Becoming Drykas (Dymphna)

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"I meant for you..." but he trailed off when he realized she'd taken the bit in her mouth and was running with it. Sam did listen to the words that came out of her mouth, but soon he was only paying attention to the play of light and shadow on her fair legs, white as the moon's face. It really wasn't fair that she could do something relatively simple and floor him. He was rather lucky, though, that she didn't take those opportunities to pick his pockets or otherwise take advantage of him, though there were some manners of taking advantage that might have been mutually gratifying. But he had learned a thing or two from the prettiest whore in Syliras. He crouched down, reached out, and touched. "Pretty."

[Dymphna]

She was about to say something smart or at least dreadfully honest, but she felt the words run dry as soon as he touched her. Her dark eyes widened a little as she peered out across the shop, but they dropped down to look at him curiously. She’d not expected something like that to happen. She was quick to tell herself that it hadn’t meant anything, but still she felt herself smiling shyly about it. The color rose into her cheeks. “I, um… You’ll… Well, these fit... Well. You don’t want them too loose, but I would probably go up half a size simply to… Um… Thank you.” Oh wait, he was talking about the pants, wasn’t he?

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He looked up at her innocently enough, but whatever he saw on her face coupled with what he heard coming out of her mouth made him smile. It was strange to see a hint of wickedness on his face, for he was very much still a child in many ways. Apparently not in all, however. "Secondary to utility, of course, I would like them to look good... Otherwise I won't be fit company for a pretty girl like you." He should probably stop touching.

[Dymphna]

“I’m pretty?” she asked quietly, looking down at him again in a daze. Clearly he’d not seen her sisters, then. She’d always been aware that she wasn’t ugly, but there was some content medium between pretty and ugly that she’d always felt herself in. There was no need to worry, because she wasn’t ugly, but pretty was maybe a stretch she wasn’t yet able to make on her own. In the back of her mind, she was chiding herself, because she knew they were likely being watched. She was perhaps a little uptight; she had her reasons to be. Yet somehow this near stranger had managed to catch her off guard. Almost involuntarily she pressed herself tighter against his touch, and the sensation caused her to bite her bottom lip as she peered at him.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Yes," he said, removing his hand regretfully. "You are pretty." He stood up then and looked anywhere but her, embarrassed by his own forwardness, even if it had been accidental at first. It was easy to forget that they were watched by more attentive eyes here. In Syliras, people didn't seem to care what other people did outside their own little communities within the larger community. The Drykas could be rather nosy, though he would be the first to defend their generally good intentions. It was difficult to shut off the part of his brain that was considering what their children might look like, a hypothetical line of thinking with which he wasn't entirely comfortable. Would his darker hair win out over her red? How would their dark eyes show up differently in progeny? Which shapes would read true in the next generation? He laughed nervously, apropos of nothing said or done on the surface of things. She had pushed into his touch there, hadn't she? Or had he imagined it? "What were we talking about?" he asked lamely.

[Dymphna]

It took every drop of power within her to not grab his hand and put it back where it had been. Her cheeks were burning crimson as she peered at him with wide eyes. She responded quietly, the disappointment clear in her voice, “Thank you… That’s, um… Very sweet of you. You’re very… Sweet.” And she was an idiot for stumbling over her own words. She straightened then, moving to turn back to the table with a tiny nod. As she took her first few steps down to look at the other items, she felt weak in the knees. No one had ever touched her like that… Well, one young man from a neighboring pavilion within Endrykas had tried when his parents had approached her father about the possibility of marriage. She’d startled and planted her knee firmly between his legs. What had he yelled as he stormed out of the pavilion? That she was going to be harder to break than a horse? Something about it not being worth the trouble… Daed Whitefeather had not been pleased, but she remembered the relief that washed over her when she found out she was not to be leaving her own pavilion anytime soon. The suitor went on to marry one of her sisters. They were quite happy… She wondered if she and Sam were going to be happy. Then she wondered why her mind had just gone to that place. She was about to be sad for a moment thinking on how it was likely she wouldn't know her husband before the marriage too place on a friendly level when Sam laughed, which caused her to burst out into a little youthful giggle. “Leather pants. For you. Here… These are the mens.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam nodded and colored, which was hardly mitigated by the tan he had achieved while traveling to Endrykas that summer. His dark eyes moved quickly to the indicated pants so as not to dwell upon the arrangement of her hair or the mystery of her dark eyes or the thought of what she would look like if that white dress of hers was suddenly drenched... Ah, to be seventeen and infatuated! Again, he was glad she was here because he would likely as not have left with something that seemed like a steal, but was no deal at all while Dymphna was making sure he got his money's worth and looked a proper Drykas beside. She was going to make someone a good wife one day, but surely she would be taken by the time he was proper marriage material. He hadn't any family to make arrangements for his marriage, anyway. Eldon didn't really count. Though Sam was sure he would try if asked. "Those look like they would be awfully loose on me," he remarked, eying a pair she had in hand. He was a rather whipcord thin sort of fellow, after all.

[Dymphna]

With what he said, she was forced to do exactly the thing she’d been avoiding. Her attention turned towards his lower body, and she did her best to size him up. Deciding he was right, she moved down one size and dug down to find a pair that would have a bit taller leg. With a little smile she flicked her eyes up to him, announcing decisively, “Someone needs to put a little fat on you.” She then did something she’d done a thousand times over helping her youngest siblings buy clothes when her mother, or later one of the other wives, were too busy to go shopping. Dropping down to her knees, she bent over, pinning the hem of the pants to his ankle. Her hand crept up his leg, pressing the leather to it in hopes of getting a decent feel for if the pants would fit him or not. In her nervousness she’d not thought about what she was doing. That is until she found her mind wandering towards what the muscles she felt looked like, and her hand may or may not have brushed up against something. It was only then that she realized what she’d just done. She stood up all too quickly, which in turn caused her to knock her head into the table. Her hand went up to cradle at the burning throb that resulting from her hitting it, gritting her teeth. Despite herself, her eyes teared up – Both from pain and embarrassment. Her free hand held the pants out to him.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Muscle, not fat," he said decisively. He could stand to look a bit more imposing. He was tall, and his shoulders were reasonably broad, but one wouldn't know from looking at him. There had never been a time in the past decade where he had had an overabundance of food, and he was always active so all that remained of his baby fat was a slight roundness of the cheeks that hadn't yet dissipated. Somehow or another, she ended up feeling at his inseam, which turned into basically feeling him up. He may have been rail thin, but he was all muscle and bone beneath his skin, compact and lithe. And there may have been a bit of excitement going on in his pants what with all the heavy petting. Red as a ripe tomato or a boiled lobster in the face, he accepted the pants. Then, in a pained whisper, he announced: "I don't think I can try these on right here... right now..." There was a bit of tenting action, after all.

[Dymphna]

Her brows furrowed, lips pressing together as the pain finally started to fade away. For a moment she stood with closed eyes, ignoring the whole situation. Well, at least trying to ignore it. The pain caused some little cloud of memory to form, and when she finally looked at him again there was a bit of terror in her eyes that only became stronger when she glanced down and saw why. “Hold them to your waist. They should fit elsewhere, I think,” she said quickly, looking away. Her hand fell into her pockets to start digging around. The sewing kit was placed onto the table, and she pulled out her little bag of gold mizas to shove at him. “Here. Pay for this for me. I have to go.” She didn’t bother trying to make up some excuse as to why. Instead she turned and started walking away from him.