scaledwolf | Open RP Post

Open RP Post

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[Open post for PSLs, random crack tags, plotted tags, unplotted tags, and tfln overflow.
Basically the w/e RP post.]

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[ From here ]

While I am well trained in military weapons, all of the noted weapons are definitely interesting to learn about. Though I knew about the hands. Hands are definitely a dangerous weapon because they can be used in so many ways. [ He likes seeing what her brain turns into a weapon too though, a little deeper inside into how she thinks. But he also does agree, hands are useful in all ways, in nearly any situation. He certainly knows how he wants to be using his hands soon enough, and it's not exactly for cooking, despite the promise of a breakfast for dinner meal. But that want will have to wait until after food. Mostly. ] I think it might be the best way to ensure we try everything that we want to try making into sushi? And we can even have some kind of rating system so we know what we liked and what we never want to make again. 👨‍🍳 [ It made sense to him, and he's more than happy to help her with getting that all organized. But then the shower bits have him equally distracted. ] As my Lady wishes, though, are you sure if you need an extra-long, attentive and warm cleaning that requires both hands, that you don't want to reconsider a bath instead? 🛀🧼 [ If they're sharing the bath, doesn't that mean they're sharing water still and as such cuts down on the water usage, making it still fairly environmentally friendly? Especially compared to an extra long shower? ]
He says that he's happy to take responsibility for crashing into your evening, because at the end of the night, it has lead us here. With you wearing black. 🖤🧥 [ She's not the only one that has been scrambled, for the better though if he can say so himself. While she's turned his head and heart a little upside-down, he's not sure he'd have it any other way anymore. ] I will definitely continue to think so. 🌌

😘 [ There's no one he wants to cook for either. It means a lot for him to want to cook for someone, though that first meal was definitely on his mind when he'd decided he wanted to cook for her tonight too. That first meal they'd made together has been on his mind since they made it, but tonight he'd wanted to not just return there but do something special for her. Few realize royals can have other talents besides leading. And while he's still learning, some things are easy enough - or well figured out with her beside him as they stumble through the instructions together. ] Less than 45 seconds sounds perfect. Because it has been too long now. [ Needs will only continue to grow stronger the longer they talk and cook, because those sudsy hands first needed to cook and feed her bacon, after all. ] Should I apologize for it, or shall I just kiss it better when you arrive? 😘

[ He can't help but enjoy the thought of feeding her, and as such, how can he correct her on it when now he wants to do that for her? ] I think I can be very agreeable to both of those conditions with you, even the delight. [ She brings out that softer side of him that wants to smile more, that has a reason to smile now that she's close to him. Who knew that maple-glazed bacon could save the galaxy! Though the more important part of that is that it has saved your evening, or will once we make it together. 😏 [ He's pretty sure that's where those political wars went wrong, arguments over the last piece of bacon. ] We are both preheated and anticipating your arrival. 💖

[ ooc: casually slips into prose... >_> lmfao just yell at me if you ever don't want to! ]

[ Plain, bare hands might not have a military rating on the danger scale, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less precarious to work around. In a way that is more fascinating than frightening – the use of hands is an art form in itself. In exactly the same way that spreadsheets are an art form, and she is more thrilled by the idea of an organized ranking system for their future sushi than she would like to admit, looking forward to the documentation almost as much as the sushi itself. Art was everywhere, and it was her lifelong belief that people ought to make an effort to appreciate its illogical appearances. Just as more people ought to appreciate breakfast for dinner, and long, luxuriating showers. Without harming the environment. It’s a difficult balance to strike, and so she brightens at the mention of a long bath, instead. Smart, environmentally-aware, and a perfectly acceptable replacement. Maybe even an improvement. ] You have my attention. I’m reconsidering. 💫 [ For the good of the environment and all. ]

That’s all she has time to send back, because then she is arriving, though whether or not it was within her 45-second guesstimate, she can’t say. But time no longer matters, as it always seems to vanish once she’s back in his company, and she slowly opens the yet-unlocked door that it seems to have taken a lifetime to reach. A joyful journey, as always, and since time stops being relevant anyway, what does it matter how long it might have taken? As long as it wasn’t taken alone, and it never is.

