Flattery? What would be the aim of that, I wonder?
[He uncaps his bottle, forgoing a glass entirely and drinking straight from it, a long swig that burns all the way down. If nothing else, it helps with the pain-- and let's be honest, Ignis' life the past year and a half would be enough to drive anyone to drink.]
Merely pointing out that it's unlike you to be so delicate.
[There's a slight arch of the brow at the long swig, but it's more of a curious thing than anything else. She imagines him more of that "fine wine dining" type of guy so it's always a little weird yet interesting whenever he does anything more...informal.]
Whatever your aim is, it's terrible. [Meaning his flattery wouldn't have been working if he were trying.] And would it bother you if I had a delicate side?
[Which of course is complete nonsense, but it's all in good humor so why not. Drinking is always better when it's in good humor than depressing crap.
She is also going to take this opportunity to pick up that braille book because she can't help but be nosy.]
[It nearly echoes the question he'd asked her when she'd commented on his manners all those months ago, and he simply shakes his head in reply, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth despite the ache from his injuries.]
Of course not. People are, after all, endlessly complicated.
[And as straightforward as Aranea tends to be, he's assuming she's no different in that respect.
He tips his head curiously in her direction, her weight against the mattress comforting in its own way-- solid proof that despite living in darkness, for the moment, he wasn't entirely alone. The book appears to be a novel-- procedural drama, and while that's not normally something he would feel drawn to, he has to make due with what's available.]
[There's a breath of laughter in response to his answers.] Usually they just make it complicated. [Totally not referencing him. Totally.
But people are complicated creatures, herself no different if perhaps a little less so, which can be both interesting and frustrating at times. But she at least knows to expect that as well as exploit it sometimes.
But after taking another sip while holding the book in one hand, her attention becomes more focused on the dots lining the page. Setting the bottle down on the side table, she brushes her hand over the raised bumps.]
And maybe not as complicated as this. So is it just every letter you have to learn and basically spell out everything before you can understand?
The most basic forms of it, yes. There are also characters for common words and ligatures, though their use is... inconsistent, or so I've experienced so far. No two books follow the exact same format.
[Which, he'll admit, makes learning it that much more complicated-- but he's working his way through it, steadily. While he's always been a fast learner, he is somewhat handicapped in this by learning it as an adult who, until recently, had his sight, rather than being born without it and thus learning in his formative years.]
Wow, they couldn't keep consistent? I like challenges, but this sounds more like a real pain in the ass. [Still, she runs her fingers across the raised bumps, natural curiosity kicking in as she wonders what these mean and how hard it must really be to learn.
Kind of makes her feel a little bad about what she said before. Little. A bit.]
A challenge I've no doubt I'll overcome, but yes-- it is certainly frustrating to a degree, especially learning it so late in life.
[He may not be old by any measure of the word, but learning an entirely new way to communicate after twenty years is no small task.]
A procedural drama-- "thriller," supposedly, though I've yet to find myself thrilled. [Part of that may be because he's still slow to move through certain passages.] I'm grateful for it all the same. Beggars can't be choosers.
But you're a smart guy. Once you're done you could probably teach others. [And then she could nickname him "The Professor" or some stupid thing like that.]
And no wonder—how could anything described as procedural be "thrilling"?
Anyone die in it?
[She is now going to just swing her body and legs around, lean back against the bed rest right next to him, cross her legs right over each other and just flip through the book. She can't understand a lick, but it's what you do with books.
Also, she may investigate his side table in a second.]
[He doesn't sound terribly impressed, to be honest.
While he doesn't mind her flipping through the book at her leisure, he does tense when he hears her shift, moving to investigate his nightstand, and that is enough to spur him to move. He reaches out blindly to feel for her arm and close a hand over her wrist, hoping to intervene.]
[He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth, knowing it's too late to stop her. Upon opening the drawer, she'll find a spare set of keys and some loose gil, a bottle of painkillers along with a bottle of sleeping pills, and a number of more personal items-- certainly not out of place in a nightstand drawer, but not the sort of thing most people would care for their guests to stumble upon.]
[Indeed, Aranea had only been expecting the usual boring things. But then there are...a few things she had not been expecting. Like. At all.
