The Apartment Above 6 Unicorn Street, Thursday Evening

[angelo_wings]

Stranger and stranger. The other-her, the Rinoa that Lady Caraway felt like she was tracking through time and space, apparently owned a store in town, at least according to the tiny blonde Sorceress who worked there. How had she come to settle here? Mr. Sta- Jono said that the Rinoa he knew had gone to school here, but Rinoa had been privately tutored most of her life.

They still had no real progress on the other question, what had caused the rifts and portals, but the emergence of new faces on the island seemed to indicate that more and more of those were opening, almost as though cracks were appearing in a dam just short of bursting. It wasn't a reassuring thought.

The benefit of everyone assuming you owned a store was that you were perfectly free to make use of the merchandise, and so Rinoa had helped herself to several of the books from the back of the room. She would put them back when she was done, but for now, one of them might help.

She was in street clothes today, as there was no one to impress, and she'd replaced the bottle of chianti from the other night with a pinot noir. Rinoa sprawled out on the couch, one of the heavier tomes on her lap, hoping to find something, anything, that might explain what in the world (worlds? universes?) was going on.

(open for housemates or visitors!)

Comments

[angelo_wings]

"I wouldn't ... want to be sharing my thoughts," Rinoa admitted, turning slightly pink at the idea. "But the experiences, and the senses ... is that hard, for you? Or is it ..."

She risked a glance at him. "Do you ... want to try some of this wine?"

[furnaceface]

//Practically second nature, after so long,// Jono assured her. //I've had these powers since I was in my teens. Plenty of time to get them to work in my favour.//

He considered her offer for a moment, and then nodded again, a slight shifting of his helmet, forward, back.

//And... I would love to, luv. If you don't mind my doing so. It's not even particularly intrusive, I'm told. Like skimming the surface, it's all right there.//

[angelo_wings]

"I don't mind at all," she said, offering him a quick smile. She tried not to be so nervous, suddenly. There was something ... not unnerving about it, but frightfully intimate. "Ready?"

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she concentrated on the wine glass in her hand. It was cold, against the skin of her fingertips, and the light was dancing across the surface of the burgundy liquid.

This felt a bit like being on stage; she hoped he wouldn't think she was putting on a show. But if someone was borrowing your sensations, you couldn't simply toss the cup back and chug. You had to ... savor it.

And so as she raised the glass, she held it in place for a moment, allowing herself to inhale the complex mixture of scents: the berry top notes, the meaty undertaste. She tilted the flute against her mouth, allowing a small stream to trickle against her lips. She parted them, tasting it as if for the first time, letting the barest hint of it overwhelm her.

She paused to catch her breath before tilting the glass back further, and this time, the wine filled her mouth, deep and weighty with a hint of sweetness. Acid, crisp, but not bitter. It danced on her tongue and burned, ever so slightly, as it slid down her throat.

After one, two, three mouthfuls, she eased the flute back; her tongue darted out, unbidden, to catch a stray droplet that was hovering on her lips.

When she opened her eyes again, she was blushing. Could he feel that, the heat in her cheeks, the warmth as the wine settled in her belly? The way her heart was pounding a touch faster that it had been before?

[furnaceface]

He could. He'd borrowed the senses of quite a few people over the years, of Hannibal and Raven and Karla. Each had their own biases, had their own particular way of enjoying the food that they were helping him sample.

With each and every one of them, this was an experience, intimate in its own way, their tongue becoming his, breathing in whatever they had in front of them, savouring it...

And there was always something a little overwhelming about the way his entire being flooded with sensation that, more often than not, he was left without. Particularly a sensation so evocative as taste. He'd been brought to his knees by chocolate, once, left to melt on someone's tongue. Peppermint overwhelmed him completely, and wine...

Wine, when properly appreciated, was practically a religious experience. And after it, the way her tongue played over her lips, the heat in her cheeks...

//Magnificent...//

It left him wanting more. Not wine. Rinoa.

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa was blushing, and a little at sea. How exactly should she ...

If he had lips, she could drop her eyes to them, and wriggle a little closer; she might even offer him the glass, by its stem, and watch him drink in turn.

If he had eyes, she could let hers linger on them a little too long, and get some kind of a read on how he was feeling. Whether this ... flicker ... was entirely one-sided.

Ridiculous. It was probably always this intimate, sharing with someone; for her to now assume it had had undertones was childish. She was going to compose herself and try to act like a Sorceress, not a wide-eyed teenager.

