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Messages - Aramis Dupuis

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1
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: June 18, 2020, 01:19:20 AM »
"Mm" it started below, his ribacge and ground out, rocks tumbling over sand. Desires melted together, merging into skin, soft, warm. Slick heat and the familiar-unique taste of her.

Menace of a woman, of a wife, indeed. Her breath and then lips across his brow, her arms around his shoulders. Her scent, mixing with the sea air. Salt, skin, sweat - and beneath his grazing teeth, her blood, pumping faster and faster. The hungry flutter of his heart smoothed out, teasing the edges of the shade of him. He leaned up, dragged his mouth against her throat. He pressed the ridge of his teeth against her throat.

Desirable. And Aramis was not one to deny himself his desires.

Hands at hip and shoulder he pulled her closer, pulled them down. Palms over elbows, down flanks. Fingers teasing hair, and Aramis could have stayed there, like that, for far longer than Pella would allow. Even as the change in angle had him hissing between his teeth, pressed from hips to chest and pinned by her, as much as he would allow.

Blinking up at her, eyes heavy lidded, he brought a palm up to rest against her cheek, fingers curling back behind her ear. "Impertinent and deviant." He concluded. "What should be done with you?" His thumb traced below her eye, hips rolling up in a slow drag. Several images floated through his mind, fingers, mouths, teeth, tongue. Pella, spread out below him in much the same way he was then, hair tangling in the grass. The press of her against his chest was grounding and freeing, as warm as the rising rush of his Green as he relaxed into it, letting it hang over them like a fine mist. Deterrent and reminder. 

2
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: May 12, 2020, 01:42:54 AM »
Her touch was so novel, always. Aramis might remain distant form the network of their house, an orbiting presence, but Pella was the only one that saw this of him. The one best suited to show his toothy edges.

The drag of her fingers over the shaft of his spear, nails through course hair, the sensitive, twitching skin of his sack; it was almost a threat in itself, if not for the way she kissed. No guarded aggression behind her teeth, even with his tongue in her mouth.

Dress gone, Aramis' arms tightened around her, caught between caste instinct and heated ache. He knew they were tucked away, hidden, safe. He knew. But her bare skin to the air was vulnerability, and his hands flexed over her back and hip, knees drawing up to slide her closer. He bit her bottom lip as he drew back from their kiss, tugging in reprimand for her pushiness before nosing across her throat.

"And you're an impertinent wife," he said against her skin. Impertinent and impatient. It was tempting to tease her further, push farther, but he hadn't the patience. Following the slope of his thighs, boot soles to the ground, he rolled his hips up and pulled her down in one. His hands slid up beneath her hair to hold her still while he adjusted, pushing up in little involuntary rolls until he could reign himself in. Breathe. Stroke his hands down her sides in steadying sweeps to rest on her hips.

3
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: May 10, 2020, 12:25:09 AM »
Humming warmth rose higher and higher with each pass of her fingers, flowing out along his shoulders, up his neck, down his spine to his groin. Fingernails and knuckles, the resting weigh of her in his lap, the different texture of her nipple against his lips and tongue. Points of contact that split and narrowed his focus. Points of contact that let him relax further, sink deeper into his flush hunger. He wanted his wife. His wife wanted him.

And she would have him, he thought, even the edges and the shadows. It would be Aramis' game to see where she would flinch and where she would push forward.

Her sounds felt amplified, pressed so close. The expansion of her ribs fascinating against the palm at her back. So much skin, free for him to explore. He wanted to track the fluttering muscles of her chest with his mouth, ignoring her insistent fingers to lick and kiss below her breast. He resisted her for a beat, curious, hungry for her response.

But her fingers around his base were another consideration, and he weighed his desires, finding one wanting.

His mouth followed his eyes, from breast to collarbone, collarbone to throat before his lips met hers. His eyes stayed slitted open while he helped her ease his spear form his pants, breathing out through his nose at the release. Blood humming, he rolled his hips up toward her, teasing her with his nearness.

