Completed Careless Whisper

[Anona]

Careless Whisper
Spring 3rd, 514 AV*Takes place directly after Without a Paddle

After bells of wandering helplessly through a ravosala-less Ravok, Anona finally made it to James’s home. He got to work immediately, terrifyingly aware of how limited he was on time. He wouldn’t be able to rest for a second if he wanted to avoid his employer’s wrath.

He knelt in front of the hearth and reached into the crevice between the fireplace and the wall, searching for his tools. Shoved in the farthest back corner, away from wandering eyes, was a folded charcoal cloth, flint, and steel. He set the char cloth on the ground in front of him, grimacing as every motion sloshed the water around in his boots. He gripped the flint tightly between his thumb and forefinger, angling it toward the char cloth, and struck, over and over, with the steel, until a fair few sparks had accumulated, glowing red hot against the dark cloth. Dropping the flint and steel unceremoniously, he carefully picked up the cloth, cupping it gently between his hands, and blew towards the very small bundle of dried sticks sitting in the fireplace. After a moment, the embers caught, and a little fire came to life in front of him. Satisfied, Anona replaced his tools beside the hearth.

Beside the hearth there was a small metal rack, wide enough that its legs fit snugly on either side of the hearth and with a rack about a hand's width across that stretched between the two, and holding up a flat rectangle of iron with a short handle attached. Anona moved the rack until it was over the small fire and tipped the iron so that the flat side was down, and left it to warm. As he stood up, it didn't escape his notice that he’d left an ugly puddle of water on the ground; he made a mental note to come back and dry it later.

He practically darted up the narrow set of stairs and into James’s chambers. Luckily, the room (and, now that he thought about it, the house entirely) was much in the same shape as he’d left it the day before, so there wasn’t much work to be done. He flung open his employers wardrobe and stripped without a thought, folding his wet clothes neatly and placing them on the wooden floor. The last to go were his soaked boots, and although he dreaded the thought of putting them on top of his other clothing and ruining what little dry bits were left, that was how James wanted it to be, and so that was how it was. He plucked his faded blue dress and slippers from the wardrobe and quickly donned them before shutting and re-latching the wardrobe. Beside the wardrobe was a small vanity, from the top of which Anona plucked his thin black ribbon that he then tied tightly about his waist. He examined himself in the mirror, and was surprised to find that he didn’t look nearly as horrible as he would have predicted: his hair was a little wild from the running and excitement, but as he smoothed down with his palms, it behaved a little bit better; the belt cinched his waist and gave him the illusion of curves; his cheeks were flushed pink, wind-bitten and probably unbecoming for a young woman, but he guessed if anyone saw him, perhaps they would mistake it as a charming blush. He actually appeared altogether passable.

[Anona]

Satisfied, and feeling slightly better about the day now that he looked the part, he turned and tidied up James's bedroom. The bedding had been washed and hung to dry nearly a month ago, but the process took so long that Anona had to time it with James's few and far between trips outside of the floating city. Luckily, James was a meticulously clean as his wealth allowed him to be, and Anona only had to straighten the bedding a and smooth it out for it to look presentable.

In the corner of the room sat an easel and a padded stool. He retrieved one of James's smaller canvases from a cupboard in the corner of the room and placed it on the easel, as well as gathering some of his painting tools and setting them on the small table beside the stool and easel. Despite watching James paint and paint his stress away for over three seasons, Anona hadn't ever picked up any talent in the area or even knowledge pertaining to the different tools his employer used; the most he'd learned were the things that James did and didn't use on a near-daily basis: the canvas, two brushes (he had five, all made with different hairs, and Anona had learned which two he preferred by the feel of them), and his paints. Anona tried not to touch them more than was absolutely necessary to set them out.

After James's small studio was appropriately set up, he organized the clutter atop the vanity and left the room, making certain to shut the door behind him. As he made his way downstairs he felt the comforting heat of the fire, and his cold feet and shins warmed as he neared the hearth. One of James's shirts had been washed and hung to dry beside one of the first floor's windows. He tugged the shirt down from where it hung and fetched his smoothing board-- a wooden slab with two layers of cloth snug across one side. He set these down on the floor beside the hearth, gathered up some of his skirt, and used it to grab the handle of the smoothing iron without scorching himself. He'd learned early on that to avoid looking like he'd rolled in hot coals, he had to take care to use the inside of the dress to grip the handle.

[Anona]

After fitting James's shirt on the smoothing board, he slowly and meticulously pressed the creases and wrinkles out of the material. Fortunately, he'd taken time on the first of the season to painstakingly clean the iron's surface so that it wouldn't leave any unsightly markings on his employer's garments. Anona lost himself in the calming, repetitive motions as he swept the iron across the linen surface.

After some time had passed, Anona seemed to snap back to reality, and the shirt was done. More than likely, it had been done for some time, and he'd been erasing folds that didn't actually exist. He tugged the rack so that it sat safely beside the hearth once more and replaced the smoothing iron, leaving it to cool while he neatly put away his other materials. The shirt he took back upstairs, hanging it in James's wardrobe now that it was ready for wear.

After that, it was mostly upkeep. He made circuits around the house, picking up the small, meager messes that James had been able to make in less than twenty-four bells since Anona's last visit. He tidied the kitchen, the living area, the guest quarters, and again checked James's own private quarters, thrice, when a solid knock sounded throughout the house.

