in the ghoul-haunted woodland [catch-all]

[necrosaint]

Who: Harrow Nonagesimus; Sarah King; CR new and old~
What: Blended February/March catch-all, kept together because the first quarter of the year is the nuttiest. Prompts will mostly be open!
When: Note individual starters; probably all February and March.
Where: Around Trench.

Content Warnings: Note individual starters.

Comments

[auferstanden]

She doesn't know him as well as she probably should.

What she knows best of him is that he has walls. He has an unfathomable number of walls, and only his age explains anything about them.

"You didn't?" Sarah frowns slightly. "No. You did. You didn't ask me verbally."

She doesn't stop, either.

[butnotyet]

"I was demonstrating, much as you were demonstrating how nice your hair is," he points out, and — still does not remotely try to take his hand away, because trained or not it does feel good; good enough for one of those walls to start dissolving, or —

Maybe that's just a stress-knot in the back of his ribcage relaxing. Whatever.

(Even odds as to whether or not he's even registered that that was technically a compliment he just paid her.)

[auferstanden]

"All I did was say my hair was my best feature, or whatever words we were using at the time," because she is honestly more absorbed in hand soothing than she is in remembering word choice, "I didn't really demonstrate anything. Though I suppose all you have to do is look at it."

And it's not that her hair's that fancy. It's just that it's not in any way unpleasant, and even she might call it pretty. The Mallen streak is unusual, but in Trench no one's called her a freak so far.

"Since it's hair. It's about looks. Or I guess you could touch it, but it's not as soft as it sometimes is."

(She's not pushing the wall: it might bite her.)

[butnotyet]

(It isn't that he isn't capable of putting teeth in his chest wall, but that doesn't mean he wants to, Sarah — that shit is uncomfortable!)

"Something to do, I assume, with the way you were presumably gardening or otherwise farming, just before getting dragged in here, rather than having purposefully softened it up in anticipation of it being caressed?"

[auferstanden]

"The only person I would soften it for is myself," Sarah challenges, since she's given up on the casual cuddles, thank you very much, "But yes, it's dirty. I mean in a literal there is dirt in it kind of way. I was planting shrubs."

This is when she finally stops the rubbing, because her hands are tired, which he can no doubt feel clearly enough she doesn't need to say it—and for once she's allowing that, allowing magic and psychic to be enough, no matter how much most of her hates it. But she doesn't pull away: that she can allow him to do at his leisure. Simply holding the hand of someone whose mind doesn't take that as an opportunity to dump eighteen emotions at once at her is nice, and yes, she is forgetting that she will get the dominant one at any time, with unmoving skin contact.