4
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: May 05, 2020, 10:27:48 PM »
Not quite the affirmation Aramis had wanted, but better to have it all the same. It was only them, and he could sooth away the edges inside by focusing on her instead. On the curve of her shoulders revealed by her dress, the fabric drooping further as she shifted. The play of her hair against her neck, the shadows of her eyelashes, the hollow of her throat.

Perhaps he would return to more than just memories, later. The idea felt heady, like relaxing into the Green. His Pella, caught and catching all at once.

The suspended fear in her was intriguing, heady in its own way. Not distracting, at least not to Aramis. Her shifting drew his attention back down, watching the small hairs rise across her skin. The drag of her fingers had him responding in kind, prickling lines that followed her nails across his scalp. Eyes closed at the touch of her lips to his brow, back and shoulders curling slightly at the passage of her fingers. The shirt fabric was a hindrance, so he vanished it.

The hand at her nape flexed, nails to skin for a heartbeat before the flat of his palm followed the curve of her back, supporting her arch. Lips tracking a ghost trail of kisses to the peak of one nipple where he held it between his teeth. Thumb pressing more firmly, he sought the dampness of her while he debated the ties of his pants. A flicker of Craft to loosen them, pressure slightly abating, and a breath of satisfaction let free in his chest. A hum with a hungry edge.

*If it pleases you,* he sent as he traced her nipple with his tongue. She could call it whatever she wanted. Aramis would call it a plot, and deal with it later.

5
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: April 14, 2020, 01:07:10 AM »
The shade of her was unique. Aramis was not often on his back, and never with women. Something Pella might find appealing, if he ever decided to tell her. He found the perspective wasn't displeasing, and marked it as another thing to return to. The brush of her hair over exposed skin, light as a ghost, narrowed his focus. The scrape of her nails. The flex of her rib cage. The pull of muscle to inhale and be that much closer.

Her dress lifted over her knees, and there was a flash of shadowed warmth that matched her weight in his lap, over his spear. The pull of his pants was an intriguing barrier, one he didn't vanish. Her hand across his cheek. Familiar in shape and texture, warm. He turned his nose to the inside of her wrist, pressed his lips there in the shadow of a kiss. Let her palm hide the corner of his mouth as he gazed up at her. Fabric parting, sleeves shrugged down her arms, and Aramis as witness, took her in with hungry deliberation. The sweep of her collar bones. The slope of her breasts. Her dark nipples tightening at the change in temperature. The prickles along their soft undersides. The space between them.

His hand was around her wrist before his eyes got past the smooth skin of her sides and the sweep to her stomach. "Ch," he chided. He set her hand aside, brushing the backs of his knuckles against the soft skin where pelvis joined hip. His thumb brushed across dark curls.

One eyebrow lifted, the rest of his expression stilled. "No small clothes, wife?" He let mild amusement soften him, tried to smooth the ripples of disquiet. "Was this your plan?" It would be better to pretend it was, even if he brought a lie out of her. He didn't want to throw his brother's name as a pall over them, aware of how tremulous their little bubble was. Aramis had kept himself as ignorant as possible of what Emile did with their wives, and if it was something he had asked of her - it sat uncomfortably. Darkened the hungry edge into something less pleasant.

He rose up toward her, as though pulled by a string. Opposite hand to the nape of her neck, thumb behind one ear. He pressed his forehead against her sternum, breathed deep the warmth of them, the scent of her. Tried to smooth the edges of himself back down.

Eyes tilted up to look at her from his new angle at her chest. Gaze unblinking, caught in deliberation, aware of the edge of his own teeth and their particular weight. He allowed himself to taste the skin there instead of pressing his teeth against her. Debated running his hands through her hair, or palming the opposite breast, thumbing lightly across the nipple. Instead he left them as they were, fingers at her nape brushing her hair, the thumb below stroking over curls, steady in its rhythm. He could wait.

