Now Will Just Have to Do [Sariana]

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: 80 Spring 512, Dawn-ish Location: The Suvan Sea The storm broke with the rising sun, though the winds had died down and the rain had lightened considerably in the hours before the dawn. The sea slowly regained its more regal and sparkling composure just as Syna's rays finally, reluctantly broke through the lingering clouds. It was as if the very wood of the palivar itself sighed with relief. A few hours later, Kyala returned, safe and sound despite exhaustion and a few bruises, with Pash'nar's casinor. She'd been unable to draw close enough in the storm, obviously, and had been forced to keep the smaller ship from capsizing in the large swells that had even tossed the larger ship about like a toy. Dawn brought things full-circle for the false Svefra, inked and tanned earthbound seeming replacing the pale celestial trappings that sparkled in the darkness. Not that he had anything left in him to care or notice. The Timeless had hardly been moored to the Tidewater's home for more than a few chimes before he was slinking overboard onto his hull and crawling into his cabin without a warning or a word. Was he avoiding the inevitable just a few bells longer? Perhaps. If he could. He was not the only one exhausted, however, and scouting duties and much of the normal ship activities the three passengers were used to were very relaxed for the rest of the day as the weather promised to hold and the sun made the range of vision far and clear in case of danger. Everyone needed to rest. The dark-haired navigator moved in slow motion, attempting to drag a few charts from his scattered, disorganized collection and gathering his tools. Wet clothing was hung on his line and cabin windows propped open for the generous relief of bright sunshine. He collapsed on his bed and laid out his charts on the floor underneath him, hanging precariously over the edge in some futile attempt to multitask before sleep claimed him, swallowing him like some beast from the depths of the Suvan itself. A few glimpses of the stars had peeked through clouds before dawn, and Pash was desperate to determine how far off course they were. Regardless of the nagging regret that chewed at his insides from the night before, he still had a job to do. Dark eyelashes felt so heavy, and eyelids were weighed with anchors. His chapped, rope-burned hands ached and bruised body protested any further thoughtful activity. Calloused fingers lazily traced over star charts and navigation lines, but tide pool eyes had already glazed over. The sun spilled through neat little squares across the worn floor of his cabin, framing neatly the intricate manta ray inked between his shoulder blades, framing the chart his hand fell still on, and framing the forgotten meal that lay just beyond that. It was only a matter of moments before the false Svefra was fast asleep, despite his promise of speaking truth to the Drykas who most likely still had a few good swings with his full name on them. Oblivious to the sound of footsteps on his deck or the creak of old stairs protesting quick motions, it was at least a compliment to his ego that he was not quite drooling all over his sea charts in exhausted unconsciousness when Sariana arrived. He was only snoring a little instead.

[Sariana]

With the rising of the dawn sun, Sariana found herself awake, unable to sleep properly throughout the whole night as it was. She had tossed and turned, mind turning over and over and events replaying themselves. The night had given her time to think at least, about the night alone with the tall opalescent ethaefal..and about the sunset just gone.

She was still upset, hurt even. And she was angry that she was hurting. This was not what she did, getting embarrassed and upset by men and their stupid secrets. This is why she didn't allow herself to get close, because emotions only caused pain and suffering. As she dressed, the drykas carefully avoided her bandaged hand, a blatant reminder of their altercation last night. It was bruised, and swollen, but she could move her fingers carefully. Shifting into her shoulder holsters and balancing her rapiers against her back, the raven haired drykas left the dry warmth of the cabin and climbed into the sunshine.

Around her, the scene was much different to the prior evening. There was a sense of relaxation and recovery as the crew rested from their hard night battling the storm. Automatically, sapphire eyes roamed to the side of the ship, to the smaller vessel berthed beside them. Her jaw clenched with a sudden rush of anger.

