If I Lost You...

Xanadu Weyr - Meadow


A large, slightly rolling meadow is set high enough above the riverbank on both sides to avoid suffering from flooding, healthy ground cover and grass spreading out from either side of the dividing river. Scattered amongst the meadow are a variety of buildings, each with a narrow path leading up to it from a main, winding road. Some are set under a few trees, while others sit by themselves.

Stables and a smithy are settled on their own plots, while trees border the northern edge of the meadow, and a faint outline of a fence can be seen to the east.

Continued from: Of Stallions and Riding Them

So through the early spring evening from the stable to their cottage walks Darsce, one arm looped about Jethaniel's near shoulder. Thankfully the meadow is right there outside the stables, though it's some distance to the base of the ridge where their place is located. Her pace is slow and her stride has none of her normal easy grace about it. Every now and then she winces, catches her breath and pauses before continuing but she's working on keeping her face from showing her discomfort - or trying. For the most part she succeeds, keeping up bright chatter about how energetic the stallion is and how she's sure he'll leap over anything he's put to and how she can't lose the race riding him. "You ride runners too, Jethaniel. Will you be riding in the race?" Diversionary? Maaaaybe. But the question at the end is genuine enough.

Jethaniel keeps his arm lightly around Darsce's lower back and matches his pace to hers - including those pauses. Her cheerful face might be more convincing were it not for those delays, and he is quiet in response to her bright chatter, his expression a thoughtful and troubled one even when he manages to not quite actually frown. Even without his contribution, the conversation continues apace, it's merely… somewhat one-sided. The stallion is, assuredly, energetic, but the downward tilt of Jethaniel's head may not actually be a nod, despite the similarity it bears. His silence lasts until Darsce puts a question directly to him, and for a moment beyond that. "No," he says. "I do not ride sufficiently." The definition of that sufficiency is perhaps a somewhat unclear one. Jethaniel's consideration thereof certainly places himself on the lacking side. His glance to Darsce… is part of an ongoing set of such glances, and does not necessarily constitute any assessment of her position on the spectrum of riders, nor of her self-placement on that (quite energetic) stallion. "It is," he says, and the words are slow and obviously careful, "A… somewhat hazardous activity."

Darsce's trying not to think about the troubled expression she keeps glimpsing in little side-glances at Jethaniel's profile. So she chatters on past the hitches of breath as if they hadn't occurred, her bright cheerfulness growing more determined around the periphery. His answer draws an aww from her. His definition is unclear, but she guesses lightly, "You don't jump? It's ever so much fun! I could teach you, if you'd like." She adds with a little snigger, "Runner, I mean, since you already know how-" She coughs, sobers and bobs her head reluctantly. "Somewhat," she says with a touch of unease. They're at the stairs to their cottage. She begins to life one foot to mount them; her fingers clench the material of Jethaniel's shirt. She takes a deep breath and tries again. Her foot only makes it halfway to that first step before she inhales sharply and falters.

It is true that Jethaniel does not jump - at least, not as the accompaniment to a runner. His legs are capable of doing so, restored to functionality by the passage of time - which is, in certain poems, likened to the swift pace of a runner. He could learn, to which he lowers his head in an attempt - almost certainly ineffective - at hiding a frown. "Perhaps," he says to the potential for his instruction, but he sounds far from convinced. The hazards are likely more prominent in his mind than the potential for enjoyment; he was not watching the graceful ease with which Cereld cleared that fence. He nods to Darsce's somewhat, and does not seek to clarify the qualified agreement further, for they are at the stairs. The first attempt brings his full gaze to her instead of mere glances. With the second, his fingers twitch against her side, tensing as he steps closer to her and partly turns to face her. "Darsce," he says, and if the troubled expression was not clear enough, his tone will make it so, "What is hurt?"

Darsce wouldn't need to see the frown to be aware of it. His tone, his posture… says a lot to her. With a little sigh, she tacks on, "Or perhaps not; you don't have to, Jethaniel. Not everyone enjoys aiming a runner at a fence and running full tilt at it." She… does not say what happens if the fence isn't cleared. Instead, she's trying to get herself up those stairs. Failing that, she lifts her head to meet Jethaniel's gaze, aware that he's troubled and she's the one who made him so. She tries to make light of it with a rueful, "Well my pride for one thing and… I think I broke my behind landing on it." One hand rubs her posterior gingerly. "I may have to work standing up tomorrow," she mutters with a grimace. "Help me up the stairs?"