6
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: March 29, 2020, 05:45:50 PM »
The heat reached a steady simmer, a thrum of intrigue and desire that followed his pulse. Gaze locked on her own, Aramis tracked the little movements of her pupils, the muscles around her eyes. He couldn't quite silence it, but he could come back, later, to the memories of her satisfying weight in his lap and turn each over in his mind.

For now, the present. Her roaming fingers, not quite asking, but hesitating a fraction all the same. A subtle change in temperature at their final decision, fabric parting. A flush of warmth, a prickling in his sternum. His wife. There was something of his hungry shadow that craved it, too, her attention. Maybe more partner to his caste, something not to be fed too frequently either way. But, tempered, he could let himself take it. Allow it to be given.

The heat in him rose at her affirmation. The security of her in his lap pleased. The press of her teeth to his skin had his eyelids drooping in a languorous blink. Surprise and curiosity flickered. A back-of-his-molars feeling, like when his own prey was within his grasp. Diminished slightly when she took his thumb further, tension in his belly drawing tighter instead. The less dangerous of the two. But the desire to bite was still there. To consume, if not wholly. Later, maybe.

"Mm," he breathed. Hand on her hip, steady, he leaned back, legs straightening out beneath her has he did so. Careful only to jostle her toward his spear, rather than away. The movement extracted his thumb from her mouth with a little pop, and he brought the digit to his own lips to flick his tongue out and taste the moisture there. Spread below her, curls fanning into the grass beyond the blanket, he found he wasn't displeased by the image of her astride him. Something else for later.

"And how would she like him?" He rumbled. His free hand found her leg, the curve of her thigh through her dress. Breathing momentarily not filled with the scent of her to hush things best kept from the 'bedroom'.

7
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: February 26, 2020, 12:48:45 AM »
"Oh?" Teeth, then, just an edge, just the firmness of them. Like a threat, but not quite. Not when he didn't have to be. Not when there were better uses for teeth and tongue and mouth. "Just?" Silly Pella, to think herself just. Nothing of his was just. He liked this heat of theirs, this closeness. Something easy, like the press of his lips against her cheek. He indulged, and did it twice.

The trace of her fingers through fabric, under fabric, on skin. Heat that followed, spooling, warm. Heat to drown the hungry thing and wake a different ache. Heat that ran from each touch, down, coiling in, tighter, tighter. An answering tightness in his groin, the stretch of his pants. Slow, but present. Never quite able to break ahead of thought, never quite unattached from watching her. Her knee slid across his lap, her arm around his neck. The headiness of her weight driving his jaw to flex. Close, almost enough. Surrounded in the scent of her, flush and warm. Almost, almost.

"Mm," her mouth on his throat, warm and moist. Her touch, leading, his attention pinned to it. Here, now, her. This game, theirs.

Mine, mine, mine.

One hand at her hip, thumb stroking, fingers spread wide; the other drew from nape to chin, guiding up, leveling them. That thumb dared to brush her bottom lip, to draw, slightly, and trace from one corner to the other. Silly wife. "Pella," he murmured, edged with the idea of teeth. Not a reprimand, almost a reminder. Present. Rougher. This game, her. His. "What does my wife want?"

8
Rosnay Island / Re: Domesticity
« on: February 13, 2020, 10:10:50 PM »
He blinked, contemplating. Aramis and Emile rarely required defense - Emile was Red and volatile, while he was Green and strange. By the time they were making forays into town with any regularity they were old enough and with enough control of their Craft to be considered dangerous.

Ara had only really been as Nora was when their mother and sister had been alive, and that was a long time past.

"There can be," he decided on. There had never been fear in his heart for the one-skinned crowd, but it cost nothing to spare Nora the suspicions shadows could bring. "Most of the island is not like us. They think we are no different than them. If they were to discover our differences," ours and mine, "we might need to defend ourselves." Anyone who had ever found out there was more to Aramis than his jewel and his caste had always reacted unfavorably, and he preferred not to put himself in a position where their removal was necessary if he was not in the mood for it. He tilted his head in what was one of his better approximations of empathy. "Some of the animals on the island can be dangerous, too. Emile and I would feel better knowing you had a way to protect yourself."

