[PRP] The Low Hanging Fruit [Amalric | Nyxamora]

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

The Low Hanging Fruit

Amalric was accustomed to cooler weather—blisteringly cold, even—and though he didn’t precisely enjoy it, he knew well how to handle it. The warmer southern climate by comparison was pleasant and refreshing. But he still didn’t trust his skin to the open sun. Thus, given its fairness and propensity to burn, even walking the streets of Tale he wore his cloak about his shoulders, mostly to cover his long arms.

He could not afford to window-shop.

He had come for other reasons—all along the border between Sauti and Tale the lands were bustling with the after-excitement of the Grand Market and all the ‘visitors’ who had come with it—and Amalric had already gathered significant amounts of information. The more he learned, however, the more he began to seriously consider the prospect of attempting to convince one (or a group) of them to take him with them on their return voyage. He didn’t know what it would take, but he knew that the more he learned of their ‘technology’ the more blindingly apparent it became how advanced they were as compared to the peoples of Tendaji.

And by the goddess Amalric wanted to learn.

They had so much information bound up in even one portion of one of their airships, if he could just-

But he was getting ahead of himself. For the moment, he was stretching his legs, exploring the town, and perhaps just peeking at the outer selection of one of the smallest bookstores he’d ever seen. He supposed it wasn’t surprising. Not as many Taleians could read, could they? And it seemed a wonder that one of their little savanna villages would have much to offer. But his fingers were hungry curious things and found themselves fiddling over the pages regardless.

He couldn’t buy any more. Over half the weight of all the his personal effects was already dominated by books, and he had to tote the weight of anything he added along with the rest. And besides all that, he didn’t have the coin spare.

Perhaps if he found one the seller would be willing to trade for one already in his collection…  

[MissMisnomer]

Three bags of mixed dried berries, two bushels of the dark herb with the sharp little leaves, four handfuls worth of those fleshy red nuts…

The shopping list went on after that, written in terms that even a child could understand. Which made Nyxamora’s brow furrow. She wasn’t stupid; if her aunt had written the names of everything she wanted, Nyx would have known what she was talking about. But whatever, sending her errand running was clearly just an excuse to get her out of the bakery, before she screwed up anything else. It wasn’t HER fault that barrel of nuts had gotten spilled all over the floor; Mio was just being a t**t and had “tripped” over her foot. Which she may or may not have stuck out in front of him. But he was being a little p***k, he deserved it!

Still, at least she didn’t have to be stuck in there anymore, it was better outside anyways. It was way too nice of a day to be wasted away indoors.

Which just made that idiot over there stand out like a sore thumb.

Some guy was wearing a full cloak and hood, in this heat. He couldn’t have been a local; no way was anyone around here dumb enough to wear something like that. Maybe she could kill some time enlightening him.

He was clearly very engrossed in whatever he was leafing through, some book; she couldn’t see the title from where he held it. Not that it would have mattered much anyways; Nyx wasn’t the best with her letters. Or numbers either. Too restless to sit still and bother with all that boring stuff anyways. She was practically on top of him, but the dork still didn’t look up from his pages.

Yep, not a local. He looked pale as the belly of a fish under the hood, with icy blue eyes that vibrated as he scanned the lines of text. Gods, there was no way was he anything other than some academic bookworm; she could not have gotten so close unnoticed if he had an ounce of a warrior’s instincts in there somewhere!

He just… he needed to be messed with. She was obligated to.

With the cart between them, she leaned across, smacking her hand under the open book to jostle it in his hands, “Hey Beanpole. I don’t know where you’re from, but around here, we at least make the effort of acknowledging people’s existence when they are close enough to see the whites of your eyes.”

[1/10]  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Amalric was—had been—reading. One of the nicest things about open bookstores was that at least so long as he had the time, no one would stop him from skimming even if he didn’t purchase, and his mind had a way of engrossing itself. Under the conditions he was used to — classes, research, study, and scribe work — the ability to tune out the entire world and focus on a given task before him no matter what was going on about him was an advantage.

Less so in the ‘wilds’ of Tale.