And she is wearing black, as she’d confessed – a simple, knee-high dress, black from bottom to top with lace at the chest and shoulders. Thanks to her subconscious, as they'd concluded, or divine intervention, or some other force at work in the galaxy. She couldn’t quite pretend to hate the color as much as she used to, at least on occasions like this, finding her way into the kitchen and feeling that it had without a doubt been too long. Excitement warms through her, followed closely by a smile, having no hope of subduing the delight that is already thrumming in her blood. Her eyes land on her breakfast date for the evening, discovering that he is indeed wearing a color other than black, and it seems like anything might be possible after all – even maple-glazed bacon being the answer to all of the galaxy’s troubles. It is already on the course to saving her night, if nothing else.

“Sorry it took so long, but I wanted to bring these for you,” she says by way of greeting, holding up a small package of blackberries. Just about the only black breakfast food she could find on a whim, and proof that black and sweet could coexist together – sometimes. There was bound to be a place for them somewhere. She’s only half hiding an amused smile, regardless, stepping forward to belatedly address a different issue. “And to answer your question, yes, I will accept a kiss in lieu of an apology.” Then, distractedly as she takes in his shirt again at closer range: “That’s a lovely color on you.”

[ ooc: I'm down for all the prose! Heeee And all the threads! ]

Luckily for her, he hasn't been timing her from her messages to her arrival, merely grinning at that last message that she sent. He's glad that she's reconsidering a bath, because while showers could be fun he could definitely ensure that warm, extra attentive cleaning being seated, with his arms around her and her snuggled back against his chest in that soapy water. Which is absolutely what's on his mind as gray eyes slip up to meet hers as he offers her a smile at her entrance. Time is relative, and all that matters is that she's now standing in the kitchen with him, instead of somewhere else in the building. And time has to be standing still for a moment as he takes his time letting his eyes take in that black dress she's wearing, features saying without words that he finds her beautiful in her black dress, with just enough mischief in them that says he's totally won as the advocate for black in their fashion organization.

His pants are black, and a softer material than what he normally wears for every day or meetings. More casual, meant for a quiet night in with someone special than being out in public. And she is definitely wearing off on him considering his shirt is most definitely not black. Wearing off on each other when it comes to clothing, he's sure considering everything between them. His lips quirk into a smile at the blackberries as she greets him with them, moving to meet her half way. "You are most definitely worth the wait. As are the blackberries. I think they'll go perfectly with our maple-glazed breakfast," he offers with a soft chuckle. Because it's incredibly sweet of her to want to contribute to breakfast, but he's also not lost on the fact that out of everything she's bringing something black to breakfast.

One hand slips around her waist to draw her a little closer as he hums softly at her compliment. "Someone told me that a little color in my wardrobe would do wonders. Maybe I should listen to her a little more," he teases softly as he stretches out with the force to lock the door for them. Because he meant it when he said they should lock the door. He wants tonight to be just them. No worries, no stress, just an enjoyable maple-glazed mess with delicious food. Though since she did agree to it, he has an apology to offer. So he dips his head to kiss her softly, "I can't be sorry at how good black looks on you though," he teases against her lips before he pulls back just a little. His hand catches hers and he draws her over to the counter and the wolf head shaped waffle iron they'll be using tonight as he grins.