Emile would insist on being with her constantly or never letting her out of his sight. Equipping her with the skills to handle a knife now would save all of them stress in the future.

At least she seemed easy to acquiesce to company, even if it was unlikely to be him. A firm word to Pella and a delicately structured suggestion to Emile would be enough to lay the foundation for her, until she was ready to set off alone or balked at their hand-holding.

One corner of his mouth pulled up to just - there. Humor, amusement, without exceeding calculation. Somewhat harder to do in a place he knew he didn't have to pretend in, but a skill normally well applied. Everyone, supposedly, appreciated a smile.

He looked back, almost curious as to her assessment of him. Pella no longer looked at him so unabashedly, and Emile never cared to or hadn't known how. Aramis had never been truly new to him, after all. What did she see, in their clean kitchen? Shadows, or nothing at all?

Her exclamation startled him from his musings, and he blinked the contemplation away. He could live with fifteen minutes in the water, maybe thirty, and satisfy her. Leave her and Emile to the ocean while he took the beach, let Pella sort herself. A… releasing day, if not necessarily a relaxing one.

Watching her watch him, watching her navigate the space between what she wanted and what he was willing to give, a flash of an idea struck him, took root. Perhaps Nora could act as further mediator, a kinder peacemaker, if guided correctly. Perhaps Aramis could plant her in his stead and relax into the shadows of isolation. Nora could bring him only those situations that were absolutely urgent or family endangering.

Ah, to dream. He squashed the idea back down to a seed. Maybe Nora would prove an asset in balancing the emotions of the house, perhaps not. He would need to know more of her and her abilities before he decided to trust her to assist him in any kind of mediation. A flash of promise based on a single conversation was not proof.

He deliberated, gave her question due consideration. Imagined the squalling of the cats, the screaming of the monkeys. The fur and blood that would litter the leaves, the yard. The little bodies, half eaten, missing limbs, swarming ants.

"It is unlikely that they would find friends in each other." Aramis admitted. Likely there were instances, but he sincerely doubted that the cats that frequented their home would oblige that. They were, notoriously, assholes. "You could keep them in an enclosure, to protect them, but how cruel to keep them locked away when the trees and open air are so close?" It was a little underhanded, but Aramis didn't care. He might even concede if her arguments were sound. The responsibility of a care and maintenance of a monkey, perhaps two, would be good. At an appropriate distance from the house, of course. A serviceable anchor to their home not wrapped in the complicated knot of Emile's affections, Pella's irritation, and his own possessive indifference. "How terrible to live by the sea and never be able to reach it." Or something.

9
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: November 20, 2019, 09:47:32 PM »
The draw of his shirt fabric. The minute movements of her eyes, her face. So close in their intimate little bubble. Taught, like the string of a bow. Maybe there was only this, this give and take of touches. Maybe there wasn't some deeper motive. Sometimes Aramis liked this game too, if the cost was only in the present. Easy to give if he received something he knew not how to ask for.

Her reactions were pleasing, made the edge of the hungry thing fade further, slide seamlessly against other, lesser desires. Eyes tracked the lick of goose flesh over her arm before moving up, across neck and collarbone, over jaw. Back to eyes, and the prickle of not-quite-knowing, the little tremors of anticipation. Maybe it was him, skin drawing a touch tighter at the roughness of her voice. Feeding into that curiosity that said press here, harder, where it's tender, that made throat and cheek so appealing.

It was the thing in him that liked her caution, even as he found it amusing. He allowed the touch of her hand across his cheek, allowed himself to turn into that palm, the corner of his mouth against the joint of her thumb. Attention to her mouth then, the flicker of her tongue over her lips. A familiar desire, tempered by a familiar face, to press his mouth against flesh and taste the salt of human skin.