"Petch it all." She mumbled, moving to the side to climb over and land on the smaller deck with a thump. Walking across now familiar planks, she made her way through the sheltered doorway and down once darkened stairs. Reaching the floor, her eyes were drawn again to the ceiling. The map was just as beautiful as it had been that previous encounter. Strolling through the living area, her fingers brushed the table gently, raising a feeling of butterflies in her stomach. The sailor wasn't here, or on deck. Pausing, Sariana reached his bedroom, and with a deep breath she drew back the curtain.

Laying face down across his bed was the ethaefal, now in his daytime form. Pash'nar. Pash. Moving closer, the woman took in his relaxed form and the unattended meal on the floor between charts and maps. He had fallen asleep, reading and planning their course. Quietly, she drew nearer, eyes scanning his prone form. His hair was dark, and his form slightly shorter than the celestial part of him. His skin was closer to her own tanned color, hidden mostly by intricate tattoos as beautiful as the painting on his ship ceiling. His face, whilst now that of a common man, held the same features. Only they were less prominent, less made of stone and moonlight - more now of flesh and blood. Sunlight kissed his bared back, highlighting a detailed tattoo of a ray...some kind of large disc-like creature. They were beautiful and curious things to watch in the water, mysterious in their movements. Much like the man.

Drawing back a little, the drykas pursed her lips as she looked down at him. Her anger lingered, but there was something else. Seeing him like this, defenseless and exhausted...the edge to her rage softened. Sariana began to back away, frowning. He didn't owe her answers or explanations...they weren't even dating. They had merely been ships in the night, passing by with barely a glimpse.

But he had affected her. He had sated the feeling she had been fighting since leaving Zeltiva. He had made her feel...something. And as much as the brunette had tried to fight it, the feeling had taken hold of her and given her a taste of that which so many poets devoted their works to. The lie, as it was...it made the drykas feel as though he had used her in a way she couldn't explain. As though he had tricked her just to make a mockery of her in front of the others.

It hurt.

Pausing, Sariana reached for a pillow, and with a firm movement she whacked it across the back of Pash'nar's head. Petch sleeping, he could sleep after they talked. Then, they could wash their hands of each other and be done. Waiting for him to wake up, the tanned drykas looked down at him with pillow in one hand, bandage on the other and brow drawn.

[Pash'nar]

Her first blow roused him briefly—mumbled objections in Fratava, a wave of a blistered hand, the stirring of bare legs tangled in familiar sheets. He titled his head for a moment, eyes refusing to open, only to flop it back down again, disheveled dark hair cascading downward to reveal the carefully inked full moon with a detailed compass centered inside on the back of his neck where the intricate lines of his sleeves met in the middle. He grumbled a few more words, sighed, and was still completely oblivious to Sariana's presence. It would take several more whacks of a pillow to fully awaken the exhausted navigator, and he bolted up from his precarious position, one hand snatching at sheets to cover himself in surprise while the other clumsily raised to guard a bruised face as a solid string of hoarse sailor's curses fell groggily from chapped lips, "Petch off! M'awake! M'petchin' awake!" Pash finally snarled, slowly lowering his hand enough to peek through tattooed, calloused fingers, squinting in sunlight and pillow dust, "Couldn'ta waited a few more bells'n'let a man sleep who saved your arse from drownin' could you?" Oh, gods, it was bright. He groaned and leaned his head back against the old wood of his berth, rubbing stubborn exhaustion and huffing stray stands of hair and sea glass from his face. Finally, the false Svefra willed his eyes to focus on the Drykas who still gripped her soft weapon in front of him. Exhaling slowly, he drew scuffed knees to his chest while making somewhat extra effort to maintain a form of privacy between them that he wasn't entirely sure should matter anymore, despite the differences between his seemings, "I'm an ethaefal." The dark-haired navigator said simply by way of explanation without an immediate hint of apology, finding it incredibly uncomfortable to keep his cerulean gaze level with Sariana's. When carefully examined, his eyes were indeed the same, as was his voice and broken, unstudied Common. What the petch did she want to hear, anyway? "I don't recall any complainin' before, so I ain't sure what's got your feathers so petchin' ruffled 'bout. In fact," his arms stretched over his knees, hands hanging in the space between them casually as he recalled their night together on his old casinor, "unless I'm rememberin' wrong, you ain't a fan o'complicated." As far as he was concerned, he'd worked petching hard to keep things uncomplicated, though perhaps in hindsight, he'd done a shoddy-arsed job of it. Apparently, they had different definitions. She hadn't needed to know who he was at the time. Or so he thought. It was enjoyable enough and brief, without any other strings than he happened to be the same man hired to sail them to Alvadas. Oh, and he knew. "I mean, really, would'ja rather petch this instead?" Thumbs arched towards his bare, uninked chest as he sneered defensively. She hadn't trusted him on the beach, her and her pet wolf. She obviously didn't trust him now. Even if he'd wanted to—which he did, maybe even still—could he have charmed her out of her clothes in the daylight? He'd lied to save everyone from the issue, not just the Drykas. They were his passengers, not personal baggage. The Suvan wasn't safe and he couldn't be bothered with emotional entanglements when there was work to be done. It wasn't trickery. It was protection ... or so he told himself. Over and over. It hadn't gone as planned.

