Music
For the thread, technically. Not JCB's band.
The sound of the patrol caught them both off guard, it was true, and Caius’ rash move for a ruse swept her up by surprise, her hands moving to shove him as he expected she would. But she didn’t scream, catching on and complying with his irresponsibly inappropriate decision, fingers moving to curl into his shirt. When she pulled him closer to further hide them both, he couldn’t help but hum an unexpected noise that would have been some sound of approval had the heat the burned down his spine not been more fear than interest. For a trill, he tilted his head toward her ear again with unthinking, primal intentions tugged from his core by fading adrenaline, blood, and the brush of cold fingertips, distracted until the Knights spoke up and he smiled instead, closing his eyes to keep from laughing at the sound of coins—just a few copper nel as a rude dismissal—pinged against the cold cobblestones.
The young Gawyne’s breath was a hot cloud that mirrored his muddled thoughts when he finally leaned away and pretended not to be dizzy or confused, eyelids heavy and iris’ amber. He did laugh then, awkwardly, because she wanted to hold his gaze and he wanted desperately to look away, his pulse ringing in his ears. At least she was blushing, too. At least he didn’t feel like a complete rookid,
“Familiar. Well. There’s only so many of us who take the Institute of Art seriously, after all. I thought it was just me, to be honest—what are you studying?” Caius quipped, his tone curious and yet self-deprecating at the same time. Her arm in his felt different all of the sudden when she leaned against him as they walked. The northern noble didn’t bother picking up the knights’ coins. He didn’t want them. He shook his head and ran his free, ink- and blood-stained hand through his untamed hair, rolling his eyes at her hero comment,
“Bogs, no. I’m not—I don’t—this isn’t my usual form. At all.” His laugh was quieter, shier, and he didn’t look at her again for several more steps, their road now familiar and the dark shape of the campus’ buildings looming against the slowly lightening skies. Dawn was coming, damn it. Exhaling through his teeth and feeling the dull ache of his face and the sharper sting in his side, he tilted his head toward her, meeting the seriousness of her more sober gaze,
“I’m just an apprentice printmaker at the Gazette, and you were on my walk home from work. Headed back from a good party, I assume? Lower mid-town, no doubt. Why were you—why would someone like you be alone? I’m no one’s sarding hero. I just—“ Caius hesitated, jaw clenching again for a moment before he spoke with quiet levity to the blonde who still smelled of reevi and a tavern, whose occasional stumbling had suddenly become a little endearing instead of annoying, “—my sister ran away when we were kids. I wasn’t—I didn’t—awful things happened, and while she came home alive, no one was ever the same. I don’t wish that on anyone, strangers included.”
He smirked, clearly embarrassed by his own honesty and looked away again, their walk now most likely as familiar to her as it was to him. Did he slow his step a little, realizing their walk would end soon at her residence? Maybe. It was subtle, perhaps. Hopefully, anyway. She was wearing his coat for now, bloodied and ruined as it was, and so his free hand couldn’t find his pocket, listless and impatient at his side, he curled fingers into his hair again instead and was quiet for a bit or two.
“Please, call me Caius.” The northern noble finally looked back at her to offer an introduction, his expression softening, “I’m no more a good ser than I am a hero, but I’ll take it graciously with your smile. Just this once, though. I guess I’m finally living up to expectations as a Gawyne.”
He grinned, then, but it was more sarcastic than anything else, the warmth in his tone fading audibly. There was a sharp edge to his admission, somewhat aware of her curious glances. While part of him wondered if she just had decided he was enjoyable to look at—which was fine by him—he was aware that there were other reasons for curiosity, so he satisfied them. It was just obvious the weight of nobility wasn’t one he carried around with the same light-hearted pleasure as some of his peers—their peers had he known. Still, he turned it around with a wink, leaning a little into her arm in his,
“And you are? Not the expected damsel in distress, that’s for sure.”