He had not so much as an inkling of a sense of approach until his book jostled rudely and unexpectedly upwards, and he yipped, catching more firmly at it in his startlement so as not to drop it and shooting an irritated, reactive look at whoever-

He blinked, the look vanishing in face of momentary surprise at the sight. Immediately after, a dusting of an abashed flush warmed his cheeks, and he set the book down atop the others, fingers of one hand still loosely holding his place, though his attention was on the girl. “Par- ah...pardon? Good afternoon. I-” What had she said? Had she been trying to speak to him? What if she’d been trying for some time? Goddess, she was pretty wasn’t she? If a bit intimidating with that look—and the air she gave off, if he wasn’t imagining it. Perhaps he’d seemed to be ignoring her, and that had come across wrong. A sheepish, apologetic look replaced blank surprise.

“If you were trying to speak to me I do apologize,” he said. “I tend to, ah…I have a way of- When I read I don’t…” He made a vague, wavering hand gesture, “…hear…things. Did you-? That is, can I- Were you looking for help?” Like a stray thought, something he almost thought he’d heard but wasn’t sure flit back to him. “Did you ask where I was from?”  

[MissMisnomer]

What a nerd.

What a delightfully awkward, stumbling, too-polite-for-his-own-good nerd.

She grinned up at the stammering willow-stick, a glimmer of mischief in her green eyes, “I’d ask where your brain is instead. Need a moment to find it? I can leave and come back, if that would make the task easier?” Her hand snaked out under the radar, plucking the book out between his fingers, making him lose his spot. “You can help me figure out what was so engrossing that you couldn’t even be bothered to spare me a glance…”

She quickly brought the book up, gently whapping his forehead against the hardbound cover, “Is this book really more interesting than me?” She found that hard to believe; books were boring. And Nyx, which could be described as many more nasty things, was, at least, not boring.

[2/10]  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Amalric was familiar with that look. On his cousins, generally, moments before trouble happened.

Need a moment to find it?

His brow furrowed a pinch. “No…” he began, “I’m actually- It’s quite alright. Where it ought to be, that is, and I assure you-”

He blinked rapidly and downward when his text was plucked away, then back up, fingers hanging loosely as though he wanted to reach—but if she wanted to see it, that was alright. She seemed offended by how much attention he’d given it in any case, though he couldn’t fathom why. His cheeks warmed again in spite of himself though at her reminder. Apparently she hadn’t understood the first time.

“No, it- It wasn’t that it was so engrossing that I-” He flinched, half bringing his hands up at the ‘attack’ as though to shield himself but stalling there. “It wasn’t…more interesting-” After rubbing the spot on his head, he reached slightly for the text. Perhaps if he just took it back… “I had only just gotten to looking, but I do- I promise that I—you do have my full attention. Now. If that’s…” He frowned, because in retrospect, that wasn’t the goal of many (if any) attractive girls he knew. “If that was…the goal…”

After sparing another fleeting glance to the book—perhaps she would just give it back after she were through looking—he held out his hand more fully instead, inviting a shake. “Amalric Belwater, by the way…”  

[MissMisnomer]

It sure felt like he was more interested in the papery thing than her, the way his hands and eyes kept flitting back to it. Which would simply NOT do. Nyx demanded the full attention of anyone and everyone, any less was not enough. So she casually plopped the novel back in the lined up row of the others, hoisting herself up to sit atop the cart, now looking at eye-level with the taller guy with a smile that was taken to be charming. “That’s the goal.” She reached her hand out to take the one offered to her, shaking it firmly. “Nyx. Just Nyx.”

She glanced down at the pale little twigs she held, lifting an eyebrow. “You have very soft hands; you don't go out much, do you? Paper cuts not leaving many scars?” She released her grasp, sliding the pads of her more callused fingers along the smooth inside of his slender wrists.

[3/10]  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

When she tucked the book away, Amalric’s eyes lingered there but a moment—and then she was hoisting herself up onto the cart. Amalric made a muted sound of startlement, darting to grip the thing just in case it moved but-

Well, it seemed fairly stable.

And now her eyes were immediately level with his. Heat, already present in his cheeks, built further at the sudden proximity, and he cleared his throat, blinking with abashment since that smile at least looked more open and disarming. That’s the goal. Her fingers clasped his, and he gave a soft grunt, surprised—though perhaps he shouldn’t have been by now—by the tenacity of her grip.

Nyx.

“Nyx,” he repeated. “It’s very nice to- Ah…” You have very soft hands… Color climbed his ears. He could feel it prickle along the outer curve with heat. With his spare hand, he tucked hair behind his ear, resisting the urge to squirm or pull away from the trail of touch. “Not—not often, no. I mean that I do, now, but I haven’t- I’ve been mostly-” He cleared his throat. “I’m an academic. And I don’t…imagine that has left many scars, no.”