[Sariana]

That voice, that same broken common...rough voice. It seemed strange hearing it fall from the svefra's lips, out of place from what she now knew. But it was his, and this was the same creature she had spent that one perfect night with. The same petching creature that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about since they parted ways. Even more so, as he scrambled to sit back and make himself decent in her presence (as though it mattered anymore), the drykas could see the similarities in him. Without knowing, she had never seen them, but to compare the two...he had the same build but softer in volume. And of course, his eyes. Those same curious cerulean eyes that drew her in and made her heart dance wildly against her chest.

Throwing her downy weapon casually aside, Sariana rested her hand on her hip, looking at Pash as he grumbled with a chilled stare. He told her what she already knew, an ethaefal - as though it meant something to her. She knew they were in existence, with their horns and their glorious forms and their melancholy ways...but the brunette didn't know it meant they were shape shifters. And she definitely didn't know that the sailor that threatened her strider and the godling that set her soul aflame, were in fact one and the same. The thought again brought forth the bubbling anger that simmered deep inside.

"I don't recall any complainin' before, so I ain't sure what's got your feathers so petchin' ruffled 'bout. In fact....unless I'm rememberin' wrong, you ain't a fan o'complicated."

The tanned woman's eyes narrowed and her fist clenched tightly at his words, trying hard not to scream at him like some old fisherman's wife. He was using her words, the things she had told him in confidence, to turn this around. To make it her fault?

Oh no he didn't.

"And you don't call this complicated?!" Sariana said in exasperation, gesturing at him with her good hand, and looking around the room with a laugh.

"What did you expect to happen when you changed like that? Did you expect that I would just...just laugh it off as a strange co-incidence? You could have told me, there and then. Here in this bed!" She pointed at the tangled mess, refusing to allow the pain that was welling up inside break into her words.

"Instead, you let me believe that we had parted, gone separate ways, only to find you've been travelling with us the whole petching time. And it's not just some great secret that only the wise and powerful Pash'nar holds...it seems every other petching crew member and her wolf...they all know...all of them! But they wouldn't dare reveal your precious secret for fear of I don't know...someone actually liking you for more than your petching pretty face?!" The emotions running rampant through her finally got the best of the drykas, her voice wavering slightly and her vision impaired. Swearing in pavi, Sariana turned her head away and blinked rapidly to clear the tears that threatened to ruin her moment.

Damn you, don't act like some weakling. Get a grip!

"Did you bother to give me a chance to find out what I would rather?" She asked angrily, pressing a knuckle to her eyes to hide the water that had leaked from the corners.