Jethaniel may certainly hypothesize as to what might happen if one did not clear a fence after charging it. "I am aware," is all he says. That some people don't enjoy jumping? That he doesn't have to learn? He doesn't specify. There are more immediate concerns, such as Darsce's difficulty in ascending the stairs. His eyes meet hers, and that concern is the primary emotion revealed by the grey ones. Her pride is, assuredly, hurt, but the jest is insufficient to make Jethaniel smile. Her pride, he may salve by joining her in not acknowledging her injuries - as he did, until they presented her with enough difficulties that he was no longer willing to do so. Her posterior? "Ah," he says, with a slight nod. He does not suggest a visit to the infirmary; that was not the purpose of his inquiry. He merely sought to optimize the means of his assistance to avoid putting strain on those parts already injured. As such, he steps around her, up a step of the stairs. "Put your hands on my shoulders?" That will allow her to exert energy through arms instead of legs, and his own hands will go to her waist, to lift and guide her in the ascent.

"I meant, I don't expect you to do it," clarifies Darsce in a small voice and that might be partly to her rising unease. She is aware she cannot make him smile. She is aware this is an awkward maneuver and people can see. "Put my-!" His solution has her blinking and then she simply wraps both arms around his neck, leans close and whispers, "It hurts too much to lift my legs. Just get me inside. Please?" He can just back up those few steps and drag her with him - at this point she doesn't care. And thankfully he doesn't suggest the healers. That would be met with stiff resistance! Stubborn? Oh yes!

To that clarification, Jethaniel simply nods, and then his focus is on helping Darsce up the stairs and, from there, inside. His arms wrap around Darsce, carrying her as best he can given the constraints. It is, in fact, awkward, made even more so by the necessity of grappling with the door as well as Darsce. It is also - for all he tries to avoid putting strain on the regions she's indicated as sore - likely not a pleasant process, but he brings her inside. Jethaniel… knows a few things concerning pride and stubbornness. Once they're inside, he lets the door swing shut but does not release Darsce, instead continuing to convey her toward the couch. He will not insist she see a healer; he understands that aversion. He will insist she lie down, but he pauses in front of the couch, hesitating as he considers the three-dimensional problem space of seating her without putting pressure on her rear.

Xanadu Weyr - Domicile of Discernment

On the outside, this cottage is fairly unremarkable. It's of moderate size, though it's clearly not the home of a rider - there's no wallow, nor is there any means for even the smallest of greens to enter. It's set in the meadow, amidst the gentle roll of the terrain toward the ridge, but any adornment by flowers or ornamental plants is purely incidental. The exterior is painted white, and the roof-shingles are brown. There's a small wooden stoop, centered along the longer side - three wide steps leading up to a doorway framed by windows.
Once inside, the main room of this cottage is bright and airy, made so by a high arched ceiling and large windows that take advantage of their northern exposure, with gauzy drapes and pale golden oak sills. Overhead, there's more of that oak in the form of exposed beams, the ceiling between them painted a soft cerulean. During the day, there is likely sufficient illumination from those windows, but for night-time, there are recessed lights hidden within the beams that diffuse against the ceiling. The walls are white with a sponged speckling of the same blue from overhead, and underfoot is more of that oak.
The house has a central column of yellow fieldstone, with a fireplace facing into the room and a half-flight of stairs to either side - one leading up, the other down. Above the fireplace is an oakwood mantel, and while it may provide warmth, under most circumstances, the radiant heating system beneath the floorboards is likely to more effective. The fireplace may, however, provide a pleasant flickering warmth, and as such, a sofa and a pair of armchairs are arranged in front of it. The sofa's a velvety blue-grey, accented with a pair of red pillows, and the armchairs are brown leather - suitable for company but selected primarily for comfort.
There's a kitchen tucked off to one side, near the upward staircase. It's small, but well equipped, with granite countertops and a brushed steel cold-box and stove. There's an oblong wooden table with chairs set around it, and even some plants in small terracotta pots on the windowsill, as the presence of fresh herbs is useful when cooking.

As they reach the top step, Darsce finds her feet - or tries to. Drag-carried into the cottage, she's spluttering half-laughed, partially-gasped protests that she can walk, just not up stairs and though she's trying to help him, she more likely winds up being a hindrance, stepping on his feet, getting hers in the way of his - it's a wonder they don't trip and sprawl tangled in a heap upon the threshold! Their neighbors, should they witness this awkward grappling, are more likely to chuckle and mutter something about newlyweds rather than be concerned. As for the puzzle of how to have Darsce be seated on that couch, she solves that for him by brushing her lips to his cheek, murmuring, "Thank you," and bracing a hand to the cushions as she sinks down to curl up on her side. She's leaving him room to sit if he wants to, but before he does, she looks up at him with big blue eyes and asks too-casually, "You, uh, don't happen to have any fellis powder left over from last winter, do you?" Because it's that bad? More like… because Darsce is a wimp.

