furrst ship

“I am glad to be home, my dear”.

After popping the door open and pulling the plates out, Disciple opened a drawer, grabbed some silverware and put it on the food. She bumped the draw closed with her hip and strutted to the table.

He immediately caught up with her, pausing to lean over and give her a smooch on the cheek before he started chatting her up about his day, enveloping her shoulders in one of his burly arms as he walked.

“You should have seen the shopping district love, it was wonderful. I’ve never seen such a varied collection of different blood colors mingling so- so peacefully. And the humans are wonderful, I just learned today that have hundreds of religions and of course I met that interesting fellow on the bus— and—-

After setting the microwave to just a couple of minutes, she turned and took a few quick steps to Signless. "I'll use the ink on your next document, dear, and after we eat you can show and tell me all of today."

He pulled a chair back and settled down on the corner, next to her out of the way of her rising and falling elbow. He leaned down until he was sort of at eye level with her bent head.

“I know I’ve been late so often, darling I’m sorry. I promise it won’t last…as soon as I familiarize myself with the island and the people it will ebb…we were just cooped up here so long and I’ve missed so much…” he trailed off again, frowning before catching wind of the scent of food she’d made. Augh. It smelled so good.

“and no er…he didn’t. Actually I missed my stop because I was so absorbed in his description of human religion. Um. I see you’ve made dinner. It smells good”.

"That's alright, and yes, I did make dinner," She motioned at the wrapped food with a nod, "It smelt better when it was still hot."

She placed her pen down and pushed away from the desk. She stood, placing a few more weights down on the corners of her paper. The ink must dry before anything further, it shouldn't take too long, thankfully. Another paragraph or two and this one will be done.

She obviously hadn’t heard him, so with one bag even hanging from his teeth and another perched on his foot, he spent a few minuites wrestling with clinking keys before he managed to bully the door into opening.

When he finally stumbled through he was a full forty miniutes late and he failed to see his mate with the bags piled in front of his face before he dumped everything on the comfort plataeu as carefully as he could (not very carefully, ultimately). He panted and leaned on the couch for a few seconds, shrugging off his nappy, tattered cloak, revealing nappy, tattered (but very righteous) leggings. Next came his boots which were an ordeal in themselves.

When he brushed himself off and straightened up he noticed her across in the dining room, hard at work on some lovely new piece, and next to the scrolls, nibs and brushes he also saw the food she had made wrapped up. Probably cooling. Curse minuites and their habit of multiplying! Just how long had it really been?

Ah.

Signless grimanced and nervously scratched at the back of his neck before slowly crossing the room and carefully coming up behind her to look at what she was working on (always keeping a careful distance because she hated it when he loomed over her shoulder and got in her way).

He couldn’t help but smile despite himself when he saw the page. It was always a joyous thrill to see his words immortalized on one of her pieces and they provided a suitable distraction for a few moments, the strong color and smell and bright fresh ink as familiar to him now as blood used to be. Each stroke was so sinuous, purposeful. How did she do this? Beautiful.

She almost jumped- ALMOST, but kept steady enough to finish the word she was working on.

If she let every little noise spook her, she'd have lines crossing all across her pages.

She lifted her pen off the page and turned to look at him momentarily, then turned her attention to cleaning the tip of her pen. She wanted to say, Of course you got lost, do you think I hadn't assumed so already? But she didn't and kept quiet.

She treated the nib of her pen like the world itself was perched on it's tip, as if smallest movement of even a fraction of a millimetre would cause it to shatter into a thousand pieces.

"And, well?" Disciple cocked her head to the side in question, eyes still focused on her pen. "I should hope the human priest also made you dinner."

so you're good friends with mituna? me and the captor from our time are the best of furrends!