hope when you take that jump / you don't fear the fall

Nairn made his way to the garden, leaning on the door-frame, as he studied the wine she'd raised up. Mmm, you've not even begun to drink. Lightweight, he teased, swirling the glass she'd set out for him, gently.

Ema made it to the infirmary, with the help of Osmon. The healer's help had been something he was grateful for. And I brought a bit of everything, for dinner. He mused, moving to sit next to her.

I've been assured, she's drunk enough she won't remember. But she'll be demoted, if not released to brothel-work. He couldn't release her; not entirely. She knew too much about him, about the Coterie, and their various functions and safe-houses. A demotion was akin to death, with the option of living. And her only other option would be death.

But he doesn't say that, not right now. Instead, he reached up to carefully curl Megara's hair around his fingers. Perhaps a green... shimmer shade, he mused, idly. As if the topic made sense, with no segue.

@Megara Neirdre