Aramis had decided long ago that this was something he could enjoy, in the right way. Bodies were capable of so much, some unintended. What Pella saught of him was... able to be accomodated, to a degree. Aramis was accustomed to it. And Pella felt nice. Good, even.

Warm.

Her kiss was warm too, soft despite its pressure, the space between them negligible. A distance spanned by fingers, his opposite hand coming to rest at the curve of her hip, soft as a ghost. His breathed a laugh, almost silent, kept close between them. "Then I must admit a lack of surprise." Everything Aramis did was selfish, himself weighed against everything else.

Beneficial of some to be considered his when those weights were balanced and measured.

The hand at her hip drew up, up, up, fingers tracing over fabric fold and wrinkle, coming up inside their circle to draw across collarbones. Up, the column of her soft, sweet neck, to rest in mirror of her own hand, the tips of his fingers just against the fall of her hair, the curve of her skull. He scraped his nails lightly, gently, against the skin there, back and forth. Contemplating action, following the slide of her tongue. So different, her intent and his.

"Tell me, Pella, he said, turning into her, check to cheek and eye to eye, one eyebrow hitching up, almost sardonic. He felt the edges of his Green and allowed himself to relax into it, relax further, let himself slip his own tongue free and taste her back. "What selfishness have you?"

10
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: October 14, 2019, 11:19:09 PM »
Her proximity, the shift of her weight on the blanket, the change in the air -- his gaze knifed to the corner of his eye, eyelids relaxing. Lowered, almost demure. A half step closer to an edge he rarely showed the house. Jaw flexing he refused to still, to react as the hungry-thing in his chest liked to. Easier, like a sigh, to smother it away now.

It pleases me not to wade too deeply into this, he thought. Too easy, perhaps. If his desires were hers, then Aramis knew better the angle she moved from.

"Is that so," he stated, turning his head toward her while his eyes lagged behind. He could almost feel her lips against his skin, and then they pressed against his shoulder. Brave. When he did at last look up at her their closeness did nothing to shake his focus. He turned more fully, sliding onto his hip, knees curling toward her, propped up by one hand, feeling the glide over fingers down his shirt. The opposite came to rest on one slender forearm, closing the circle between them. Her skin was soft, and he ran his thumb in a lazy sweep over the hair there. Below was the firmness of her muscle, of bone, of blood and vein and sinew.

He was closer to a living person than he'd been in days.

Aramis let himself have plenty. Maybe too much, sometimes. But what was the reward when there was no risk? His allowances may some day come for him, but likely not from Pella. "And you would let me take my pleasure, then? Indulge in rest and... leisure?" It rolled over his tongue like a sweet, looking up through his eyelashes at her. There was no pressure in this at least. No tightness in his skin that made Pella look like anything other than Pella. No way to communicate that, though. No way to say that he wasn't... hungry, without acknowledging the shadow that hung around his throat.

Pella was typically sound. Aramis trusted his ability to stop, adjust, adapt around his own limitations. He didn't quite know about her, though. Bravery could only shield so much.

"How generous of you," he murmured, fingers tracing up her arm to her elbow. Warm. Solid. Present. That, more than anything, was a comfort. Too frequently it felt like the only real thing in the world was him.

11
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: August 20, 2019, 12:39:00 AM »
One brow ticked up, smile hardening at the edges before smoothing out. Best not get into the nitty gritty comparisons there. The more vague Aramis allowed his activities to be the better off everyone was. "Indeed," he allowed instead. He didn't doubt that the lady Priestess had the power to mince a man, or, at least, someone in her employ who was capable.

Better the cats than some more dangerous neighbor, or something invasive and demanding. Like other Blood. Aramis cherished the ability to shed social niceties at the border of the property; having close living neighbors would drag against edges that he prefered to keep separate from his home.