"I didn't ..." Her voice sounded off, to her own ears. She had to clear her throat, blushing darker, and try again. "I didn't realize how ... personal that was."

[furnaceface]

//It's... it can be,// Jono shared, lifting a shoulder a little. //It depends on a few things, I suppose. It's far more...//

More... platonic? Was that a word that Jono wanted to use right then?

//... more a matter of the tastes alone, when some people do it. Hannibal focuses more intently on proper appreciation of the food. Karla mostly just shovels it into her face...//

There was a moment's pause, and then he added, //this was far more sensual.//

Yes, yes he was going to use that word.

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa was going from pink to red. But that was good. That helped. It meant -- she thought it meant that this was, at least, mutual. Unless ...

"I'm sorry," she apologized, a little sheepishly. "I didn't mean ..."

She gestured, vaguely, and hoped she wasn't about to put their host in a very, very awkward spot. "Is ... is that necessarily ... bad?"

[furnaceface]

//It isn't even a little bad,// Jono assured her, gently. //Actually, I really rather enjoyed it.//

A beat.

//Is that bad?//

[angelo_wings]

It occurred to Rinoa that wriggling a couple of centimeters closer was rather universal. Him not having eyes didn't make that any less effective. She hoped.

"If ... if I'm following you," she said, "then ... no. No, it isn't."

She dared a glance up, although his helmet wouldn't tell her much.

[furnaceface]

Him not having any eyes didn't make any difference, really. He had other senses, too, and that little bit of daring coming across with her words was telling him every bit as much as her glance upward might have.

He found himself missing his face in a way he hadn't in years, frustrated for the first time in a long time with his inability to give her a reassuring smile.

Instead, in a fit of daring of his own, he reached, tentatively, for her hand.

//I'm glad.//

[angelo_wings]

Her fingers were twining around his, and this part, at least, was so refreshingly normal. Just two people sitting on a couch together. She could pretend it was that straightforward.

"I know it ... complicates matters," she began, flushing a darker color, "but I ... I'm glad, too."

She gave his hand a tentative squeeze.

"I've never met anyone like you before."

[furnaceface]

He... couldn't exactly say the same. After all, she wasn't even the first Rinoa he knew. Still, Jono found himself pleased to have met this one.

//Clever? Dashing? Wickedly handsome?// He was teasing, obviously, a light, playful note carrying over along with his voice. //You know, you're quite stunning, yourself.//

[angelo_wings]

"You're ..." She frowned, not sure how to phrase it. "You're yourself. I mean, you have all this power, but it doesn't define you. You're you, in the midst of it. You seem ... like your personality, your sense of self is even stronger than all of that fire."

She glanced over with a teasing smile of her own. "Although I have noticed those arms."

She had eyes.

(Er. No offense.)

[furnaceface]

None taken. He was somewhat less touchy than the bitter young lad who had gone to high school here. Besides, if she was noticing his arms, it meant she wasn't using her eyes to stare in horror at where his head was meant to be.

Most people didn't ever get as far down as his arms.

//You would be surprised,// he ventured, //if I told you just how much of my life has been spent trying to get a handle on who exactly 'Myself' is. Admittedly, I've lost sight of that a few times, though I don't have the flame to thank for that.//

Well. Not directly.

//The trick is realizing who it is you want to be, and then bloody well being that person. Not dwelling on who you were, or what anybody or anything else would make of you. Me, I decided to give 'confident' a try, for a change. Still takes work, of course.// He paused, and then his tone went a little lighter all over again. //The arms do help with that.//

[angelo_wings]

"I don't think I would be," Rinoa decided. "It's not ... easy, carving a space for yourself that isn't just what you can do. I've always known I was the Sorceress, but ... it was hard to decide who Rinoa was."

If she slid a few inches closer, she could pull his hand onto her lap. That seemed much cozier.

"I pretend that I'm confident, that I'm utterly in control, and it's usually a facade. I'm tired of having to live up to the weight of it."

[furnaceface]

He leaned a little closer to her, inched her way a little. His hand was in her lap, a sort of intimacy that he hadn't felt in a long while.

Really, it was the simplest things, sometimes...