[Pash'nar]

The false Svefra looked away sullenly as she stared at him, studied him, compared him. He didn't look back toward her face as she became upset in her reaction to his words. He frowned, though, salty, wind-carved lines on either side of his mouth deepening as her unwelcome and apparently unexpected emotions grew more obvious. One hand strayed from the knuckles of another to rub his ageless face in frustration, causing him to wince at the burning in his palm and the aching in his jaw. "Don't petchin' cry to me—it wasn't s'posed to be complicated!" There was more sympathy in his expression than in his tone, but Pash'nar still didn't look up as he struggled to explain himself, or at least to grasp at some form of excuse, "Why did I have to tell you anythin' you didn't want to know?" "O'course th'boat knows, they're my friends. I don't have many, but I ain't got anythin' to hide from 'em." She didn't want to be his friend. She didn't want strings. She wanted a ride. She had coin. She wanted distraction. She enjoyed it. They were separate. Or so he told himself. What was the big deal if this wasn't true? He finally pulled his eyes away from the familiar old woodwork of his ship to look sideways at Sariana, cautiously treading the clouded water between them with his words, "An' petch, your pet can smell me like the beast she is. I can't hide from her—'course she had her own thoughts the night you were here with me, y'know. She knew first, in 'er own way. Nira'lia touched me an' I had no choice in th'matter—I ain't one to volunteer. I wasn't gonna let 'er come out with me at night, but she knew so what diff'rence did it make? I ain't said a word 'bout us that she didn't already guess at with her Konti know-how. They weren't in on anythin'. It jus' happened." His tanned face softened to match his voice and he looked back down at the torn up palms of his hands he turned to face upwards in helplessness instead of continuing to meet the sapphire gaze of the Drykas. Inked shoulders rose and fell and he sighed heavily, feeling defeated and trapped. It wasn't supposed to be complicated, and now it wasn't petching fun anymore. "We did go separate ways, 's far's I was concerned. It was fun, an' no one needed to make it anythin' else. It was a bit of a game, aye, but you didn't want this. You wanted who I am in th'dark. Now that you know we're th'same, what's it petchin' matter? You want somethin' else?" He kept his secrets for a reason. He toyed with danger for fun, it was true, but he still managed to usually keep his distance when all was said and done. He'd made mistakes before. That's what they were. Mistakes. But, petch, it was lonely. Perhaps as it should be. He'd surely spent a few decades convincing himself everything was easier this way. Hadn't she done the same, just in less precious time? That was, apparently, the lie. Maybe they agreed after all. The tattooed navigator saw her tears and it made him angry. She'd claimed not to worry about feelings, but apparently played the same kind of games as he did. What was she mad about, again? He blinked, shifting uncomfortably, tilting his tired, bruised face to once again look up at Sariana, his voice suddenly cold, honest, and almost harsh. His eyes were like the sea glass in his dark hair, "Shut up. You don't wanna like me. I'll petchin' outlive you." Did she want someone else to carry a metal box around to the ends of the petching earth, too? He had enough baggage of his own. Still, he leaned forward anyway, despite his words, calloused fingers reaching to wipe the moisture on her cheeks she'd failed miserably at hiding. He almost whispered, dragging his words through the pained depths of his own heart's ocean, "That's all you're really waitin' to find out. I keep secrets 'cause less people end up hurtin' that way. Most times."

[Sariana]

Moving her hand away from her face, the young warrior looked down at her feet, allowing ebony locks to fall in a protective curtain between his raised voice and her awkward emotional breakdown. She didn't want to be this person...this person was why she didn't get involved. Pathetic and sniveling and whining...causing pain and frustration all around. As the ethaefal announced the crew as his friends, Sariana bit her lip to quell the sudden crushing feeling in her chest. Why? Why would Karithus lead her to this? Surely he knew her motivations, her reasons to avoid this dilemma.