Anona paused where he was, straightening the pillows on the massive upstairs bed. He lifted his head to look out the window, and surely enough, the late afternoon sun faced him directly, shining through the center of the window pane to bathe the room in gold. He walked back across the room to the vanity and re-examined himself, smoothing his hair and his dress, and made the trip downstairs. He realized only then that the day's acrobatics coupled with his several routine trips up and down the wooden staircase, had strained his legs. They burned just walking the last few steps to the front door. He pushed the pain back as he reached the entrance and took a few breaths to collect himself.

His hand moved without thinking to grab the brass key hanging on the wall beside the door when he remembered that in his hurry he'd forgotten to lock the door in his rush inside. Fear crept in his veins and his hand hovered over the key, but James rapped his knuckles against the door once more and Anona jerked into action, pulling the door open and meeting James's blue eyes with his own.

"James," he said with an involuntary smile on his lips. Even the sight of him was enough to have his body reacting in opposing ways: his heart fluttered in its cage, his face heated with a blush, and his lips tugged wide in a smile while his hands shook at his side and on the doorknob.

James's eyes wandered slowly up and down Anona's body, and when his gaze met up with Anona's again, his eyes were dark. When he smiled, it was slow and predatory.

"Annie."

Anona bit his lip in embarrassment, both at the nickname and the way the rumble of James's voice made him want to melt. He thought of his legs, still hot and sore just from standing and holding up his own weight, and his heart thudded anxiously.

He hadn't realized that he let his gaze drift into the city until James lifted his chin with his finger. At the touch, his skin raised all along his neck and down his arms, and he closed his eyes against James's interrogative stare. Even without being able to see it, the older man's gaze was almost as physical as a brush of fingertips. He blushed under the feel of it.

"Annie, look at me." Anona's eyes fluttered open, and James was much closer than he was when he'd closed them. Their noses touched. James leaned in closer still. He smelled like spices, the way he always did when he came home from wherever he worked. When he spoke, their lips brushed against each other. "I think we should take this upstairs." Anona let out a shuddering breath and James pressed forward, crowding into his space until Anona backed up.

He lifted a shaking hand to grab the key off of its ring and James stayed in his spot, forcing him to practically plaster himself to James's chest to reach around him and turn the key in the lock with a resounding thud. As soon as he pulled the key from the door, James grabbed his face in both of his calloused hands and kissed him roughly, and he dropped the key in surprise. His hands fluttered nervously around James's arms, his back, his shoulders, finally settling for threading his fingers through his long, thick hair, and let himself be pushed upstairs and into the bedroom.

oocAnd now it's time for that ridiculous thread title to pay off

Secret :

[Anona]

After, Anona allowed himself to drift into a fitful slumber. He jolted awake, the remnants of a nightmare slipping away like shadows into the crevices of his mind. The bedding was pooled around his waist, their combined clothing still strewn about the room, and when he looked out the window, it was dark as the lake. James was sat in front of his easel, and he grunted in distaste when Anona moved his body.

"Keep still," he mumbled, his voice low and dangerous. He got like this, most nights-- Anona guessed it was too much to hope that tonight he would be the gentler, kinder James that he sometimes was.

Anona tried to think back and remember what they'd done, but as always, the memories were gray, and slow, and many parts were burned away. He hated it. He hated not knowing exactly what hat happened to his body.

"Ja-mes--" he said, and his eyes widened when his voice cracked and the word scraped against his throat on its way out. Now that he was aware of that, it was painfully obvious how sore his jaw felt, and how his throat felt raw and shredded. He didn't try to speak again, instead opting to stare unseeing at the bedding in front of him.

Time passed, as it always did.

James called his name and turned the easel so that he could see the painting. James was not a painter. Anona had no idea what his occupation actually was, but there was not doubt that it wasn't in the arts. Still, he'd been dabbling in painting for longer than the years Anona had been with him, and the painting was clear enough to see the bruises littering his throat and his shoulders. Nausea rose in him, and he only barely managed to tamp it down at the last moment.

"It looks wonderful," he croaked. James smiled at him, as always, and as always he crawled back onto the bed and kissed him, slowly, not doing so much as opening his mouth against his. When he pulled away, Anona fell forward, resting his head against James's forehead. James laughed, his breath fanning out hot across his face.

"You need to go home, Annie. You'll just distract me if you stay any longer."

Likely, there wasn't any other sentence that could have gotten him out of that bed as quickly as he did. He didn't bother picking up his dress and slippers from the floor, instead gathering his shirt, pants, and boots from James's wardrobe and slipping into them. They were all soaked, now, and smelled faintly of mold. Anona had honestly forgotten all about his earlier escapades-- it seemed so far away now. After taking a moment to adjust to the cold and wet all over, he swung his likewise-damp cloak over his shoulders and left the house.

[Nemesis]

Anona

Knowledge :

Skills

Skill	XP
Cleaning	+1
Housekeeping	+3
Observation	+2
Seduction	+1

Lores

*James: The Involuntary Thrill
*Lighting a Fire

Micellaneous :

Injuries

*Bruises? o.O will heal naturally within a few days.

Loot/Expenses

*None

____________________________________________

Notes

*Lovely little thread, loving the mystery of still not rally knowing what Anona's job is in practice, rather than on paper!
*I wasnt sure if the bruises were actually on his body, or whether James was just painting them... if there are no bruises just PM me and I'll correct this.
*Point for seduction for dressing up and looking pretty, even if he didn't necessarily want to!

Feel free to PM me with questions, comments, or concerns, if you have any.
Also, remember to either delete your grade request or edit it as 'graded'.
Thank ye!