//Well,// he ventured, //there's nobody here that you need to fool. If you're not feeling confident, or particularly in control, or any of it... Rinoa is perfectly pleasant company all on her own, I think.//

[angelo_wings]

The nicest thing about those arms is that she could lay her head on one of them. If he didn't mind. Just ... lean over and let him take a little of the weight, for a moment.

"I think I'd like it here," she said. "I like ... just being me. I'm ..."

She smiled. He couldn't see it, since she was facing away, and since he didn't have eyes, but really, he probably knew anyway.

"I'm glad you like me-as-just-me. It feels like ... like breathing."

[furnaceface]

He knew well enough, yes. He didn't have eyes, but his psionic powers compensated for that in other ways.

He would have smiled, too.

//I think I know exactly what you mean, luv,// he offered, softly. //If it were possible, I would be... rather happy to have you stay. Here.//

With him.

//You, as 'just' you, are a beautiful person, Rinoa.//

[angelo_wings]

"We don't know that it isn't," Rinoa said, reaching to cradle his hand in both of hers, now. "If this place really is a nexus ... maybe I can stay here. Maybe I can find it again. I'd ... like to. I mean."

Okay, maybe it was impossible. But maybe it wasn't. Was it so wrong to have a measure of hope?

She was blushing. "So, has anyone ever told you ... how frustrating it is, not being able to kiss you?"

She had to imagine it was even more so, on his end.

[furnaceface]

//At least once or twice.//

He brought his other hand forward, then, not reaching for her hands, but for her cheek, to gently cradle her face against his palm.

//There are workarounds for that. It's not quite the same, but...//

He reached out with his telepathy, sending the sensation of a ghost of a kiss, brushing softly against her lips.

[angelo_wings]

Rinoa closed her eyes, feeling ... feeling kissed. She leaned into it, trying to kiss back, but just as quickly, the sensation was gone.

She was creative. She could adapt. She tucked her chin down and pressed her lips firmly against his palm, nuzzling against the inside of his hand. She tilted her head to let her cheek brush against his long fingers, her lips trailing over his skin.

[furnaceface]

Oh, that was... it was lovely, really. Such a small thing, an affectionate nuzzle against his hand, but it was easily more affection than he'd been shown in years. He countered with a wave of warm emotion, the sort one might feel when they can't quite hold back a little smile, when they're moving past charmed straight on into enamoured territory.

His hand moved across her face, thumb tracing the outline of her lips.

//Beautiful.//

[angelo_wings]

The loveliest feeling was washing over her; warmth, connection, and a tingling, giddy infatuation. This was reckless. The Sorceress was usually so careful with her affections, with who she chose to be seen with, who she allowed herself to date.

She wasn't the Sorceress here. Rinoa could do whatever she wanted. Rinoa -- could kiss his thumb, softly, and then draw it into her mouth so that she could tease it with her tongue.

So what if it was shameless? He wouldn't judge her. He ... understood.

[furnaceface]

//Oh.// That one word, that one syllable, was full of all of the raw appreciation that Jono could fit into it, and he found himself bunching his shoulders slightly at the pleasant surprise.

He gave her hand a light squeeze with the one that she was still holding on to, and then slipped it free so that he could run his fingers up over her arm, slowly and lightly, exploring whatever bit of exposed skin he could find.

Arms like silk, he mused, and might have even felt the faintest bit guilty that this Rinoa's Squall wasn't the one sitting here in his place. But then, this was a different reality entirely. He owed no loyalty to a man who accused him of being a spy here to compromise their mission, someone who was familiar in face and name alone.

And besides, this wasn't Squall's choice to make, it was Rinoa's.

[angelo_wings]

Another Rinoa might be attached to a Squall, but that wasn't Squall in the other room, it was the Lieutenant Commander. Besides, Rinoa's heart went where it would, but she only ever belonged to herself.

Her mouth was continuing to idly explore his thumb, the nail here, the ridges on the knuckle there, and then she nuzzled all of her face into the palm of his hand. She wanted -- more. Could she kiss back, when he gave out those telepathic ones? How much of him was real, and how much was fire? Even if he could only touch her with his mind, he ... it seemed more real than any of the times she'd crept into a hotel suite with the current discreet boyfriend. That was only hands on skin, and this was deeper.

Not that she was objecting to hands, as his sent tingles up the sides of her arms. She wriggled in closer against him, using her free hand to press gently against his chest, some place where it seemed especially solid. She might be a Sorceress, but she didn't know how fireproof she was, and it wouldn't help the mood any to find out.