weatheranystorm:
While her eyes remained firmly locked on him she motioned to the chair across from herself with her hand. “Take a seat,” she said in a polite enough manner. “I just want to talk,” she told him, and as if to drive the point home she slid a bottle of mazte across the table as a proverbial peace offering. “I doubt you’ll like what I have to say, but really, I do just want to talk.”
She sat back, her butt on the very edge of the chair, making her slouch slightly and she folded her hands over her stomach. “You see, I spent some time with Willa yesterday and we got to talking,” Jocelyn began, gaze never leaving Vilayn - a gaze which had nearly made lesser men wet themselves - and inclined her head slightly. “Most of it doesn’t really concerns you, but some of the things she said got me real curious.”
For the first time since he’d come over, Jocelyn turned her eyes away and focused briefly on the task of taking a generous swing of her own drink. “I’m not one for beating around the bush, so you’ll have to forgive my courseness, but have you talked to her about what happens next with the two of you?” She let the bottle rest on her stomach while her fingers drummed against the glass. “You’re… not exactly young anymore. You’re happily married and I reckon you haven’t fathered any children - at least that you know of - and according to Willa you have no interest in suddenly doing so either,” she chose to let that sink in for a few seconds, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, and her gaze landed on him again like a lead weight.
The greatest concern Vilayn betrayed was a glance over his shoulder towards the captain, who, rather than sweeping over to his friend’s aid, was chatting happily away to Tosti. He could have been completely oblivious, had he not caught Vilayn’s eye at the last moment and, upon realising he was being stared at, given a perky wave. There was no help coming from that quarter. Vilayn would have to face Jocelyn’s interrogation by himself.
He lowered himself stiffly into the chair on the opposite side of the table and reached for the mazte, to show willing. After only one swig, he put it back on the table and moved his hands away from it, back onto his knees, where they beat out a steady tattoo as he listened to Jocelyn.
Considering the weight behind it, he bore her gaze well. His feet shuffled a little on the floor, his drumming fingers drummed a bit harder, but he wouldn’t let himself look away, even as the bottom dropped out of his stomach and went crawling away across the floor. After a moment to make sure she had finished and definitely not because he had to fight away a cold sweat, he said, in a professional and detached tone,
‘Permission to speak freely, serjo, if you’ll pardon my impertinence? We’ve only just worked out what happens now, so we haven’t had much time to think about what happens next.’ He swallowed, hoping what he was saying would make his point without offending Jocelyn. ‘But if Willa has any worries, she knows she only has to talk to me. I hope that satisfies you.’
