Quoted By:
"Well it's <span class="mu-i">like</span> a date..." Your words trail off as you that damned smile on his face. Oh, he's making a show of looking down as he polishes the mugs with an off-white rag, but that thrice-damned smile he always gets once he sees through you has already split his face. He knows you too well for his own good - and your own good, for that matter. You can feel your ears turning back to the shade of red they just recovered from.
"Scheme it is, then." Bran fills the silence that hangs between you before it gets too awkward. Putting the clean mug on its rack, he leans over the bar. "So, what's that brain of yours hatched this time around? We hunting some exotic creature? Or are we looking for some rare plant that only grows in the Deep Wylds?"
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, slumping forward just a bit.
Then with an small <span class="mu-i">a-hem</span> you cough out your despondent worries and puff right back up, throwing your petite chest so far forward that you nearly lose your balance and fall off of your stool. Once you right yourself - pretending you did not hear his annoying, bell-like laughter - you ask him to, "Imagine if you will, a romantic voyage across the gentle waters of the Mare Phantasos. Out beyond the bounds of the bay, where one can hardly see another sail, the sun hanging low upon the horizon. Just you, me, and the scent of the sea, beneath a sky painted with every shade of red, the coral of the Míledath glowing like a rainbow beneath our boat..."
"Hold on a minute..." Bran interrupts you. His amusement has fallen off his face, his icy blue eyes appraising you with a simmering anticipation too timid to shine through. "That sounds less like a <span class="mu-i">date</span> and more like a romantic getaway. Did you finally manage to squeeze blood from a stone and get some time off from the old ha-"
With a panicked squeak, you throw yourself over the bar to clasp his mouth shut with both hands.
A few things get knocked over, but unlike the heroines of your bodice rippers, you have not the strength nor the <span class="mu-i">riastrad</span> to knock your... uh, your <span class="mu-i">Bran</span> over. No, you have neither strength nor mass to so much as make him stumble. The thoughts of whether or not that's a good or bad thing run right out of your mind the moment that Bran does something any red blooded man would do when a woman literally throws himself at you. All other thoughts flee swiftly after at the unfamiliar sensation, when his hand takes full advantage of how close you've gotten and takes a nice big squeeze of your bottom.
The first thing that comes to mind is the fact that from the coin he tossed to Cailyn, that inn must only charge a silver for enough time to get the deed done. Between the grants funding your research and your stipend all Researchers receive from the Duke and Crown, you have plenty of silver. More than enough to give all the equipment Bran had spoken of to Cailyn a try.
For the sake of furthering human knowledge of the tantric arts, of course!