As they walked, something fit unevenly in Aramis' mind. Gaze flickering down to the top of Pella's head before going back to the path as they navigated the reaching flora. Pella liked games, at least in as much as Aramis understood it. Her nearness to him was a game, her interactions with Emile and Nora were games, things to satisfy some gnawing thing in her. Perhaps what they fed was something not dissimilar to what lived in Aramis, for all the rules between the two were different. But it was rare that she approached without a desire of some kind, a task needing doing. Some little tally, a mark, to be stitched into a situation later for the best effect. What that was would depend on how she used it, when it was brought up.

He mulled it over. How best to divine her layers, to see what sort of path she walked. It rolled around in his mind like one of Emile's pearls. Perhaps it was even about Emile himself, after the incident that had brought him to transport the curio. He knew that Pella knew he was unlikely to make any kind of move against Emile, save for providing whatever advice he felt Emile might be receptive to. Curiouser and curiouser.

The hillock had been cleared, to a degree, because Aramis appreciated the ability to gaze down at the sea in the distance, and the grass around them long but undisturbed because animals didn't like him, generally, and tended to avoid the places he allowed himself to frequent. A blink, to conjure a blanket for their sitting, fronds bending beneath it. "It pleases me," he allowed. Any place free of people and without irritating noises tended to, but he had his preferences.

Waiting until she was seated before following, Aramis folded down beside her, legs crossed at the ankle, palms back to support himself. Not looking at her, but the trees, the distant figures of birds. He didn't feel that there was any particular emotion to convey, and would rather not put her on edge by simply staring. It was only serviceable if he wasn't caught at it, after all, and there would be little hiding something so blatant  at such short a distance. This would be a game of nuance. "What pleases you today, Pella? Surely there are more important matters for your attention than sitting in the jungle." The with me he left off. Some might say there was very little between Aramis and the beasts of the wild, after all.

12
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: July 26, 2019, 12:38:28 AM »
Slanted gaze down again, interest brushed by her mixed emotions and her actions. Emile would prod, he knew, if he inspired that same nuance, those layers.. Perhaps he could play into it, add into Pella's little turmoils over him. Her edges were as familiar to him as Emile's in that way one can know a person and maybe never know all of them.

Aramis had places within himself he preferred to keep in the shade, even if he knew what lurked there. He allowed a quiet hum of acknowledgement, unwilling to press, or ask after that flavor of truth. He imagined Pella liked to keep him in much the same way he kept is knives. Sharp, and within reach.

"I wonder what she feeds them," and if that had anything to do with their number. Aramis wasn't a particularly devout member of the blood, unless one considered his shack a temple and the table within an altar. He'd never bothered much with the Darkness and, beyond the Jewels he wore, he couldn't say the Darkness bothered much with him.

But Aramis was no Priest, and preferred not to speculate about that which he didn't know. Better to leave such things to Pella and the other Priestesses, since she had the inclination. 

Pella against him was curious. Two days ago he might have snapped, or not entertained her presence at all. So much more volatile. Now, he let himself be guided, followed the press of her direction as easily as a palm leaf on the surf. Easier now, to give when he had taken. And taken.

Warmed by the memory as much as by the ease of Pella's smile, his answering one wasn't forced for all it was smaller. Softer at the edges, easier to tuck back away. "Maybe the cats are our good omen, then." He didn't imagine he'd be able to tolerate their calls at all odd hours. Looking down at her, fingers curling to brush against the backs of hers, Aramis wondered what satisfaction she gained from him in moments like these. She wouldn't be listening to the bird if she weren't out on their walk, after all.

"Closer to the sea, I think," no matter his dislike of falling into his second skin, the water still called him, calmed him. And there were several grassy overlooks that he favored for their exact ability to ut him beside the ocean but not in it or the sands.

Gently, always gently with their women, Aramis lead them on, carefully around the birds and down one of the game trails. "Unless you'd prefer the water? Or the house," A bit late to ask, admittedly, but perhaps she'd rather not be alone in the trees with him, no matter how softened he was or how inviting her closeness. Gentle and cautious, gentle and cautious, and it would so ruin the mood if he somehow inspired a drama.

