Kimber Mac (Indi OC)

Once entrees had been made, bona fides verified, and rules of engagement agreed upon, Kimber Mac became immediately bored and went to the bar.

“Oi mate” she leaned over a bit to get the barkeep’s attention. “Two fingers a Jameson’s if ya please.  Leave the bottle.”  After giving her slim figure a double take, he nodded, opened a fresh bottle walked over with a glass and poured.

“Long night?” he set the bottle down and glanced at Reddington’s table.

“Yep.”  Kimber popped the p and downed the drink.  “They’ll be goin’ on abou’ business ‘alf th night.”

Just as she’d gotten comfortable in the bar seat, the band announced their break.  She sighed.  Really, quite long night indeed.

Refilling her glass she brought the bottle and walked over to where the group was sitting.

“C’n I buy you lot a round?”  she held up the bottle with a questioning half smile.

“Cailín álainn, I’ve never had a better offer.”  The gent, Callum, the lead singer pulled back a chair and started introductions as the bottle made it’s way round and back, considerably lighter. She praised their style and ability, they admired her pronunciation and accent, and hair.  “There’s some of the homeland in yer line somewhere, Mac, I’d lay money on it.”

She nodded as she swallowed and put the glass down. 

“It’s b'n said b’fore.  So, if I were ta request a ditty from ya, wou'd another bottle be fair compensation?”

Callum squinted at her and angled his head.  

“I’ll make you a counteroffer.  You go on up there yerself an sing it, and if Molly here says you pass, we’ll take a request fer free.”

Kimber got ridiculously red in the face and looked down at her distressingly empty glass.

“I cou’dn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”  she grinned up through the strands of hair that had escaped her attempt to corral them.

Blatant disbelief met her all round the table.  Bertie the drummer leaned over the table and motioned for her to hand him something. A long minute dragged by until she finally rolled her eyes and pulled the penny whistle out of her inside jacket pocket.

“I knew this suit fit too tight.”  she mumbled handing it to him.  He dipped the mouthpiece in the whiskey and wiped it on a napkin and ran an aire through it.  The tune flowed clean and clear through the whistle like an angel’s laughter.

“Bollocks.”

“I agree, up you go.”

Kimber grabbed the penny whistle and walked slowly toward the raised platform.  Michael adjusted the mic for her as she sat on the stool and announced a fill-in while the band finished their break.  She waved, the color still bringing out the freckles on her cheeks.

Clearing her throat, she decided to speak a little first to let the butterflies settle.

“I w's born in Wales an while I live in London now, I spent my school years in Eire.  Soon as I walked in th’ door a th’ dorm an they saw my ‘air they said I w’s a Changeling finally come home to the Isle.”  A couple light chuckles from the crowd.  She smiled.  “I w’s a bit young when tha’ wou’da ‘appened so...”  she shrugged.

“Ev’ry Friday night, after a long week a schoolin’ the sisters wou’d le' us ou’ inta town.  A group a us more music’lly inclined were drawn ta th’ pub.  We’d enter quiet as church mice an’ sit.  Those tha’ cou’d played along an’ soon enough we were welcomed in.  Ev’ry Friday night we’d scurry down ta listen an’ play.

“When we were old enough we partook a some a th’ other entertainments th' pub had ta offer.”  A bit of a laugh from the crowd. She looked up and smirked. “Quiz! Ya boozy lot.  A course by my third pint it w's me agains’ th' res’ a th’ pub, bu’ tha’s a tale fer another time.

“There was a lovely ol’ tune we’d taken as our own. A Benediction a thanks fer survivin’ another week, as it were.  An’ it’s tha’ I’ll be butcherin’ fer ya now.”

She straightened on the stool, brought the whistle to her lips and played a jaunty yet mellow introduction, seeing the light of recognition in most eyes around her.  Then in a clear, true alto voice she sang.

Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam What'll make the lame walk, what will make the dumb talk, The elixir of life and philosopher's stone And what helped Mr. Brunnell to build the Thames Tunnel Sure wasn't it whiskey from ould Inisowen So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys And boys I half wonder, if lightning and thunder Weren't made from the plunder of whiskey me boys.

The band at their table were hooting and pounding and stomping their feet as she finished, the audience applauded, and Kimber laughed her way back to the bar.

She put the whistle back in her pocket and waved for another bottle.

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THE HUMOURS OF WHISKEY Andy M. Stewart & Manus Lunny

He hesitated only long enough to be polite, to match the slowness of her lowering shields.

And then, gently, he… connected.

He had no mental powers himself. But every X-Man received a modicum of psychic training, not unlike the the SHIELD Psi Division training that Kim had gotten. Enough to be able to fend off a little bit psychic warfare, or to send a ping to a specific telepathic mind in the vicinity. 

And so he sent.