There's going to be a very distinct moment of silence before there's the sound of some rustling, like something large ruffling against paper, and then the clink of metal before she raises the items out of the drawer.]
And here I thought you were too uptight for dirty fun. [She is totally going to dangle those handcuffs against his face, though that's not all she took out. Guess what they're hanging from. Hint, not her hand and she's tempted to flip the switch to turn it on.]
[He sighs heavily, exasperated, dragging one hand down the entire length of his face. By the Six, was nothing sacred?]
Consider it another reminder that there's a great deal you don't know about me.
[The ruffling of paper makes his shoulders go rigid. He knows exactly what that is, and who it belongs to, but he's never gotten around to discarding it. He gently swats the handcuffs away from his face, fingers accidentally brushing against the other item in the process, and he grits his teeth.]
[She's listening. She's just not going to immediately act on it, made evident but the sound of the handcuffs clinking against each other as she twirls it around the "holder."]
And end all the fun? Though if you weren't injured we could have had some fun of our own.
[She's of course joking. She may be a little buzzed, but not that buzzed. Yet. ...Hm, well he's not a bad looking guy. Could do worse under the influence.]
[Though it had been an accident-- and he's not entirely sure that was what he'd meant to say. Perhaps some of the previous night's intoxication hadn't quite worn off yet.]
Enjoying yourself? I've nothing to be embarrassed about. I am a consenting adult.
[Way to make her feel guilty—it doesn't stop her though.] All the more reason for me to make it up to you. [And going to lightly poke his cheek with the vibrator.]
[He should have figured that out a while ago. And while she could free herself, she looks at him a moment instead, thoughts forming. Then there's a small cant of her head, a lean forward toward him, a pull of her hands as she uses that grip against him to tug him towards her, and then a smirk.]
I don't. [A straightforward and probably true answer.] But I could probably make you be.
If I wanted to, anyway.
[Now it's her turn to imply possible disinterest, complete with her starting to pull back.]
[Even as she pulls away, he immediately tightens his grip, tugging her forward to meet him in the middle once more. He may not be able to see, but he knows without a doubt that their faces are dangerously close to one another. A faint smirk pulls at one corner of his mouth for a brief moment, and he shows no sign of hesitation, none of the flustered shyness one might expect from someone as supposedly 'square' as she's admitted to believing him to be.]
[Aranea isn't surprised too often. But this is definitely one of those times where there is an actual moment where she doesn't immediately have a follow-up. It's a brief moment, especially when she can so clearly see her expression in the reflection of Ignis's dark glasses.
But rather than be flustered or annoyed, the smirk that had momentarily disappeared returns, a small laugh escaping from somewhere deep in her throat.]
Do I? [Still coy, still not really giving anything.] So far I think you're still drunk.
[At this point she's not sure to what expect, not that she actually expects much. But so far it seems she wouldn't really care one way or the other what happened. If anything.]
[He realizes that it's entirely possible she thinks he won't follow through. After the last twenty-four hours-- hell, after the last year, he has run out of reasons to hesitate or err on the side of caution. His grip on her remains firm, and he leans in to seal his lips over hers without further warning, without the unsteadiness that being truly drunk would bring with it.]
[Feeling his lips on hers is oddly satisfying. It's not that she has any particular need or interest, but there's something about a guy who not only defies expectations but also has the kind of confidence and a little bit of aggression to take initiative. A pure physical attraction. So that is why she will not pull back and instead return it with force, lips parting only briefly so that her teeth graze against his as she pushes back against him.
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[He uncaps his bottle, forgoing a glass entirely and drinking straight from it, a long swig that burns all the way down. If nothing else, it helps with the pain-- and let's be honest, Ignis' life the past year and a half would be enough to drive anyone to drink.]
Merely pointing out that it's unlike you to be so delicate.
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Whatever your aim is, it's terrible. [Meaning his flattery wouldn't have been working if he were trying.] And would it bother you if I had a delicate side?
[Which of course is complete nonsense, but it's all in good humor so why not. Drinking is always better when it's in good humor than depressing crap.
She is also going to take this opportunity to pick up that braille book because she can't help but be nosy.]
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Of course not. People are, after all, endlessly complicated.