[ ooc: omggg same i love them already! ;o; ♥ ]

It doesn’t matter how many times she’s glimpsed his eyes, because each time feels just as startling as the first. Gray, a bright, arresting gray, always unusual but also, somehow, deeply familiar. Like she’s been waiting all day to see them, which she realizes she has, and so it is also the first time all day that everything feels like it has finally fallen into place. All of the rigamarole of living and working now left to quietly vanish, allowing her to direct her attention wherever she might please. It has, of course, been several different places since she’d first found herself receiving a curious message: from weaponry, to mermaids, to sushi, and most recently to a bath, which is still lingering persuasively in the back of her mind. And nothing feels impossible, except for maybe the fact that she would be wearing black when he invited her to dinner, but there’s no denying it now, and she’s already enjoying the way they contrast and balance each other. It seems like a fair trade to wear a little bit of black if he was going to wear a little bit of color.

He hasn’t abandoned tradition completely, which she notes as her gaze roves down to take in his lower half, and then back up, a smitten smile hiding at the corners of her lips. It really did feel like a lifetime between each time they met, but breakfast-for-dinner was a special occasion no matter what. “I thought so, too. Sweet but not too sweet,” she muses, a playful glint in her eye suggesting that the company accounts for nearly all of the sweetness present. Anything else, such as a delectable maple glaze, is icing on the cake. All of it is already worth the wait, and she sets the berries aside in order to let herself be drawn in closer. There’s no keeping back a scoff of a laugh at what he says, however, because who would ever admit to needing to listen to someone else more? Almost everyone was resistant to change, especially stubborn men when it came to fashion, but he had always surprised her with his generous ability to listen. Even if it was only to her reminding him that black wasn’t the only color known to humanity.

“That’s your way of laughing at me, isn’t it?” It was hard to find anyone to listen to anything, most days, so it’s teased back with a smirk. A flick of her eyes follows the sound of the door locking a moment later, and a delighted chill slips down her spine, however simple the sound may be. But it does secure the promise that it will be just them, alone, and it’s a thought that melts smoothly into the brush of his lips against her own. A pleased hum follows, as well as a step closer so she can bring a hand up to his chest. Just long enough to feel the warmth through his shirt, and to lean up and chase the kiss for half a second more, relishing their new isolation and the imminent prospect of a maple-glazed night. “It’s a fluke, not mathematically likely to happen again,” she defends herself as she’s led to the counter, gaze soon falling upon what is most certainly a wolf’s-head waffle iron, and then a shamelessly charmed laugh is escaping. “I can’t believe I didn’t guess it would be wolf waffles. But how are we supposed to eat something so cute?”

[ ooc: Very same! They're amazing! =D ♥ ]

It's a long day, to him, when they have to wait all day to spend any real quality time together between life and work, but he's grateful that they can come together like this. Everything locked outside so they can have some peace and it can be just them. Though passing the time during the day, before they can come together and be here, with talk of weaponry and mermaids and whatever else happens to cross their interest has always been fun too. He never fully knows where their discussions will roll, but he's always excited to see by messaging her or receiving a message from her. The things they discuss bring a smile to his otherwise broody features and he's not sure he'd have it any other way, honestly. And the fact that she's wearing black, well, how can he not take it as a sign that it's meant to be. Somehow, someway, he's slid into her head and wardrobe and he does love it. he's willing to wear a lot of colors to continue seeing her in black dresses if he's being honest. It's a fair trade to him, one he's willing to make even if he'll tease and make her work a little for it.

To be fair to him though, black is normally an acceptable color for men's pants. Men rarely get away with something floral or brightly colored in the pants area, not the way a woman can get away with the same colors or patterns on a skirt. Though he's pretty sure the appearance of some tan and dark brown pants in his closet are her doing, and a hint that she expects to see him in them at some point in the near future. His brow arches just a little at her as he watches her, because he does like the idea of sweet but not too sweet. Though he'd argue that she's the sweetness given the present company. "A very welcome addition, though maybe we should taste them just to ensure that they meet our sweetness expectations." The look says he thinks he might want to try and feed her one of those like he'd promised to feed her bacon.