He resisted the urge to rub together his fingers—were they that soft? He didn’t suppose he’d thought on it often.

“Are you certain you should be atop…?”  

[MissMisnomer]

Man this kid blushed a lot. She’d been here for a scant few minutes, and already she had deduced that this was probably the state he was constantly in. That would be annoying to have to go through. He needed to lighten up.

She smirked, propping her elbows on his shoulders, loosely draping her arms behind his neck, “I’ll be fine Baby Boy, this isn’t that high. I’ve got a good handle on it. You’re all legs; look at them, they just go on for days, don’t they?” Brushing her bare toes along his pants, she pinched at the base of his hood, tugging it down to fall back. “There, you shouldn’t have this thing up during the day. You look like some kind of shifty character.” Wiggling her rear on the stacks, she wove her fingers through his dark hair, tugging slightly, “You weren’t planning on STEALING one of these books, were you?”

[4/10]  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

If he had thought she was close before…

“Ah…” She was—her arms were on him. He stared, momentarily at a loss. They just go on for days, don’t they? “Nnn—well, I suppose they’re fairly-” He blinked at the added sunlight, but did nothing to reposition his hood. It was true, he didn’t need it up, he just preferred for the skin on his nose not to burn. Besides, the draw of her feet up his legs, and then—fingers in his hair.

Did this girl have any concept of personal space?

He quelled the instinct to sputter or shift, instead immediately shaking his head. “N-no! Of course—” He frowned. Why would she even think that? Surely she didn’t? It didn’t look that suspicious, did it? He didn’t tend to think of himself as looking especially threatening—even with a hood on. “It’s just that my skin is fair and prone to burning. I had it up to-” He brushed the upper ridge of his nose, “-keep from damaging it. I was not even going to purchase one…”

Hopefully. Hopefully he was not going to purchase.

“I wouldn’t dream of stealing.” Her fingers were still in his hair. “Are you always this…friendly?”  

[MissMisnomer]

Of all the things she could have encountered on her trip to run errands, she could never have DREAMED of running into something as entertaining as this guy. Everyone in town knew she was a troublemaker already, so they had the better sense to stay away or see right through her shenanigans. But this guy… it was like he had never even talked to a girl before. Let alone been flirted with.

Which… after getting a good look at Amalric… might not be entirely unfeasible. He wasn’t exactly a chick magnet. Not with his… ample supply of charisma anyways.

How much could she get away with before the jig was up?

Nyx laced her feet behind his knees, idly bumping back against them, “Oh yeah, all the time. This is just how we do things here in Tale. Has no one showed you the ropes yet?” She clicked her tongue, moving her hands around to work on unfastening his cloak beneath his chin, “That’s surprising, since you look like a lost little aldabuk. Looks like it’s up to me to enlighten you. First things first…” The hooks finally came undone and she slipped it off of him, taking the fabric and laying it beside her in a clump on the cart, “You’ve gotta lose the cloak. No one does that here, it’s suspicious and odd. You don’t want to be pegged as a weirdo, right?”

[5/10]  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

This is just how we do things here in Tale.

“Ah…” Amalric eyed her, and he wasn’t certain he believed her, but given no reason not to other than that she was clearly just an exceptionally spirited girl with no sense of personal space, he supposed he would take her tentatively at her word. “No, they ah…they have not.” ‘They’ being the general populace of Tale, he supposed. “A lost…?”

He stiffened briefly, startled that her hands were just going to work, not a question asked, and-

“That’s my-”

-off it came. He stared at the — crumpled — pile, fingers itching to just take it up for a moment and straighten it. It was his cloak, but with her legs looped about him it was difficult to move. “No, I definitely don’t- No. Well. Some degree might be inevitable…I am at least somewhat accustomed to the feeling, and I am unaccustomed, I imagine I’ll stand out in some respects regardless of what I do.”

No longer able to resist, he reached, taking up his cloak just briefly enough to shake it out and fold it over into a quick but neat square before draping it over his arm. Surely he’d forget it elsewise.

“I am sure I can manage this much, though, the weather is far pleasanter here.”  

[MissMisnomer]

Nyx leaned back on the cart, not relinquishing her hold around his knees, but giving him space for his ocd to do its thing. What a spazz. She imagined with a spark of unfiltered joy how marvelous it would be to go to his place, wherever it might be, and just… ever so slightly… move things out of place. Just enough to surely cause an itch in the back of his mind, so he couldn’t sleep until things had been righted. Or better yet, stash something where it was not supposed to be. He’d probably go bonkers.