[And as straightforward as Aranea tends to be, he's assuming she's no different in that respect.
He tips his head curiously in her direction, her weight against the mattress comforting in its own way-- solid proof that despite living in darkness, for the moment, he wasn't entirely alone. The book appears to be a novel-- procedural drama, and while that's not normally something he would feel drawn to, he has to make due with what's available.]
Curious, are you?
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But people are complicated creatures, herself no different if perhaps a little less so, which can be both interesting and frustrating at times. But she at least knows to expect that as well as exploit it sometimes.
But after taking another sip while holding the book in one hand, her attention becomes more focused on the dots lining the page. Setting the bottle down on the side table, she brushes her hand over the raised bumps.]
And maybe not as complicated as this. So is it just every letter you have to learn and basically spell out everything before you can understand?
[Like a code?]
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[Which, he'll admit, makes learning it that much more complicated-- but he's working his way through it, steadily. While he's always been a fast learner, he is somewhat handicapped in this by learning it as an adult who, until recently, had his sight, rather than being born without it and thus learning in his formative years.]
It's been a challenge, but I often welcome those.
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Kind of makes her feel a little bad about what she said before. Little. A bit.]
So what's this book about?
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[He may not be old by any measure of the word, but learning an entirely new way to communicate after twenty years is no small task.]
A procedural drama-- "thriller," supposedly, though I've yet to find myself thrilled. [Part of that may be because he's still slow to move through certain passages.] I'm grateful for it all the same. Beggars can't be choosers.
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And no wonder—how could anything described as procedural be "thrilling"?
Anyone die in it?
[She is now going to just swing her body and legs around, lean back against the bed rest right next to him, cross her legs right over each other and just flip through the book. She can't understand a lick, but it's what you do with books.
Also, she may investigate his side table in a second.]
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[He doesn't sound terribly impressed, to be honest.
While he doesn't mind her flipping through the book at her leisure, he does tense when he hears her shift, moving to investigate his nightstand, and that is enough to spur him to move. He reaches out blindly to feel for her arm and close a hand over her wrist, hoping to intervene.]
Excuse--
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What, got something to hide?
[She is a woman on a mission now.]
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Did no one ever tell you it's rude to go through other people's drawers?
[He's sure that someone had, and that she just didn't care.]
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[Drawer is opening.]
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There's going to be a very distinct moment of silence before there's the sound of some rustling, like something large ruffling against paper, and then the clink of metal before she raises the items out of the drawer.]
And here I thought you were too uptight for dirty fun. [She is totally going to dangle those handcuffs against his face, though that's not all she took out. Guess what they're hanging from. Hint, not her hand and she's tempted to flip the switch to turn it on.]
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Consider it another reminder that there's a great deal you don't know about me.
[The ruffling of paper makes his shoulders go rigid. He knows exactly what that is, and who it belongs to, but he's never gotten around to discarding it. He gently swats the handcuffs away from his face, fingers accidentally brushing against the other item in the process, and he grits his teeth.]
Put those back, if you please.
[As if she'll listen.]
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And end all the fun? Though if you weren't injured we could have had some fun of our own.
[She's of course joking. She may be a little buzzed, but not that buzzed. Yet. ...Hm, well he's not a bad looking guy. Could do worse under the influence.]
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And whose fault is that.
[Though it had been an accident-- and he's not entirely sure that was what he'd meant to say. Perhaps some of the previous night's intoxication hadn't quite worn off yet.]
Enjoying yourself? I've nothing to be embarrassed about. I am a consenting adult.
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And how do you know I would be interested?
[Trick question, probably.]
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I don't. [A straightforward and probably true answer.] But I could probably make you be.
If I wanted to, anyway.
[Now it's her turn to imply possible disinterest, complete with her starting to pull back.]
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I think you do.
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But rather than be flustered or annoyed, the smirk that had momentarily disappeared returns, a small laugh escaping from somewhere deep in her throat.]
Do I? [Still coy, still not really giving anything.] So far I think you're still drunk.
[At this point she's not sure to what expect, not that she actually expects much. But so far it seems she wouldn't really care one way or the other what happened. If anything.]
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No such thing as going slow in her book.]
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