Darsce walking by herself would be inefficient. Admittedly, this attempt to carry her is also inefficient, and it's a tangled confusion involving Darsce's riding boots on Jethaniel's shoes and, fortunately, neither a repeated fall for Darsce nor one for Jethaniel to provide him with reference bruising for comparison. The evidence getting here certainly indicates that she is capable of walking, but… once inside, there's nobody to see them, and so Jethaniel wishes to assist… even if he is not precisely capable of doing so in a dignified or coherent fashion. Their successful arrival at the couch may, in fact, be partially despite his efforts instead of because of them, but it suffices. The brush of Darsce's lips to his cheek draws a faint flicker to his, nearly a smile, and his fingers slip slowly away as she settles herself down to the couch. Her question makes that partial smile recede, concern coming to the forefront once more. "I… may." He did have a certain tendency to avoid taking it. There were likely remnants. They may, according to proper procedures, have been returned to the infirmary for reintegration into the stores and disposal. They may also have been left in a drawer, then packed into a box and placed… somewhere. The unpacking process is still incomplete. Jethaniel bends down to one knee to bring his head to a closer approximation of level with Darsce's, and brushes his fingers gently back along her cheek. "Do you want me to look?"

Those boots hang over the couch so as not to soil it. Though being headwoman has instilled some habits in Darsce, like removing them at the door so as not to dirty the floor, that habit is forgone this evening. She may not be able to cook, but she has learned how to - and is incentivized to – housekeep; thus far, she has not hired a maid. Later - or tomorrow - she will mop the hardwood floor where she tracked in smudges, real or imagined. Tonight? She isn't moving, not even to shuck her boots. Instead, her eyes follow the twitch of lips to that almost-smile and she, appreciative for Jethaniel's solicitousness, nevertheless is unusually meek when she says, "Yes please…if you can find it." She will need to sleep tonight. And get up those stairs to do it, because she's not about to sleep alone on the couch. "If you don't…I…" She heaves a reluctant breath and mutters, "You may summon a healer for a house call, but I'm not going all that way tonight." To the infirmary. A house call means follow ups and questions and charting and her record being seen by Cyrus but eh. Her butt is being pain in the butt.

Jethaniel nods to Darsce's request. "I will look." First, his fingers linger a moment longer in their caress. Darsce will not sleep alone tonight. Whether she does so on the couch is yet to be determined, but - as he has said - he will look for that fellis. That she would have a healer come here makes an eyebrow rise slightly, followed by a nod. He has been provided with informative calibration, and he leans in to kiss the cheek his fingers touched before rising to his feet again. He goes first to the door, to take off his own shoes, but after so doing he ascends the stairs. The box with that medication is likely located in either the bedroom or bathroom; there's the sound of him moving boxes as he conducts brief assessments of their contents and the probabilities of their containing the object he seeks, followed by more in-depth analysis. It will leave things in a state of somewhat more disarray than they were before, but after a while, he returns down the stairs, carrying a small paper packet.

Darsce tracks Jethaniel as he ascends those stairs. Only when his back is turned does the pain-hazed expression replace the forced lightness in her iceblue eyes. Damn that ground was hard! The runner's move was so totally unexpected that she hadn't time to tuck and roll. At least she hadn't hit her head. Yay? Her eyes remain lifted to the ceiling where the faint sounds of boxes moving is heard until with a sigh she closes them to await his - hopefully triumphant - return. The pain is enough that she' fighting her queasy stomach and she's focused on that rather than sock-feet steps returning so she doesn't hear him return in time to school her expression back to reassuringly cheerful. It's doubtful that she'd be convincing anyway - the color has drained from her cheeks, there are tiny lines of pain where her lids are squinched shut and her mouth is pulled back in the effort not to grimace.