"We did go separate ways, 's far's I was concerned. It was fun, an' no one needed to make it anythin' else. It was a bit of a game, aye, but you didn't want this. You wanted who I am in th'dark. Now that you know we're th'same, what's it petchin' matter? You want somethin' else?"

Sariana shook her head, pressing a hand to her forehead and closing her eyes.

"No, no! It doesn't matter, don't you get that? I don't petching care what you look like in the day or the night you stupid petching Venhrehk! It wasn't your horns or your looks that interested me. It was your story, and your words and..you! And then this...this feeling. I told you...whether you petching believe it or not. I don't know why...it just felt...right. Meeting you, was right. Regardless of what you made of it." Opening her eyes, the tanned brunette lowered her hand and sighed. It was hard to explain...hard to put a finger on. She didn't want anything else, nothing else.

Did she?

Feeling the sudden gentle hand on her cheek, Sariana turned her gaze to face him again, looking at those familiar eyes and feeling her heart skip a beat. His words cut deep, they didn't just warn her, they exposed him for what he truly was. A lonely, heart-weary man..doomed to be hurt over and over again if he ever gave himself to another. Unless he loved someone like him.

"Too late." The drykas muttered, sighing heavily and reaching up to gently take his hand - careful of the blisters and lacerations from the rope of the rigging. She lowered it, but didn't let go. Keeping her saphirre eyes on his own tidepool ones, Sariana leaned in to press her lips to the soft curve of his own imperfect mouth. It was a soft, tender moment - unfamiliar to the woman in every way but somehow right. Slowly pulling away, she reached up to tuck her long tresses behind her ears.

"Maybe you will, or maybe you'll find your death before me out here alone on the ocean. I keep myself alone because feeling for someone, it only causes pain. And hurt. Karithus grieved his whole life for his wife, and when I do eventually release his spirit, I will hurt too. I...I avoid it because I'm...afraid. Of being hurt, or let down...or letting someone else down." Brushing the back of his hand with her thumb, the warrior looked at their hands. Tanned skin laced over tattooed, completely different to their last touch, but altogether comfortable and familiar.

"When we reach Avaldas, you can drop me off with the others, and go your own way. And I can forget all of you, and you me." It was easier said than done, already she could feel the twisting protest of this proclamation deep in her belly. Looking up, she smiled slightly.

"And for the record, you are ridiculous to think I wouldn't want you in this skin, any less than in your other. The only difference between the two is that now I will kill both if I see you touch Vrathetu."

[Pash'nar]

Pash'nar could blush in this Syna-kissed sea-faring seeming, and he did, color unbidden rising to bloom in warm colors deeply across un-aging, wind-swept cheekbones. Her strong, well-trained hand was gingerly intertwined with his own calloused, worn one without hesitation and he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes as she brought her soft lips down to touch his, meeting her crystal gaze with a hint of surprise in his tide pool globes. It was all he could do to keep from greedily taking more from the moment, having kept himself from touching her at all their whole journey. He would have held her there, lingering, with his heart in his throat and his pulse in his ears, but he didn't. He finally looked away instead, the back of his neck burned, spreading a wildfire of chagrin and confusion down his intricately-inked spine. This was not how things went in his life, but he found it difficult to be resentful. Nira'lia's accusations still washed ashore in the dark, volcanic sand of this thoughts—he was lonely, there was more to see of the world than he allowed himself opportunity to enjoy. They sank like anchors in his tired mind. Then Sariana was talking about forgetting and the tattooed sailor could only laugh, coarse but warm instead of harsh, "Petch you, woman, I ain't any good at forgettin'… 'least not anythin' this side of th'Ukalas, that is." His words were breathed quietly though too-perfect teeth, teasingly, compelling him to tug on her hand and draw her closer even as she'd begun to lean away. He pulled her against his knees, "An' petch Ionu's damn city of illusions, while you're at it, if you're thinkin' you can tell me what to do." The dark-haired navigator smirked wryly at the dark-haired swordswoman, the color that clung to his cheeks refusing to drain away at her final comment. He was the same—she knew that now—regardless of the time of day or the glamor on his skin. An amused sound hummed in his chest, and he opened his mouth to reply with some swarthy, crass comment about wanting instead of horses, only to yawn deeply instead. Petch, he was exhausted. She was distracting. It was an acceptable paradox for the moment, but his body argued otherwise. A sore, tattooed hand tugged again, testing his hold on her towline, inviting her closer still if only because he already knew she was warm and soft and he was tired and longing. He retraced her words a bit in the silence that followed, eyelids heavy as he fought to stay awake, wondering if having her nearer would keep sleep from claiming him sooner, "Regardless of what I made of this? I?" The false Svefra was mostly taunting the Drykas, unwilling to completely process the more serious of her statements. He knew why he stayed alone. He understood loss. That didn't mean he liked it. It just meant he felt he had no choice but to pick one path over the other to stay mostly sane as the decades slipped by. Maybe he just had the wrong perspective. He wanted her tan skin against his in the sunshine, now that there were no secrets, so he purred groggily, "You blame me for all of't d'you? Is't because you already know how distractin' y'are, then?"

