ax_main | Betsy and Cal - Yorkland: Day 5

This is headed where you would think it would, without Cal's issues getting in the way.

The Day's End didn't look like much from the outside, but it was one of Cal's favorite taverns. The couple of female dwarves who ran it were fucking wonderful, if you didn't mind your women cursing, bearded, and, well, together. Cal certainly didn't. Once in a while, they even hired a nice bard or troop for the night. Tonight, it was a redhead hottie, alone on stage with her lyre, and with a proper gift for singing. Her voice was seriously out there, and Cal was wondering when she'd take a break, when someone a lot more interesting stopped beside him at the bar, making him change focus.

"Hello, stranger," he told Betsy, raising his tankard of ale her way in greeting.

"Hello there," Betsy greeted back with a pleased smile. Her clothes were fresh, yesterday's had been bloodstained, and so she found herself in a pair of tight trousers and a billowing purple shirt, cut low for comfort and as a weapon. She gestured to the barmaid who promptly returned with some mead. "Fancy meeting a nice lad like you in a place like this."

"Whoever told you I was nice?" Cal asked with a mock frown, lips insisting on twitching up into a smirk. He was in his usual leather armor, himself, one of the arms newly fixed after his run-in with the salamanders, a few days back.

"It's all relative," she teased before taking a sip of her mead. Strong, just a hint of sweetness...say what one might about the decor or the patrons, but the mead was top notch. "So if you won't tell me, do I get to guess?"

"I'll tell you anything you like, Bets," he retorted with a franker smile now, his body language open and focused on her.

"Promises, promises," she murmured. "What are you doing tonight, then?"

"Buying you a drink?" he offered, since she hadn't paid for hers yet. It was easy enough to switch it to his tab, but he also knew, from experience, that the barkeep wouldn't do it without her permission.

"Such a gentleman," Betsy said, raising her glass to him in appreciation. "Next round on me then, love."

Because of course there would be a next round.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Cal snorted softly at her first words, and nodded agreement with her next ones. The barkeep nodded at him when they locked gazes, and he focused back on Betsy as she asked her question. "Beginning to. No, that's mean to the bard. She's good."

"Lovely voice," Betsy agreed, nodding. "But if that's all good you've got to say for the day, makes me wonder what the bad tidings are."

"Why has there gotta be bad tidings?" Cal asked with a shake of his head. "I just got here. I'd barely warmed up to the bard that you walked in and stole my attention away. Nothing there is bad."

"Stole your attention from her?" Betsy asked, looking over at the bard. Bright red hair, fine face and figure, beautiful voice, she seemed the complete package. "I must be doing something right then. Or very wrong," she chuckled.

"Take a wild guess," Cal invited her with a smile.

She smirked at him. "You know me. I like to be just a bit...wrong." Betsy winked at him before sipping her mead.

Cal shook his head. "See, that's the thing. How long have we been drinking in the same tavern, a year or so? And I still don't know you, Bets."

"I fear there's little to know," she demurred. "I'm a simple woman, insofar any of us is."

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Cal remarked, pointing at her for proving his point. "And I won't believe that for one second."

"I read, I write, I stroll the town," in search of people I am hired to kill went unsaid. "I talk to people."

It was so much easier to manipulate people if you understood them well, after all. Besides, Betsy genuinely enjoyed speaking to people. "I fear it is little of note."

"What do you write?" Cal asked curiously, before taking a sip of ale.

"Correspondence, mostly. Sometimes the odd poem, but those are rubbish," she admitted, laughing.

Cal smiled at that, and chuckled. He could picture it. Beautiful, mysterious Betsy writing a poem by candle light... and cursing when she finished it, finding it to be rubbish. "I can see why you wouldn't want to spread that around. Now I really want to read some of your rubbish poetry."

"You're a handsome man, but I can't have you rummaging through my darkest secret that easily," she said, tone teasing.

"That sounds like a challenge," Cal remarked, a glint in his eyes.

The look she gave him was all mischief and intrigue. "Take it as you will, and do your worst."

"I'd rather do my best," Cal retorted, smirking at the look in her eyes. "What's it gonna take? Give me something to work with here."

"A man willing to strike a deal, huh? Tell me, then, something nobody else knows about you?" She leaned in closer as she asked, tongue darting out to wet her lips once she'd finished her query.

Oh, but she was good. Cal smiled appreciatively, eyes darting down to her cleavage when she leaned in, then up to her lips as she licked them. "A secret for a secret, huh?" He'd lifted his hand to brush his fingers against her hair, and now he gently wound a lock of it around his index. What kind of secret should he give her, against rubbish poetry? Nothing too serious. "I tried to write a few epics, when I was younger. They sucked."

She chuckled softly, eyes meeting his ad she regained her composure. "Tell me, what inspired your epics?"

"Great heroes," Cal replied. "Dragon slayers and champions of the gods." He made a face. "You know. I was a kid."

"Does that explain this?" Betsy asked, all innocence, reaching out and touching the repair to his armour.