"I promise, I'm not laughing at you." Most men didn't listen, but he's not most men and to be fair he's grew up in a household with three very strong-willed women. He'd had to know how to bend and to change when needed, as well as to listen. Though the listening actually came more from how he was raised and the station he had as a bastard. Listening was a good skill growing up and it has continued to be a good skill even now. Especially with her teaching him to embrace color past black. He can't help the happy sound when she chases that kiss for a little longer, smiling at her defense a she keeps her close. "A fluke, of course. I won't expect it again, though I can't say I won't enjoy it if it does happen to not be a fluke." His hand stays around her, settling her into his side as they look over the waffle iron. "I think the maple-glaze will help the encouragement of the eating. And with the knowledge that because this is here, we can always make them again later and enjoy their cuteness?" He's also willing to add chocolate chips to the batter as an incentive for eating them too, if she needs more encouragement.

One of the perks of cooking – and there were far more perks to cooking with someone rather than cooking alone – is that taste tests are often necessary. To be sure that any given ingredient is all that it’s expected to be, of course, and to determine how much or how little might be needed. That’s especially true for things that bring sweetness to the table, because a little too much runs the risk of being far too much, and no one wants the disappointment of there being too little of a sweet touch. It’s one of the more critical elements to get just right, and so she wouldn’t dream of shirking that duty. There’s no reason she wouldn’t want to help, either, given the fact that it’s an activity that calls for two. They’ll both have to decide whether the berries are up to par, right? Or at the very least, it will take two to choose the one to try. Or to do the actual feeding, which is another thought that, once planted in her head, has happily taken root. It would be a shame to miss any of the opportunities that have suddenly arisen in the kitchen. The look she’s given is enough to assure her that she’s not the only one who thinks so.

“Agreed, for safety and for science purposes.” Because food safety came before anything else, surely. There’s a glance at the berries in question and then back up, as if it’s a risky proposition to consider, which has to mask the frisky smile that wants to surface instead. “You choose which one, and I’ll test it. Just promise to make the story of my sacrifice a lot more interesting.” ‘Killed by a blackberry’ wasn’t the final line she hoped to have written about her life, but she also wasn’t planning on dying. Quite the opposite, as reflected in her only halfway-harnessed excitement. But she could blame him for that as well, for having that particular effect on her, even as she arches her brow in return. There’s no way to prove one way or another whether or not he’s laughing at her, though if she can judge by what he’s wearing, and the fact that he is indeed listening, odds seem to be in his favor.

Which means, then, that they are also in her favor, and she leaves her appreciation, for the fact that he’s not like most men, unspoken. It was something she had realized early on and not forgotten, which went part of the way in explaining why she had never succeeded in forgetting anything between them. The simpler truth was that she hadn’t wanted to. In the same way that she doesn’t quite want to pull away from his lips, or step away from the pocket created by his arm, but luckily it doesn’t seem like she needs to, keeping herself nudged in against the sturdy line of his side. “Our flukes are flukier than normal,” she can’t keep from quipping, though she also has no issue with that. It feels unique, either a mistake on the part of the stars or a gift, but something she feels privileged to have, regardless. Quirky, different. Addictive. A maple-glazed kind of fluke. “So, you’re saying we overcome the pain of eating cute things by eating more cute things?” She can only be mock-offended, however, because of what this means: more wolves, and thus more waffles, which means a variety of waffles, right? Chocolate chip, blueberry, strawberry. Confetti. No matter how cute they might appear on the plate, they would not last there for long.

Taste tests are definitely necessary and a highlight to any good cooking excursion, though the fact that he has her to be here to taste with him makes all the difference. Her company with him, while they cook together, even if she mostly watches or supplies moral support from the counter, makes tonight even more special for him. Because he's not just cooking and bringing it to her, they get to talk and enjoy each other's company while the food comes together. And how could he ever say no to wanting to spend some quality time with her, no interruptions? If he could end every day just like this, he's pretty sure he'd be the happiest man in the galaxy. Not necessarily the cooking part, but the them locked in a room alone part, of course. Because there are other activities they could get up to that call for two, other ways to occupy their night in different rooms that have doors that keep the world out and at bay as well.