[Sariana]

Watching the warm blush creep across Pash's face and shoulders, Sariana couldn't help but smile. It was something his other self never seemed to experience - well at least not in their two encounters - and being able to see his emotions just seemed to solidify the realism of the situation. He was a man, just as much as the next one, regardless of the shifting appearance.

Feeling the butterflies in her belly easing as the svefra laughed, the drykas allowed herself to be pulled closer, pressed against his knees and hearing him dismiss her suggestion to part ways with a certain sense of delight. Her smile widened, watching the exhausted man suppress a yawn...unsuccessfully. His body was deprived of sleep and utterly used up by the violent storm. The brunette felt for him, and as he tugged her again the young woman leaned against his knees with a soft chuckle, hearing the taunt in his tired voice.

"Yes, this is all your fault." The blue eyed warrior said with a serious nod, even if her smile broke her features with the teasing taunt. He had drawn her in and quenched the strange feeling she had been having since leaving Zeltiva, and he had made her admit to him - to herself - that there was something in her that was capable of feeling...emotion. He made her face her fear, and cautiously test the waters.

Pulling gently on his hand, Sariana placed it lightly on her hip as she climbed onto his lap, straddling his sheet covered lap and lifting her hands to rest them on his tanned, svefra cheeks. Her bandaged hand rested lightly against the bruise that had formed on his jaw, an ironic nod to the violent outburst. Capturing his mouth with hers, the drykas lingered in a long passionate kiss, moving across his chin and jaw to breath in his ear and kiss the tattooed curve of his neck.

"I might possibly notice the...distraction I've caused..." She breathed, pushing him back against the bed bodily and stretching out over his prone form.

"However, I've also noticed the fact you can barely keep your eyes open, and your hands look as though you stuck them in a fire." Her hair slowly trickled over her shoulders to rest around them like an onyx curtain. Kissing his lips again, the warrior smiled.

"Distractions might not be the best thing for you right now." Sariana murmured, soft fingers brushing against his temple lightly to sweep away rouge strands of dark hair as she raised an eyebrow at him. There was no denying, she was curious to find out whether he was completely one and the same in the daytime...in this bed...but she also knew he was running on empty. There was hours of daylight left, and plenty of time to introduce himself properly. Still...if he protested...

Everything felt right.