Cal chuckled, and shook his head. "No, that's explained by how fire resistance potions do wonders, but not actual miracles. I don't believe in heroes anymore, anyway," he added, straightening up to take another drink.

She cocked an eyebrow as she watched him. "Do you believe in villains, then?"

"I believe some people are worse bastards than others," he answered, and looked back at her curiously. "What do you believe in?"

She met his eyes, uncommonly serious, "I believe ethics are situational. Who is to decide what heroes or villains are?"

Cal let a beat go by, then leaned a little closer and told her, very seriously, "The people who write the good epics."

She burst out laughing, truly and genuinely, the sound pure. "Well-played, love."

Cal smiled genuinely at the sound, and sight, of her laughter. "Thank you. Do I get to read your terrible poetry?"

"I cannot imagine the appeal, they are truly terrible, but if you like I can fetch some examples of the truly pathetic," she conceded. A deal was a deal, after all.

"It was the deal," Cal confirmed easily, and took a drink from his tankard.

"Mmm." She took a deep draught from her tankard, finishing it off, and stood. "Then I suppose, if you will be here for a bit, you will get your wish. Do not say I did not warn you, though."

"Oh, come on, stay," Cal replied, reaching out to touch his fingers to her hand. He tilted his head towards the bard. "Enjoy the music. You can show me your terrible poetry some other day."

She sat back down without dislodging his touch, whether by design or by coincidence was hard to determine. "If you insist," Betsy said, smiling at him. "It would be a pity to miss out on any of the...music."

Cal wasn't sure that he believed that anything Betsy did was by accident, so he was absolutely choosing to believe that she liked his hand where it was. He left it there, and even stroked the back of her hand with his fingertips, his lips curved into a half smile. "Warming up to the bard, huh?"

He wasn't really talking about the bard.

"Something like that," she murmured. She leaned in a bit under the guise of being able to better hear him. "So tell me, what drew you to this fine establishment?"

"It's close to the Take, the ale's good, and I like the owners?" he offered. "Good company, most of the time." He glanced down at the cleavage leaning forward accentuated, and back into her eyes. "Better than good, occasionally."

Once his gaze was done running over her body, Betsy met his eyes. "Picky about the company you keep?" If he was, she might not exactly be what he was looking for.

Cal chuckled. "Have you seen this place?" He wouldn't go that far.

She smirked, and nudged his knee with one of her own. "I am certain I should be offended."

"We're both patrons here," Cal pointed out with a smirk, and squeezed her hand in his. "But if you're offended, how can I make it up to you?"

Betsy raked her gaze over him with absolutely no subtlety. He was, indisputably, fit. This game where he tried to get into her head, see what made her tick, was fun. And he was a good man, if not in the way of the fairy tale princes of her youth, whose company she enjoyed, so he'd a better chance to succeed than many. She had something a bit more fun in mind, though, if he were amenable. "What sort of offer can you make me?"

"How bad is the offense?" Cal asked, liking the way she'd looked at him. "Though I guess... it depends what you'll let me do to prove to you I wholly enjoy your company."

"Oh, I should think your penance would have to be quite thorough," she said, eyes alight with mischief.

And that look in her eyes, Cal liked that too. "I can be very thorough," he assured her, half-smile charming and full of promise.

The warmth Betsy felt running through her had nothing to do with her mead, and everything to do with the way the candlelight shone on his face and the way his tone had dropped. "Well, then, I suppose you may prove yourself in any way you deem necessary to fully compensate me for the slight." She smirked.

"Do I get to compensate you in private?" he asked hopefully, his hand shifting over hers to more properly hold it, thumb sliding featherlight over her palm.

She ran her tongue over her lower lip in feigned thought before she answered. "I think that could be arranged. There is an inn down the way," she offered.

Better by far than bringing her back to the Slayer's Take, and Cal had no idea about her living arrangements. "Sounds perfect." He reluctantly let go of her hand to settle his (short) tab, then fell in stride with her on the way out, leaving behind the lovesick ballad the bard was currently singing.

She was grateful he'd not inquired further about why they required an inn, given that both clearly lived in somewhat close proximity to the tavern itself. It was, she mused, for the best. Her home was not unkempt, or conspicuous, by any means, but there was always the slight chance that a visitor might stumble upon something they should not. "It will be so much less lyrical at the inn, I imagine," she faux-lamented as they walked.

"Guess we'll have to keep our minds occupied with something else," Cal replied, brushing his hand against hers as they walked. Totally accidental. Obviously.

Betsy let her fingers tangle with his. "And here I thought you would offer to make me sing," she teased.

Cal chuckled, and squeezed her fingers briefly. "Well, if it's singing lessons you had in mind..."

She looked over at him and winked, her cat-that-caught-the-canary smile growing slightly wider as they approached the inn. "After you, sir," she said with feigned deference.

He gave her a mock little bow, and let go of her hand to walk in first, and track down someone about a room for the night. It wasn't long before they were led upstairs, to a very simple, but functional and clean room, which was about all they needed. Door closed, Cal wrapped an arm around Betsy's waist and drew her close, reaching a hand up to thread fingers through her hair and... stopping just short of kissing her. "So, singing lessons?"