Jethaniel leans in, adjusting his position slightly for the benefit of that arm around him. Its presence is certainly something he considers a benefit, and his fingers continue to move with gentle affection. The actual severity of Darsce's condition is somewhat ambiguous, but the primary exterior distinction between many of the possibilities is merely the duration for which she will be taking fellis and avoiding excessive activity. Even a moderate duration of such treatment, Jethaniel considers sufficiently minor to be so construed. He might change his mind after seeing how Darsce responds to being bedridden (and sleeping on her side), but for now, he turns his head enough to brush a kiss to her arm. "It was an accident," he agrees. A minor one, given the possibility space. "You…" he begins, but the pause he takes to assemble the more dire potential outcomes is instead taken by Darsce's assurances concerning the risk mitigations she has enacted and will conduct in the future. The laughter is inappropriate, but for all it is induced in no small part by fellis, it is still significantly more natural that her attempts earlier, and it brings a faint smile to Jethaniel's lips. His eyes soften as he regards Darsce. "You may ride where you wish." His fingers trail along just above her ear, tracing an extrapolated curve, and his voice is quiet and calm. "There do exist hazards. You might hit your head." That is the simplest of the non-minor accidents; there are others, ones Jethaniel's imagination is quite capable of conjuring whether he wishes to consider them or not, but he does not attempt to enumerate. "It is… a risk." It is entirely possible Darsce will not even remember this conversation, but Jethaniel nevertheless continues to have it. He leans in a little further, his fingers trailing along the back of her head and his head tilting downward slightly as he adds, "It is your choice what risks to accept."

Darsce is, at this point increasingly boneless - and brainless - as more fellis makes it from her stomach into her bloodstream and finds her central nervous system. Her levity is incongruent with Jethaniel's unease over the situation and yet her smile widens. "Tuck and roll usually prevents that," she says almost flippantly about hitting her head despite the suddenness of this accident proving there isn't always time to perform it. She knows runners, even if she disdains getting her hands dirty caring for them. Indeed she might well have hit her head. She could get bitten, but that would be more of an annoyance than serious injury. She could get kicked, stepped on or Faranth forbid, rolled on if her mount goes down; she does not mention these possibilities to Jethaniel. He's capable of coming up with scenarios on his own, but she's hoping he won't. In contrast to her giddy expression, her relaxed manner as she scoots her shoulders closer to him and reaches a finger to playfully tap at the tip of his nose, she tells him with snicker, "Life is risky… It's much more exciting that way!" There was something she was trying to minimize… oh! "I don't want you to be worried about me," she says more seriously, trying hard to focus. Her expression eases while her fingers trace up the bridge of his nose, cross his brows and begin playing with the hair of his forehead. A vague flicker of a frown crosses her face as a thought is loosed from the control she's kept on it. "I'm scared for you sometimes," she admits abruptly.

Jethaniel nods to Darsce's assurance regarding the tuck and roll. It is a moderately effective mechanism… when successfully deployed. He is aware of both those clauses; were he to calculate a risk analysis, he would require probabilities for each. That would permit him to rationally assess the situation, but his concern is not rational; a numerical value of increased risk would do little to assuage it. The usually implies that sometimes it does not, and that is the sort of scenario of which Jethaniel cannot help but think. At least Darsce's pain has fled along with her bones and brain, and the smoothing of her face into smiles and lightening of her voice to laughter does reassure Jethaniel, despite the irrationality of being soothed by the fact that Darsce was sufficiently in pain to desire this degree of medical intervention. He's smiling now, a small one with affection and attentive concern tangled together, as he trails his fingers back along her neck. "Adrenaline reactions," is his comment regarding life's risks and the excitement associated with them, but his head tilts up a little, as if intending to follow her finger as it rises but interrupted by gazing into her eyes. At her desire, his lips quirk wryly and he admits, "I may not be capable." He closes his eyes for a moment as her fingers pass between, then opens them to return to hers. There's a slight tilt of his head, hair shifting against her fingers. "Why?"

There's a return of Darsce's smile, it snakes across her mouth with a lascivious satisfaction as her fellis-addled brain (perhaps deliberately, who knows?) makes the jump from his concern with her safety to… other things, reading a totally different meaning to his intended one. "Trust me, you're more than capable," she says smugly, her arm seeking to draw him close enough to apply her lips to his. Fellis doesn't interfere with her amorousness, nor her ability to kiss even if she is rather plaint and giggly. At this point she's forgotten that she's had fellis, why she's had to take it and… what were they talking about? Oh! She draws back, her faint frown reappearing as she answers with drug-induced forthrightness, "Because I love you." Again misreading his words, or perhaps it is an answer - the most direct 'because' to his 'why' that exists. "I know the facts about how careful you are and how unlikely hazards are, but I worry that in the course of your work you'll be electrocuted or inhale some chemical that will poison you or a…a building will fall on you while you're inspecting it. Because you can't prevent other people's stupidity." Heh, hers included! Her mouth trembles (thank you fellis for- Ah, can't blame Darsce's emo on that, can we?) and her unnaturally bright eyes glitter as she gazes into Jethaniel's. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you," she says earnestly.