[Pash'nar]

The tattooed sailor looked up to object to carrying the entirety of the blame for their confused yet not entirely unpleasant situation, but any more serious thoughts quickly evaporated in the sudden and generous heat of the warrior's lingering lips as she settled onto his lap. She'd caught his eye on the beach, all full of mysterious purpose and warrior pride despite his swarthy slurs of self-defense. She'd held his curiosity in the baths without knowing who he was, still strong-willed and unintimidated by his fallen celestial trappings. His only regret was that petching horse. What was it good for on the sea? Nothing. He reacted involuntarily to her movement across his face, free hand moving to join the other in resting lightly, gingerly considering their condition, on her hips, and leaning his head to one side at her breath on his skin. Pash'nar growled softly, swallowing words. The sway he'd unconsciously allowed the Drykas already was not entirely unique in his long history, but rare and unpolished and somewhat distant in his memory. It made him feel weak and unguarded, which were not comfortable feelings when he preferred control and self-sufficiency. Was he really so tired of his self-imposed exile? He sank backwards willingly underneath her touch, but it was in reality perhaps more because his bed was comfortable than his expectations high. There was very little he had to give at the moment, worn thin by the long, difficult end-of-spring storm. Still, the navigator enjoyed the more sensual luxury of another body over his own, unable to drudge up the desire to defend himself from the alluring assault of her attentions. He sighed against her kiss, attempting to return the gesture with genuine interest, but his eyelids were heavy and slow as he willed himself to focus on her lovely face. "Mmm'aye." He managed to mumble, raising fingers with finely inked lines to toy with the dark waterfall of hair that encircled them, "Prob'ly not." The false Svefra yawned again, though he tried desperately to contain it. He let the back of his hand travel from Sariana's hair downward over her cheek to her neck and over her shoulder, keeping his touch light and teasing before he shifted his body to one side without warning. Tattooed arms snaked lazily around the swordswoman's body, bare legs and sheets tangling her own, and Pash moved to hold her like one of his pillows. He hummed a groggy noise of comfort and attempted to convince her she had nothing better to do than watch him sleep. Remembering her previous admission of her lack of interest in the more cuddly side of intimacy, the tattooed sailor found his exhaustion a perfect excuse to remind the Drykas that he'd decided to completely ignore such a ridiculous idea. "How 'bout you wake me up'n a few bells'n see'f I'm feelin' more int'rested in what you're offerin'. Jus' don't go anywhere. You ain't got anythin' to do out at sea, anyways."

[Sariana]

Moving her hand from his temple, Sariana covered her mouth as his yawn infected her, chuckling a little at the transfer. She was tired, it was true...but not as much as the ethaefal. She at least had seen some broken rest. He had seen naught. Her blue eyes couldn't keep from searching his face, still marveling at the similarities in his two sides. The man had upset her, and angered her...but she could at least forgive him. The tattooed creature hadn't done it for fun, but more to protect himself and those around him from a pain only he could truly understand. How many people had he loved, and lost, over his lifetime.

And just how long was that lifetime?

Lost in her own thoughts, humming in agreement to his words, the drykas let out a short sound of surprise as Pash turned onto his side, taking her with him with a cage of arms, legs and sheet. Laughing with a little awkward blush, Sariana settled into his grasp with a soft tsk.

"Ahh...hmm. Well...I don't know if...Sylkra will come looking for me and...perhaps..." There were a millions excuses she could make, and her protests were force of habit. But once, just this once, it wouldn't hurt to let down her guard. Petch, she'd already admitted to herself and the celestial navigator that she had feelings...scary, vulnerable feelings. What difference did it make protesting now? Taking a deep breath, the young warrior reached up around her shoulders, wriggling out of the holster that held her rapiers to her back. Leaning away from the sleepy godling, she pushed them onto the floor before turning back to face him with a smile.

"A few bells, right. Sounds good. But I want the chance to meet you before the sun goes down. Properly, alright?" Her blue eyes held his as she smiled through her blush, fighting the terrifying anxiety of what if. What if she woke up and he changed his mind? What if he decided she wasn't worth the time. What if...what if...the drykas stamped down firmly on her thoughts. This was right, for her. For now. She had to stop avoiding her feelings. Sleeping in the same bed as the man she had already slept with was just a small step. One step at a time and all that.

"And don't get any funny idea's about disappearing either. I'm not fond of breaking my hand on your face again."