[OPEN] An OTA for any post-mission threads! And Movie Night.

[groupiedrifter]

CHARACTERS: The crew!
LOCATION: The Mess Hall
DATE: After the mission / Movie Night, the day after the mission!
CONTENT: Feel free to use this log as somewhere to play out closed starters or what-have-you for any post-mission needs! There is also a movie night (sorta) in which the crew can contribute to it, as Newton is going to be out sick for this one.
WARNINGS: Nothing severe! But mark your comments if needed.

Upon returning from the mission, things need to take a real breather, huh? Not only have some of their folks returned home recently, but the witnessing of two crews getting gobbled up by pissed off dragons is also a thing. Not that a lot of the crew would probably contest the outcome wasn't somewhat deserved — caging living creatures to steal away from their families would definitely fall under 'stupid games, stupid prizes' that Americans love to say. Or whoever invented that (it was definitely not Tom Clancy, despite what some people say).

Anyway, everyone's back to mingling into the station, tired and victorious and maybe a little put-out by the overall murder and maiming. Business as usual, right?

So, Newt does what he usually does! Attempt to set up the mess hall for another typical movie night.

Only, he has fallen actually sick.

So the movie night is gonna have to rely solely on the crew, this go-around.

Upon entering the mess hall, many will find the usual things half-heartedly strewn about: the movie projector with the DVD player, sitting unused on one of the tables. The white cloth used to project on, half-hung and abandoned, looking like the world's worst sheet ghost on Halloween. Stacked dinner and snack plates with nothing on them are still in the kitchen, not yet moved around. In fact, the only thing that seems to have been fully supplied is a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor and one bag of 5 lbs., unopened sour patch kids on a chair.

Newt, it seems, has been put down for the day with his pirate-world-flu. Pirate Flu?

(It's not scurvy.)

Anyone stopping in will have to fend for themselves and provide any movies, music, food or additional goodies for this movie night, while Newton Geiszler is forced into bedrest by Chishiya and Yujin (who have the patience of saints in this situation).

Leave a comment HERE to let us know, so people can include the goods in any top levels.

Comments

[cruelyethuman]

What good would gold coins do me here. Or wine, let's face it, the wine on that world was-- not good.

[That's a very kind way to put, since most of what he poured in to his mouth had tasted like vinegar and molded berries. Aleksander pulls a face that is much too young for him, but leaning back and watching Yennefer out of the corner of his eye makes it feel... appropriate.

The almost invisible tension bleeds out of his shoulders, and he huffs a laugh.]

I never mind your company. [It's the truth, naked and undisguised. Despite their talk, it still feels as something he should swallow down. This honesty that feels almost too large, too exposed.

But he turns his head towards her, smiling.] Are you calling me your casual diversion?

[choicely]

Well, they were pirates, after all. They likely hadn't had the opportunity to develop a more... refined palate.

[ But she can only imagine what he might have faced on an entirely different ship than the one she'd been living on this last month — Jilleh had been a commanding captain, though a fair one, even if she'd rightly resisted Yennefer's efforts to gain information in a more flirtatious manner given her own existing relationship. Apparently, the Blue Dawn had been a much more permissive environment compared to some of the other ships, but if Aleksander had dealt with anything less than savory, it doesn't reflect in his features now, her own smile faint and fond as he exhales that chuckle. ]

As well you shouldn't.

[ Some of that intention had been delayed, given the rude awakening that had accompanied her discovery of Ciri's disappearance, and she can't pretend that the loss doesn't still sting, but right now some of that pain is eased because of where she is and who she's with. Her head tipped back against the tree, she surveys him from that vantage point, not shying away from his gaze when he turns it in her direction. ]

I seem to remember making you a promise about what would happen when I saw you next.

[cruelyethuman]

Could be that ravkan wine is simply superior.

[National pride, despite the bleak history of his country. But before that thought can take hold, before his mind can wander down the well beaten paths of his own misery and regret, Yennefer tips her head back and his attention flies to the elegant length of her throat.]

You did. Do you keep your promises, Yennefer? [voice pitched lower and his smile turns warmer as he sits up, book discarded next to his hip as he turns more fully to face her. To flick his gaze from her neck to her eyes, inhaling sharply.] Will I work as your... distraction?

[choicely]

I'll have to take your word for it.

[ Unless the next supply drop on the station just so happens to contain items from his world, although she hasn't known Viveca to be that discerning in bringing over anything from the Continent. Still, there are times when she misses having a good bottle of Toussaint Red, something she hasn't tasted since her best days in Aedirn's court.

She doesn't have to pause and consider whether she's been successful in tempting him away from his reading, though, not when he makes a point of setting his book aside and turning to face her more directly. There's no disguising her interest either, the subtle parting of her lips as his gaze passes over her throat before ascending to meet hers, the anticipatory hitch in her breathing. ]

I believe you'd be more than satisfactory. [ The sun is down, but the tree's branches still cast dappled shadows on her features, shifting with that wind, but her intent is unmistakable when she closes the distance between them, pressing her mouth to his for a brief moment. ] And I make a point to keep my promises where you're concerned.