Perhaps, in that case, Jethaniel's capability constitutes a buffer overflow? His lips twitch, about to demur, but then she's drawing him close, and Jethaniel does want to see Darsce happy as well as safe; as such, his eyes close and his lips, instead of disputing her veracity, press back to her kiss, though there's more tenderness than passion to his part of it. His eyes open again as she draws back, and for a moment, before he recalls the context for her answer, it makes him smile. She loves him, and that… ah. That is why she's scared. Jethaniel nods slowly, and he remains close in against Darsce as he listens to her catalogue of hazards with a somber expression. She is correct that they are risks; the probabilities are low, but fear is not rational. Jethaniel reaches up, brushing his fingertips along Darsce's cheek and then resting his hand there. He's silent for a moment, grey eyes meeting hers, and his thumb brushes over her cheekbone slowly. "You would cry," he finally says, "And you would miss me a great deal. But you would remember that I love you and want you to be happy, and so you would try." He leans in, and brushes his lips to hers. "Some of the time, you would succeed."

Like that's gonna happen! Whaaaaat Darsce does he know who could achieve that? The woman in question simply stares at Jethaniel while his hand cups her face. At least the thumb sweeping her cheekbone isn't finding any tears this time. "I would cry and miss you forever, and I would never forget you love me," she agrees. Then passionately declares, "But I would never, ever be happy again!" Her arm curls further about his neck, the hand running his forelock through her fingers drops to loop under his arm and over the back of his shoulder in a fierce hug. "You aren't allowed to get killed, so there." Nyah! She can't joke about that and from her tone, she totally means it! "You'll just have to stick around to see how beautiful I look with white hair." Note: she does not mention wrinkles. Those aren't allowed either.

Jethaniel has long held a high opinion of Darsce's abilities, particularly when she puts her mind to something. He expects, given the scenario described… but he has no desire whatsoever to conduct a test. He shifts, half twisting up onto one knee as Darsce wraps her arms around him and draws him into that hug, and his arm slips back from her cheek to go over her shoulder as he presses himself to her in the best approximation that can be arranged, given the limited planning and their rotation from each other due to physical placement. "I am not," he agrees, his tone a serious one. "I will be here." For so long as he can, and while circumstances do exist which might cause him to involuntarily break that rule, it is assuredly one he will do his utmost to follow. Jethaniel turns his head and kisses at Darsce's ear. "Very beautiful." He says this without evidence save for his extrapolation from available data points, but he considers those sufficient. What Darsce would he not find beautiful?

A person can do extraordinary things when their mind tells them they can do them. Darsce's - at this point in time - tells her she would curl up and die of a broken heart. Such is her belief in his abilities and fellis does nothing to counter this, that at Jethaniel's agreement, she breathes a long sigh and though she does not let him go from that hug, her body returns to the relaxed state it was before. Her arms are the last to follow suit, holding him for a long time before there's a muffled, "I'm not allowed to die, either because I think you would work forever and forget to sleep and eat and go for walks and laugh and look at the stars." And that last thought is what makes her start crying into his shoulder. She cuts it short, whispers a defiant promise at the spectre of looming mortality, "I promise I'll master that runner and I'll be very careful racing him!" Clattering at breakneck speed up hills and down gullies, over fences and under trees in the tangle of flashing hooves and flailing limbs… Not exactly a careful sport but fellis isn't exactly conducive to logic - at least when active in her brain.

Jethaniel continues to hold Darsce as her body relaxes, and he brushes his fingers softly along her hair, pale gold whose future whitened state he will be there to see. His arms are warm around her, strong and gentle despite the somewhat awkward positioning, and as she notes another prohibition, he turns his head and kisses at her cheek. "I might," he admits, his arms tightening around her as she begins to cry. "But you will be here to remind me." Until his hair turns white, or falls out entirely, and then they can sit on this couch or a successor thereof and remind each other of how things used to be. Life is full of risks - some unavoidable, others simply not worth evading because of the rewards with which they are associated - but they intend to persist despite those dangers. Each believes it of the other; perhaps that will suffice. Jethaniel might be happier had Darsce concluded she would not race, but he nods to her decision. "I am glad you will be careful," he says, and that is honest truth. For all that the sport is not intrinsicly suited to caution, he is glad that Darsce - having decided to engage in it - will (or at least intends to) be careful in so doing… insofar as that is possible.