"I promise that the story of your sacrifice will be heroic and inspiring," he offers as he looks down at the berries in question. The move hides the small smirk that lifts his lips for the teasing. Reaching, he lets his fingers graze a few of them, deeming them not worthy of a taste just yet. Because if she's going to taste, well, he wants to find the perfect berry. He finds one that seems to be just a little plumper than the others, which also means it's just a little blacker than the rest too. Which is fitting, really. The blacker the berry, the riper it is, after all. Lifting the berry out of the container, he holds it up in front of her mouth carefully so she can take a bite, or since the berry is small enough take the whole berry from him. Though the way his eyes watch her and slip to her mouth, and the way he's holding it, he fully expects this to be a mouth only taste test.

While he would normally have absolutely no qualms about getting distracted by kissing her, because he has none, he does also want to feed her. Not just the berries but a meal. It's the only reason he's letting himself be distracted from more kisses. Though he likes keeping her close and against his side for as long as he can. Eventually, with cooking, he'll need to let go of her at least for the duration of eggs, bacon and waffle making. But for now, everything works with the warmth of her stretching down his side like a steady presence he's been missing all these years. "Our flukes are the best kind of flukes though." Because they always seem to put them both in just the right path or clothing or message timing. Very addictive though, he'll definitely agree with that. "That I am. Because if we continue to eat more cute things, then the act of eating them will become normal for us and it won't feel like it's wrong to do so." And yes, a variety of waffles for them, pretty much like the sushi, they can explore different waffle kinds, but also toppings.

There are worse legacies to have – after all, someone has to prove that her impulse is a benefit to their breakfast-dinner. But they’d already decided, more than once, that they should trust their impulses. And, since hers had happened to dictate that she should bring blackberries, she hadn’t questioned it. A fruitful choice, given the turn of events, and she drops her own gaze to watch as he appraises the berries. They’d looked suitable enough to her, even if she’d been in a little bit of a rush, but she doesn’t mind waiting for him to come to the same conclusion on his own. Which he seems to, having selected a berry, and she gives it a quick look-over of her own before flicking her own smirk. It’s one of the plumper ones, which means it’s one of the riper ones, which means it’s one of the blacker ones, and she skips a curious glance back up to meet his eyes as she leans forward and parts her lips to accept the offering.

Onto her tongue, carefully, with a brush of her lips against his fingertips that may or may not have been accidental, letting go of a considering hum. It’s definitely a blackberry – a small burst of sweet and tart on her tongue, and, as she’d expected, she can imagine that it will pair well with maple-glazed anything. They could also be enjoyed just as well on their own, if the current experience is any indication, and she’s happy to relish the dissolving juice for as long as she can, passing judgment with a smile. “Since I’ve neither died nor tasted anything terrible, maybe the story of our success can be just as heroic and inspiring.” It will be for her, anyway, she feels she can safely assume – inspiring enough to want to repeat this sort of evening again, be it with another iteration of waffles, or dangerous sushi creations, or anything at all. Who says they’re even limited to the kitchen?

A distracting train of thought to ride any further, just as staying pressed in against his side is not going to lead to anything productive in terms of cooking. Sparing a wistful glance along the length of his body, and then back up to his lips, she takes a reluctant step away to instead find a close-by but out-of-the-way piece of real estate on the counter, turning and hopping her hips up gently to take a seat. She had a promise to fulfill regarding moral support, and maybe even a video tutorial if necessary, trusting that she could also manage to make waffles once the time came. But she did intend to waste at least a little bit of time just watching. How often were they locked together in a room, allowing her to shamelessly do so? “My favorite flukes, I will admit,” she agrees lightly, truthfully, lifting her brows at the explanation he provides her. A sensible, kingly outlook. “In order to justify anything, then, the answer is to do it more? Is that a theory that translates to all areas of life?” And how can there not be a cheeky smile to go with that?

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