13- Kiss on the ear for bethroot/blackwall?
There’s something to be said about a pint with a friend.
Blackwall sits at the bar, listening to Sera’s stories. Some day, Maker help him, he’ll get her to finish that damn ‘circumstances’ story of hers. Some bloody day. But just hearing her talk and laugh helps rid his mind of Adamant and the all the horrors they found there.
“Another?” Cabot asks from behind the bar.
“Risk it?” Sera asks, hand on her chin. “Or do you need to get back to your lady?”
With a nod, Blackwall says, “She’s at some fancy dinner tonight in the Main Hall. All pomp and nonsense. Much rather be here.”
“She even invite you?” Sera asks as Cabot puts the fresh pints in front of them.
Blackwall takes a long sip of ale. “She did,” he says, trying not to think of the disappointment that crossed Bethroot’s face when he said he rather not go. The Inquisition is hosting a bunch of Orlesian nobles tonight, including one he worked for as a sellsword. No, needs to be far away from the Main Hall tonight.
“You said no? I’d want to go just for the laugh,” Sera says.
“You know me,” Blackwall says with a chuckle. “I’d use the wrong fork at supper and cause an incident. Better off not going.”
A lie, of course. Blackwall very much knows the complexity of dinnerware at a fancy party. What’s one more lie in the face of so many?
“Good choice,” Sera says. “Who needs those wankers, all thinking they’re better than anyone else?”
“Not me, that’s for certain,” Blackwall says.
“Hope I’m not included in that.”
Blackwall’s cheeks go red, hearing his lady’s voice. He turns, and Bethroot is standing next to him, wearing her one fancy dress. The dark green dress has a straight skirt which goes down to the floor, and a bodice that make her breasts look bloody fantastic.
“Thought you were off entertaining borings,” Sera says.
She nods, looking up at Blackwall with a smile. He relaxes at that smile, knowing she’s not upset at his words. “I just spent thirty minutes listening to nobles discussing how good peasants have it, with all that outdoor exercise when they farm.” Bethroot sighs and takes a step closer. “Decided I needed a moment to clear my head.”
Bethroot places her hand on his forearm, and he watches as she stands on her tiptoes and leans forward. He thinks she means to give him a kiss on the cheek, but she somehow manages to kiss his ear instead.
When he turns to look down at her, she’s scowling at the bar stool he sits on. Understanding, Blackwall leans down, and gives her a quick kiss on the lips, hoping no one notices.
“You couldn’t reach my cheek, could you?” Blackwall says with a grin.
She scrunches up her nose and taps one of the legs of the stool with her foot. “I couldn’t reach your cheek.” Bethroot looks at Cabot and says, “We’re dwarves. Why do we even have stools?”
And with that, Bethroot gives his hand a squeeze and heads out the door.