13
Rosnay Island / Re: Domesticity
« on: July 25, 2019, 01:08:49 AM »
"It is." He agreed. For all they had grown up isolated from the closest village, Aramis and Emile were still Paon-born men. He would no sooner advise Nora to try bartering services for goods than he'd say it was safe to walk jewelless down the streets. "Easier to get what you want with marks." Generally.

A breath that curled into a chuckle, chin propped on his fist while he popped a piece of fruit in his mouth. "It can be. I prefer pockets. Easier to carry things for defense when you have places to keep them." Her cabinet wasn't exceptionally large, but they could and would equip her with a knife. Or at least sand.

Line of his face softened further. Darkness, how young was she? Aramis kept his opinions to himself about Emile's penchant for bringing home women, and found most of them tolerable if not sometimes pleasant, but perhaps he should have taken more care with Nora. "You never have to go alone if you dislike it." One of them would be available, or he would conscript Pella to the task. At least until Nora had made her Descent. Mother Night, he thought, casting a gentle probe. So light as to be crushed beneath any of them if they weren't careful.

"That's good. Learning to use the bath had been a bit of a trick, when we were young." Many baths too cold or too hot for comfort, or trips extended because of dropped buckets. Both he and Emile had been prone to warping them or boiling the water in their frustration. Aramis had taken to carrying a tub with him and simply dunking the whole thing when he needed a bath. His Green meant he didn't have to suffer lugging water up from the well or boiling it to get rid of salt and ocean detritus.

Chewing slowly to keep his amusement to himself, he finally replied, "No not now, if you prefer." Likely he'd end up taking that over, in the same way he'd pick up Emile's shirts, or, more rarely, some of Pella's dresses. Aramis, after all, never left clothes to sit in shreds while in a fit of pique. If he destroyed a shirt, it wasn't one likely to be mended.

"We should, it would be good to see the beach before the rains moor us here." He could shift and hunt and get out quickly, Darkness permitting, and then sit on the sand and read while Nora kept on. "Maybe we can make a day of it, take everyone down." At least with Emile in attendance she might not notice his reluctance to participate.

Monkeys. Aramis sucked fruit, hoping Emile never caught wind of that; or, if he already had, dismissed the notion. No monkeys in the house, just like there were no cats in the house.

But how to word it in a way that wouldn't fracture their amicable back and forth? With Pella it was easy, yes or no and then the logic behind it, and she knew where he stood. Nora was an unknown, and, looking at her, Aramis was certain she wouldn't take kindly to a simple 'No, they're disgusting', even if it was what he thought. His mood was too genial to ruin with tears, and Emile would cause even more drama if she ran to him about it.

"We have no indoor pets," he decided on, hoping for a level of gentility he didn't feel. Fleas and feces, scratches on arms and furniture, bites and infections and diseases. His shack would be the cleanest place of the buildings in their residence, and simply by virtue of Aramis scrubbing it within an inch of wearing down his own fingers. There would be no saving the house if he allowed a monkey inside. "Some of the house react poorly to animal hair," not a lie, because he hated it, "and it would be unlikely to get along with the cats." And there were many more cats about than almost anything else, although that wasn't saying much. Animals tended to not like Aramis, and he couldn't admit to any love lost for them, either.

14
Rosnay Island / Re: Afternoon Snack
« on: July 08, 2019, 04:28:26 AM »
Pella intrigued Aramis, in a different way than the other women, or even his marks. It wasn't something he felt necessary to tell anyone; he acknowledged it and moved on. But there was always an edge to her that the other women lacked, either because they chose to ignore the parts of him they found unfavorable, or those parts were their soul focus.

He wondered at the duality of himself in her eyes, and why she came so close to someone she could have just as easily avoided.