He sent a sheepish apology for the fact that a significant portion of his mind was still hung up on the things they had just done together, on how incredible that had felt, and on the math in his head about when they could do… more? …again?

He sent an echo of his senses, the feel of the weight upon him, the beautiful sight of her in his exquisite molten-golden darkvision eyes, her warmth and her tracing touch. 

And he sent the thump of his heart. The longing and the wonder and the adoration of her. The gratitude for the love of her. The incredulity at the good fortune of getting to be in her life in her heart in her bed in her. A dream of the future… wistful and unformed, but tinged with hope…

…mutants could live a long, long time if they weren’t killed. 

Could they live a long, long time… together?

Kimber felt the gooseflesh rise on her skin as she flowed through his thoughts. Skimming and swimming through the feelings and images he was sending her.  She delighted in his pleasure, warmed herself in his love, smiled at the thoughts of being together.  Until she thought sensed a bit more in the together than just dating, or cohabitating.

Continuing to mold to his body and trace his skin, she breathed out her question onto his chest.

Extensive language files and telepathic TARDIS aside, Jenny took a long, long moment to understand what Kim was saying to her. 

The shape of Kimber Mac was… occupying a significant portion of The Anomaly’s cognitive functions. 

She didn’t have the Time Lordly training necessary to see timelines, not properly, not to perceive them or smell them or pluck them like violins or violence. But the sensation of gazing at Kim’s form and how it moved just swelled in her sensorium like a fixed point, like an immutable nexus with just a bit of flux around the fringes…

…then, again, she came back to herself, the loofa having been accepted from her lover on some biological subcortical autopilot. 

Belatedly, she processed her instructions, but even back in the moment she was still distracted, and she started to scrub Kimber’s back with a shaking hand… 

“Wouldn’t mind in the slightest, erm, ma’am…”

She started high, and began to drift lower, her breathing hitching just a little…

…and as the loofa moved downward, Jenny leaned inward to kiss the back of that neck, the curves of those shoulders, as though… signing her work…

Perhaps forgivably in her kiss-addled haze, lulled by the mingled scents of lavender and Kim, Jenny was momentarily bewildered by that statement. 

“That’s… counterintuitive,” she protested. “How can I shield you with my body if I’m–”

–then the penny dropped, with a satisfying tubwater plop, ripple effect and all.

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

My turn? 

Her proverbial chakras hummed with something far more potent than artron energy.

And she gingerly (heh) placed a hand on Kim’s shoulder, easing herself into the tub, settling in against the kindly-provided backrest, willing her hearts not to skip too many beats. 

The Anomaly had often grumbled privately that, in retaining the vast majority of her physical appearance from her first incarnation to this one, she hadn’t gained any height with the regeneration. But in this particular scenario, she found she didn’t mind so much. She fit nicely into Kim’s tub, silking under the surface, letting the warmth envelop her, her chest heaving lightly in the water at the shift in temperature. 

“I’ve… done the necessary recon, ma’am. It’s… it’s safe for you to proceed.”

Grinning lazily, a little appreciatively at Jenny leaning back in the tub, turning a loverly shade of pinkish as her naturally lower body temperature reacted to the water, Kimber slid along to join her.  She eased herself over Jenny’s legs, settling between them, grabbed a loofa, and handed it over her shoulder.

Speaking of flipping switches, as we were.

Serenity began to slowly seep back into Kim and her body language, and as she shed what remained of her raiment, Jenny couldn’t help but turn and gaze at her more fully, almost forgetting to plug the tub so the now-warm water could fill.

Her eyes did a thing… not quite predatory, as such, but a… zeroing-in, a focusing… that was very briefly an illustration of how much a cat-lady Jenny really was. She saw something… desirable… and her pupils and irises dilated like nightvision trying to drink in every photon. 

Kim bared her pale, freckled skin, and Jenny’s respiratory bypass system again kicked on, catching her breath, even as some vestigial Time Lordly part of her brain started playing recreational mathematics with those freckles. She wanted to count and cartograph every single one. Wanted to memorize them. Wanted to read them like Braille. 

Swiftly ditching what was left of her own clothes, Jenny then stepped in like a creature transfixed… a rather riveted rosie, so to speak… sitting down on the edge of the tub beside Kim, taking her face in both hands, and kissing her deeply and sweetly.

Then she laughed a little abashedly, a ginger tinge to her blush, her hearts dancing the tarantella in her chest.

“Oh. Right. You’re not drowning. Just… making sure. Little… preemptive CPR, that’s all.” 

She smiled lazily and stroked Jenny’s cheek.

“Practice makes perfect an all tha’.  Glad yer on th’ job.”

Kimber reached out and picked up a bottle of homemade lavender oil, drizzling a little in the water.  Soon the subtle scent, warmed by the water began to waft up from the tub and she very much wanted to just sink to the bottom and lay there forever.  Adjusting the padded backrest she motioned for Jenny to get comfy.