[cruelyethuman]

[There's a catch in his own breathing at the touch of her soft mouth, and Aleksander smiles- it's loop-sided and almost youthful for how unpracticed and raw it is, as he hears it - the qualifier.]

Good.

[The shadows deepen, not from him but the room darkens as the illusion of a sun sets behind the false horizon and he takes her hand in his before leaning in to claim her lips in a deeper kiss.]

I can be a very good distraction, if I do say so myself.

[Distracting and distraction, heat blooms in the pit of his stomach as his mouth skates across her cheek to pepper kisses down her neck]

[choicely]

[ Before, she would have been too distracted by the mission at hand to let herself indulge in this for too long — and then returning to the station to discover Ciri's absence had also hardly rendered her in the mood for anything that could be deemed as affection.

Whether it had been her belief that she didn't truly deserve to let herself have this after sustaining a loss, or finally realizing she didn't want to deny herself anymore where he's concerned, the truth of it lies in her presence here now, having sought him out to deliver on her previous promise.

It does feel like an indulgence, his lips on hers, warm and seeking, before his kisses start to traverse the column of her throat, and she lets herself surrender to as much, tipping her head back while the tree rests behind her for support, her eyes fluttering shut as her breath tremors lightly. ]

You're already better than anything I could have pursued on my own. [ Perhaps a bit of a backhanded compliment, but a teasing one nevertheless, as she rises beneath him, responsive, and then lowers her chin to bring their faces level again, kissing him with increased abandon. ]

[cruelyethuman]

[Aleksander doesn't have a child to mourn, even if all the Grisha he trained at the Palace held a place - however small - inside of him. He was mourning for the loss he would sustain when this was all over.

Mourning the past knowledge or ignorance while still reeling from knowing that wanting was human, and perhaps, a part of being human was giving in to that weakness.

A little.

He had, once and he had known the name of it, that fluttering, fleeting emotion that had hummed in his chest until the commander cast his spell and made someone else's wish come true. Had yearned for it, centuries ago, and there was a possibility here.

And that possibility is why he kisses her back, breathing heavily against her skin until she claims him for herself, until he cups a hand behind her head and pries his way in to her mouth with his tongue.]

I would love to see that, actually.

[Yennefer's back is against the tree, but there's nothing stopping him from pushing against her, half-leaning on her in the dark.]

[choicely]

[ Here, far away from anything that could be described as the Continent, those responsibilities she'd wordlessly sworn herself to, the duties that would have accompanied training Ciri, preparing her for what's next — she hasn't forgotten them, hasn't willfully dismissed the reality of her eventual return, especially now that the end of their ultimate mission may very well be in sight. But she doesn't think she can be faulted for wanting this in the interim, with someone who isn't actively loathing her, who doesn't look at her and still see her betrayals, who isn't the type of person she'll have to spend countless moments trying to make amends with.

She's selfish enough to let herself want this for now, to revel in it — how Aleksander presses himself against her, covering her more in his weight, the warmth of his body. How the darkness shields them together, even if she remains skeptical that there would be anyone taking a stroll through the sunlight room at this hour. How she can let her eyes fall closed and drift in the press of his lips against her skin, more heedless of how she lets certain whimpers slip free only to be swallowed up by his questing tongue.

The kiss breaks again, and his words against her make her chuckle, low and intimate, and she shifts away so that it isn't the tree at her back but the soft grass, lounging across it, dark hair spilling out around her head — and then beckons for him to follow, to come over her. ]

Oh? You'd watch me all on my own, without involving yourself whatsoever?

[cruelyethuman]

[Vain, he had been called not too long ago, self-absorbed, wallowing in self-pity. Lies, his mind insists, even if it feels uncomfortably too much like a truth.

As if he was wearing his weakness as a shield, instead of a sword. Hiding, when he could have been fighting.

And he feels it, the call to sink in to his own darker thoughts, to compare and be judged in return. To hide himself away, because caring only led to shattered pieces.

But he follows her, follows her voice and her softly guiding hand down, down against the soft grass until he's braced on his elbows above her, watching the pale light reflect in her eyes and her wet lips.

Making a choice, and taking a chance.]

I like watching.

[As if she hadn't seen that in him already, hadn't felt his gaze crawl over her on missions and when they were alone.]

I like doing-[a smile, whip-crack fast before he kisses a peck to her mouth] we call it tumbling. I like that, too, with you.

[with you, with you, with you]

[choicely]

Tumbling?

[ Her brows lift in surprise, mouth quirking, mostly because she would have never anticipated him referring to it in those terms, as though they're a pair of awkward, fumbling youths stealing a few precious moments together far away from any commitments or some version of an overprotective father.

And then she feels the brief pang of realization that she would have never had this, as a young woman, would have never been afforded the possibility of having a suitor who wanted to tumble her, who would have given her more than a cursory or even a dismissive glance. ]

I don't want you to watch.

[ Not if she's already given him permission to reach out and touch her, not when she'd voiced promises of her own on the last mission, promises to find him that she's delivering on now. That's not to suggest she objects to his eyes on her, would ever complain about glancing across a room and finding his gaze already turned in her direction, but now that they're alone, she's not content to settle for observation.

Her fingertips run over the slope of his cheek, his jaw, caressing the unshaven but well-kept hairs there. ] I want you to keep going.