Darsce said white??? That's proof-positive right there that fellis has robbed her of her… uh… vanity. She's going from gold to silver someday - at least, that's what she'll claim the color is regardless of the actual hue. She'll mourn his loss of hair but perhaps she'll keep quiet about that and extol the shape of his head aloud while telling him her fingers have better access to it. "Yes. Yes I will," sniffs the wife of Jethaniel, somehow in the fog needing that reminder, comforted by both the arms around her and the assurance. "And since we've already been for a walk (she remembers that) and have had dinner (she's forgotten they haven't), the next reminder on the list is stargazing." She pulls her lower arm back, levers up to push herself upright. The other arm is still draped lazily over his shoulder and she wobbles against him. "I… might need a little help getting up there." Meaning she wants to lie tangled with him under his starlights and… gaze at him. At least she's feeling no pain? He might not have to carry her up those stairs, but then…

It might be more efficient if he did carry her… though that would increase the risk of Jethaniel tumbling back down those stairs, Darsce in his arms. Were she to ask, he could name other white metals - zinc, gallium, and so on - but he's more likely to simply kiss her than attempt accurate description of those future changes to their follicles. Perhaps Darsce will be fortunate, and Jethaniel's will prove defiant in the face of their rather more constrained mortality. Time will tell, and Darsce and Jethaniel will be there to see it together. They've been on a walk today; he nods agreement to that. Her claim of dinner he does not dispute, despite it being counterfactual. Darsce knows the difference between Jethaniel agreeing and not-arguing, but in this case - between fellis and the fact that he is not particularly concerned by the lack - it may slip by, much like the dinner itself, and be replaced by stargazing. "Ah," he says, and his lips quirk in a smile. "I suppose it is." This is not the first time that he's skipped dinner because Darsce wished to go to bed with him. This particular scenario is somewhat different than previous occasions, but Jethaniel nevertheless nods. He braces one arm against the couch to provide himself with stability in order that he may transfer it to Darsce, the other shifting toward her waist to do so. "I will help you." His lips curve in a smile - not quite a laugh, but he is at least attempting to follow the elements of that list. "We may dance our way to the stars." Or at least they may, for a moment, halfway resemble it with his arm about her waist and hers over his shoulder, and once they're risen, he'll take a moment to embrace her. Their subsequent motion to go up the stairs and see the stars is far more of a walk than a dance, but Jethaniel's pace is slow and steady, and his arms remain around Darsce, offering his support.

A reel is a type of dance. Darsce will be doing that, but only a little bit thanks to Jethaniel's slow and steady pace. She can return his smile - hers drawn out of hiding by his. It's likely neither are in the mood for laughter but at least she's not giddy-giggly anymore. The stairs are a challenge only insofar as balance is concerned - that pain of stepping up them efficiently dispelled by the fellis - and Jethaniel's assistance minimizes the hazards of ascent. In their room, Darsce changes into her shift slowly, perhaps a touch clumsily, but without a great deal of trouble. Her riding clothes will be left wherever and she'll melt onto the bed, a brief frown of confusion at the sensation felt as she sits. This problem will be solved by once again curling on her side. She'll weasel close to Jethaniel once he's joined her, brush her lips to his cheek and turn a look ceiling-wards. She'll murmur something about there being so many stars out tonight (seeing double, likely) before her eyes drift shut for a deep slumber that will end sometime… whenever the fellis wears off. Probably sometime midmorning the next day.

Given the delta in their masses, Jethaniel is quite capable of providing a stabilizing inertial influence to Darsce. The boxes in their room show the signs of his search for that fellis, the beginnings of a disarray to which Darsce's discarded clothing further contributes. Jethaniel makes no effort to neaten them, simply preparing for bed while watching Darsce's own process to ensure it continues smoothly. It's early yet, to one not drugged by fellis, but Jethaniel climbs into bed with Darsce and carefully puts his arms around her. "I love you," he tells her quietly, and while she looks at the stars, he looks at her face in their light. It will be some time before he sleeps, but he brushes a stray golden hair back behind her ear as she drifts into somnolence, watching her for a time before lifting his gaze to those stars above and letting his thoughts wander. Tomorrow, there'll be more work for him - including that left incomplete tonight - but for now… he lies with Darsce, and gazes at the stars as she has reminded him to do.

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