Betsy pushed up on her tiptoes, so that her mouth made it to millimeters from his ear. "If you're nice, I'll let you hear more than songs," she promised softly.

Cal smiled, and used his hand in her hair to pull it back. "What if I'm bad?" he asked, and pressed a soft kiss just below her ear.

Her soft chuckled turned just a touch plaintive as his lips touched the sensitive skin. "Then I'll show you some accompanying dance moves, too."

Cal smiled against her skin at her answer, and pressed more kisses down to her pulse point, his hand inching lower down her back. Hey, if it got him dance moves...

* * *

The bed was decent enough, it turned out. Cal was used to much worse, when his contracts took him far from town. And the bed was vastly improved by the presence of Betsy in it. Both naked under the sheets, Cal propped his head up on one hand, trailing the fingers of his other one over soft skin. "So. Was I nice, or was I bad?"

"Mmm," she hummed, closing her eyes for a moment and just enjoying the attention. Finally, though, she opened them and smiled. "I do believe it is possible for one man to be both."

Cal's lips curved into a small smile as he watched her. "Good to know." Better to experience, but they were both spent for now, it seemed. "I still want a look at that poetry," he added, playfully.

She laughed softly, resting one hand on his broad chest. "'Were my form to cease to exist, would I still be?'" She quoted, and then laughed again. "I told you, rubbish."

Cal grinned, and curled his hand over hers to bring it to his lips, and kiss her fingers. "No, no. That was way too short for me to judge either way."

"'The vessel for the soul, they say, yet the soul lives on without. Or does it?'" She continued, before sighing softly at the gentle brush of his lips against her fingers' sensitive skin.

Cal hummed thoughtfully, thumb stroking her hand. "Forget poetry. You should go into theology."

"Hardly." She had killed enough that she'd rather not ponder on the consequences of those actions were there a god.

"What do you do, anyway?" he asked curiously, and went back to kissing her fingers, one after the other.

She gasped softly as his lips hit a surprisingly sensitive patch of skin. Ooh, but he was good. "I take on odd jobs," she said. Which wasn't exactly a lie. Betsy slid a leg between his two. "You?"

"Oh, I'm with the Slayer's Take," Cal answered, surprised he'd never mentioned before. But the surprise didn't stick around when she slid her thigh between his like that, and he chuckled, low and happy. "What kind of jobs?"

One foot gently slid up Cal's calf. "Whatever ones I'm offered." Slightly less true.

Two evasions in a row; check. "You can just tell me you don't wanna say," Cal remarked softly, leaning in for a kiss. He really didn't mind. There was a bunch of things about himself he didn't want to share, after all.

"That wouldn't fit the mystique at all," she joked, lips just brushing his.

Cal smiled against her lips. "We wouldn't want that," he agreed, amused.

She kissed him thoroughly. One minute. Two. "I would not have guessed tonight would end this way."

"Why not?" Cal asked, a hand buried in her hair still, from those long, drawn out kisses. They'd been flirting for long enough, after all. The only difference was, she'd decided to take him up on it tonight.

"Why tonight and not last?" She returned.

"I wasn't at the Day's End last night?" Cal offered, with a smartass smirk. He kissed her again, short, but not so short he didn't enjoy the slide of her tongue against his for a second there.

"Arse," Betsy said once they'd pulled back, thwacking him very lightly on his well-muscled shoulder. "You know what I meant."

His smirk came back, widening nearly into a smile, but then he sobered up, and gave her an honest answer. "Any time you wanted this to happen, you only had to say so."

"Same to you," she said seriously. Betsy leaned forward then to kiss him, but for the first time that evening, her touch was tentative.

That was a bit of a surprise, and it showed in his expression, before she leaned in to kiss him, without the self-confidence he'd always associated with her. Well, if she felt uncertain, Cal could certainly chip in with certainty of his own. His kiss was steady and sure, his hand stroking her hair tenderly. When he pulled back, it was to smile at her and offer, "Any time you want this to happen, you only have to say so."

"Promises, promises," She murmured, smiling just a touch.

"Say so and find out," he challenged her, and kissed her again, slow and deep.

She kissed him back for several long minutes, awash in sensation and heady with pleasure, before finally pulling back just enough to say, "Maybe I will."

"I hope you do," he said honestly, and with just a hint of challenge, still. He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, watching her fondly. "You sticking around tonight? Room's paid for."

"Well then, it would be a waste not to use it," she said, mock serious.

"My thought exactly," Cal confirmed with a slow smile, trailing his hand down, thumb brushing down her cheek, over her jawline, and down her neck. "I mean, how often are we gonna stay in a palace like this?"

She leaned into his touch, one hand resting against his sternum, the other on his bare hip. "Who is to say? We ought to make the best of it now, just in case."

"Just in case," Cal agreed, and rolled himself over her, dipping his head to replace his thumb with his mouth.