"It's good you're well," he replied. At least she reported herself as well. There had to be some modicum of truth to it, at least, because Pella knew about as well as Emile how much Aramis disliked lies. If there were something she felt she couldn't deal with on her own and didn't want to take to Emile, Aramis expected it to be brought to him. If she had it in hand, pr preferred to not have him involved, that was her choice. He expected her to be honest, as much as it mattered.

In return, Aramis would be honest too. It was that kind of game, after all.

"Most recently in the shed with a mark." He said, toneless. Affecting any kind of emotion about it was both unnecessary on his part, because it was a fact, and often times a poor choice with conversation partners, because it often came off wrong. "Before that, I can't say I was good company. Better to be apart, then." Aramis had always had a dishearteningly quick slide into cold anger when it felt like he'd been kept wound up too long, and his fuse grew shorter and shorter the longer he kept from working toward soothing it. It was why he preferred to go hunting for wayward fishermen rather than pick a slave at market, but sometimes needs must. The end result was often the same, after all -- Aramis' bones settled in his skin and his private stores gained their pound of flesh. Or two.

Following the touch of her knuckles, Aramis' gaze went from where he'd had it pointed ahead to better avoid obviously not looking at her, to the peacock in the underbrush. "I agree. A shame that they're appealing to look at. Otherwise I think they'd be better welcome around the house." Maybe as a replacement to the cats, although he wasn't quite sure which vermin they'd be best against. Perhaps the cats were a better choice.

15
Rosnay Island / Re: Domesticity
« on: July 08, 2019, 02:56:06 AM »
He tilted his hand from side to side, finishing the fish in his mouth before speaking. "We could, but if I think I have something and I don't, and we have to go diving for it, the customer could insist on paying less for having to wait." There had been a few experiences like that, at the beginning, when Aramis had been new to keeping track of their wares and Emile had been new to diving. If he had the capacity to it might have been mortifying; as it was, Aramis had simply made note to keep better and better notes on their stock until it couldn't happen again.

Humming, he nodded. "In town. Ff Emile, Pella or I aren't with you, it is best to dress for business. It's good to have pockets." It was probably remarked that Aramis dressed unseasonably, but he preferred to keep that image of himself for the outside and to be able to take it off at home. If he couldn't, the lines between might end up too thin, and he disliked the idea of bringing more parts of himself than he had to into the waters of his family's interactions. No more rough edges in the house than were necessary.

Additionally, however Emile liked to have her dress at home, Aramis would rather not know. He would likely be the one mending fences between them as it was, he didn't need her flouncing about in town in something someone might see as an invitation.

"Good." He watched her parse out the scents of her own skin. "If you need help with the bath, either Emile or myself can help." Although Emile might make more of a mess than initially intended. Another thing to keep an eye out for. Best to establish now that she could come to him for help with things she might find difficult than to have her pestering Pella, who would dislike the attention. Emile would feel useful, at least. Aramis felt it par for the course of integrating her into the house. "And we can practice your sewing, if you'd like. Then, if I'm absent, you won't have to wait for my return." As much as the women were beholden to them, Aramis had little patience for those who wouldn't do what they could to help themselves. If Nora didn't know how to sew with confidence, she could be taught.

It took some effort to not read innuendo into Emile's words, especially when they came out of a mouth as guileless as Nora's. Aramis might not be as... physically passionate as his brother was, but Darkness. Maybe he was in need of a good walk about, if he was hearing things that weren't there. Even if they were probably there. "I do like fishing," he replied, switching to fruit. "but I prefer to fish in my second skin, rather than with a pole. I haven't the patience, I think." Fishing as a seal was one of the few things he liked to do as a seal. There was an absence of self when he was without hands, a soft emptiness that unsettled him, and it wasn't something he liked to experience frequently. Indulging in a deep dive or fishing at irregular times was as much as as he allowed, unable to find any joy in lazing about on the beach or exploring.

He smiled, and it felt a touch affected, but he wasn't sure he could smooth it away. "What else do you like?"

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