling- he's not used to being uncomfortable like this around people. If he's going to be short of breath, he'd rather it be for other reasons.

"Right..." He begins to say, but this his words trail off as the cool touch of her fingers trace along the back of his hand and his skin tingles. Much like how his tongue does at the moment, feeling the carbonation of the seltzer and burn of gin hit him a little harder now. It's nothing like Sylvia's touch, for hers was hot and piercing, no matter how softly she touched. Elsa's, however, are the complete opposite and it's a welcoming sensation.

In a sick sort of way, the fact that he'd killed her so passionately, despite her not actually being Sylvia, made it feel reasonable. Perhaps she felt the same because he can't imagine that a cue like that could be on accident.

Her gesture isn't entirely clear. It simply looks like she's offering him a...very full drink. So he simply takes it from her, though with the way she's holding it out to him instead of sliding it across the table towards him, he doesn't pass up the chance to brush his own fingertips along hers. With a nod, he doesn't verbally respond, but is also preparing himself for the next drink. Two gulps, he thinks.

"Ach- wow," he mumbles, coughing a little. "I'm not as young as I used to be, you know." He sets the glass down and pours three fingers worth plus the selzter. He's running out of seltzer. Not for himself, of course. Mimicking Elsa, he holds it out to her as well in a way that's challenging her.

[andfire]

"You're keeping up well enough..."

It is a quiet, but subtly playful tone. Forgiven? Not quite. Forgotten? Not quite that, either. But she's willing to set it aside, at least until she's ready to deal with it. The ironic thing is that she's starting to feel the alcohol now, how it makes her ears and nose feel warm, and her lips tingle, and --

She watches his lips while he drinks. It makes her think of what it had felt like when he touched them to her forehead. How oddly passionate the gesture had been.

She watches his hands while he pours. He has nice hands. Terrible, yes. Dangerous, yes. But nice.

Her own hands feel a little heavy as she reaches for the drink. It's hard to say if she realizes how she leans over the table to do it.

Challenge, accepted.

But just as she takes the glass, she also reaches out with her other hand to circle her fingers around his wrist and hold it in place. The hold is light and very easy to pull away from, if he felt so inclined to do so. And if he doesn't, she smoothes her hand along the back of his as if to cradle it --

-- sips the drink, grimaces; the thought occurs to her that she should probably slow down, even if she doesn't want to --

-- and brings his hand to rest his palm against her cheek in a decidedly familiar gesture.

[handsomefoil]

Despite his suave and charming persona, the one that he usually puts on for public display, Henry finds himself being more attracted to women who took initiative. He's not bothered by that in the least. He likes it, and he does so much taking on his own that it's exciting for someone else to do it for a change.

There's a small click in the back of his mind when he thinks about the way he'd died, but it's quickly lost as he watches Elsa lean over the table. Her dress is different from the gown (ripped and torn, sheer in spots, and silky to the touch) and his gaze skims over the slight curve of her shoulder as she balances her weight against the table, the way her clavicle is pronounced against her skin, and the dark shadows of her dress against her neckline as it crinkles from her efforts.

He's distracted enough that he doesn't see her hand go for for his wrist and his whole body stiffens. It's just a reflex. Her touch is gentle enough that he manages to relax, whoever, and as she guides his hands up, his lips part slightly in anticipation because he recognizes this feeling- this gesture. He purses his lips tight, fingers twitching, brushing them against the fine hairs near her ear and without the gloves to hinder the sensation, he plays with them fondly.

Did she enjoy that? He recalls the moment they shared, and it was possibly the most physically trying moment for her, he'd imagine.

"Perhaps... you should slow down." His words come out a little choked, mostly from how dry his throat feels. Eyes still fixed on Elsa's, his thumb strokes her cheek, the circular motion of it starting to draw his focus. The position of his hand shifts a little, fingers curling around her jaw and under her chin, tipping it up slightly.

His other hand is there to pluck the drink from her hand and he takes a sip from it himself, but quickly sets it down with a clatter as he pushes himself out of his seat a bit to close the gap between them. It's a chaste touch, but he brushes his lips against her forehead like he'd done before. It sends a chill down his spine, recreating a scene that they were both trying to forget, but there were bits and pieces of it that he could not forget as much as he tried.

[andfire]

There is a part of her that hopes, in recreating the moment, that she would find her senses and back away from him, possibly for good; that she would recognize how foolish this is, and grow wise from it. She almost desperately wants for it to happen, because then it would make sense.

Instead, she closes her eyes.

This close, she can smell him -- very faintly of cotton and leather, and a hint of alcohol -- and feel the breath on her face. It sends a wash of visible goosebumps across her shoulders and down her back. The only reason why she doesn't shiver from it is because of the pleasant buzz between her ears. An overwhelming sort of calmness that she honestly can't remember ever having experienced. Not since Anna --

Her eyes open, and she searches his face, as if looking for something that isn't there.




... He's not close enough.

(Did she really just think that?)

"Perhaps you should catch up..." It comes out low and heady, and she isn't sure why she said it at all, other than it seems like an appropriate thing to say to get him to do it again. There's a part of her that wants to reach for the glass to sip it, as if to prove her point --

-- instead she reaches for his hand and tilts her head back into his palm to brush her lips against it.

[handsomefoil]

Henry doesn't pull away even after kissing her forehead, but breathes lightly against her skin in a strange sort of bliss. Human contact like this isn't something he indulges in much without an ulterior motive, and his entire being aches at how gentle it is.

She looks at him with such searching eyes, but he can't quite read her expression, something deep within him wishing he could offer her what she wanted.

"I-," He stops mid-sentence, one: because it seems like a rhetorical statement anyway and two: the feeling of her lips on his skin makes him inhale deep. An action so small and simple yet it stops him in his tracks. Without a word, he picks up the drink and knocks the whole thing back. Lips slightly wet from the drink (he hardly notices), he maneuvers around the small table in a quick motion despite the buzzing in his brain, and places a gentle but deep kiss on her lips. His palm had moved away just enough for him to reach her, but now that same palm pushing her chin up towards him.

He needs her close.

His gin-addled mind suddenly turns into a one-track mind, but he fights, oh he fights. The other hand reaches for her free hand and brings it up to his own, curling his fingers around hers to get those nails wrapped around his ear like she had before. His mouth remains still, as tempting as it is to keep going, barely hovering over hers in a valiant attempt for self-control.

"I think... we're all caught up, yes?"