droppingin | The Ton

[ He's always had an effect on her.

It's evolved, over time, but whatever it is has always resulted in her doing something, feeling something, she didn't expect, didn't plan for. She's never been one for casual (sincere) intimacy, but some things change, always in increments, always when she isn't looking, and all too often with this man.

She did tell him to hold on however he needed to. ]

Of course we are.

[ Still as warm as before, but a little more teasing now that she's aware of her own tone. Keeping both hands on the reins, she...changes nothing. Which in itself is permission, and perhaps a tease, the act that she is unaffected.

Stay sharp, twice now, gunshot, bandage, debris, bandage, gunshot, rocket launcher, gunshot, hint, hint, hint, risky rescue, risky rescue, rocket launcher, sea-doo... back and forth they go, but frankly he's owed her awhile, if she was keeping score. But somehow, breaking even always costs her. ]

But we never agree on it.

Beginning to think you'd miss me if you didn't swing by now and then.

[ She doesn't react, and another time Leon might have been disappointed. Not now, not when her unaffected tolerance means Leon can act without being waved off, can indulge himself in the distracting micromovements of his fingers, feeling her and the texture of the material between his fingertips and her skin.

He still smells like woodsmoke, summer sweat, and the whisky he sipped on the shore. She smells like heaven, his only excuse for indulging in the scent of her hair is there's no way he can back off without slipping from the horse's back. She said she'd leave him there, can't be helped, right? But god, if a moment could last hours, he'd try to preserve this, the hot pain of his injuries and all.

Not that lucky; Whetstone rises like a pale ghost under the moonlight, a square stone gargoyle squatting near the wine-dark sea, a long slope of green leading to its drawbridge. It's down. Which spares Leon from the need of calling ahead. Which... he should have done anyway, rather than just drop in on Shaxx like this. Leon starts to fumble for his communicator, only to change his mind when he has to clutch at his side again. ]

There it is.

[ She can't even deny it, the way she left in the middle of the night to find him with no information but a location and a worry in the pit of her stomach she refused to put word to. He called, and she'd come. ]

Always having to find you myself.

[ It's mock annoyance; she's got a handle on her smile now, but only because she's reduced it by half to a smirk.

She hears him hiss behind her, already missing the warmth of his arm around her, and compromises, holding the reins in one hand temporarily to reach down and grip his thigh just above the knee, squeezing gently. ]

There it is.

[ she echoes quietly. She'd heard of this particular fort, of course, but hadn't had much reason to make it there herself, yet. ]

You gonna make it?

[ She teases softly as they approach, retrieving her hand after a final pat to his leg so she can keep both hands on the reins, just in case her horse decides to find something innocuous terrifying while on a drawbridge.

Blessedly she doesn't, and the next order of business is finding somewhere to dismount, get Leon inside, and... find a first aid kit along with a hope and a prayer. ]

Pheme hasn't made me go soft yet.

[ In the end, though, as they reach the small courtyard of the fort, Leon has to disembark and chooses to just get the painful business dealt with — by not exactly hurling himself from the back but it's hardly graceful, and for a few moments he'd appreciate no spectating or interference while he stands, slightly bent, significantly pale, and potentially trying not to heave at the agonized protest of his ribs.

Is he good? Fuck no. And there isn't any protest when he carefully steps into the fort's hall towards what is, presumably, a larger common area inside the fort's walls. It's some time before he speaks, and when he does, it's with mere sips of words and breath. ]

Storage room. Got supplies there.

The Ton | I N B O X

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