What a sight that’d be.

But alas, some things are only for dreaming, and right now, she had plenty to play with. But Gods alive, his arms were pale, like long bleached bones! She couldn’t help pinching some of the skin on his forearm, tutting unabashedly, “You’re fairer than a noble lady; do you EVER go outside? Certainly aren’t helping any with that blanket you keep draped over you…” He eyes wandered down, to his booted feet, laced up tight.

And grinned as an idea came to her.

Releasing her hold on Amalric, she slipped down off the cart, nuzzled between him and her former perch in the tight space afforded. “Amalric…” she walked her fingers up his chest, pressed close as she looked up at him through her long lashes, “…do you see the big difference between us? What we are wearing?”

[6/10]  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Amalric gave a small twitch at the pinch and shifted. “Fair—fairer than…? You think so?” It wasn’t exactly a goal, but it hadn’t been much of a concern, either. The way she said it, though, despite the comparison to nobility, made it feel like some variety of jab. Did she think him delicate for it or unweathered? “I…yes, certainly. Moreso now than I have, though. While at academy I stayed indoors a great deal—to whatever extent I could, but Zena’s weather makes it a practicality…”

There were of course a number of infinitely more ‘outdoorsy’ Zenans than he—most all of them—but that didn’t seem to matter overly much under the circumstances. Snow was a good enough reason for him to want to stay mostly indoors. But then again most weather was (too much sun, rain, snow…).

Indoors had so many advantages.

He was pulled off his train of thought by movement and—he took an immediate step back to give her space, goodness, close—but despite his automatic assumption (get out of the way, she won’t want you up in her space) close seemed to be the goal. Her fingers walked up his chest, and for a stunned moment he didn’t quite know what to make of any of it.

Another half dozen moments didn’t help to clarify.

“Huh…? Diff…” He cleared his throat and nodded. “Difference. Ah, between us, it’s…” ‘You have breasts.’

What we are wearing?

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought his face could get warmer. As was unfortunately occasionally the case: he was wrong. “You’re…” ‘…wearing almost nothing…’ “ …more colorful?”  

[MissMisnomer]

Nyx had to purse her lips to keep herself from laughing outright as Amalric squirmed. He might be acting the gentleman, but boys are just boys after all, and predictable to a degree. When it came to… certain things they were interested in.

And this one was no exception.

“No, but thank you, I take that as a compliment…” Her fingers stopped at his neck, tugging at the hemline of his shirt, “You are wearing far too much clothing young man~ You aren’t in Zena anymore; just looking at you is making me overheat! How are you not boiling away right now, covered in all this extra fabric?” She shifted to stand on tip-toe at the edge of his boots, to be near eye level again, “Would you be a dear and get rid of some of it? We should start with the boots; those really make you stand out like a sore-thumb.”

Now for the coup de grace. She slid her hands along either side of his waist, pressing in to nibble the skin below his ear, murmuring softly, “Pretty please?”

[7/10]  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Too much clothing.

It wasn’t a common complaint. His ex-boyfriend had had it a time or several, but that was likely the extent of it. ‘Oh, goodness, boy, cover up, you’ll ______.’ Burn. Freeze. Blind someone with all that pale skin. One way or another, the best idea consistently seemed to be to dress ever modestly or, as Luras had accused, ‘like a temple nun.’

“It’s light fabric,” he began. “It-” But then she was up, tip-toe, in his face—Would you be a dear and get rid of some of it?—a small sound caught itself in his throat. “Nnnh? Get-? My clothes? I—”

Boots.

He gave a messy skirt of an exhale. Boots were manageable, just—he frowned a touch—more useful where they were. “But the ground here,” he said. “It can’t be—are you certain it’s safe? I ima-ahhhhnnnnn…” If another, far more embarrassing keen of a noise left him then, surely he couldn’t be blamed. His fingers touched gingerly to her hips, as though hovering at the cusp of decision between guiding away just holding, but laced with the fear that doing anything would plummet him somehow into more trouble than he already was.

Was he in trouble?

Pretty please?

Perhaps he was.

Swallowing, he nodded mutely. And, with crisp carefulness, he attempted to encourage just a bit of distance so that he could unfold himself from her — captivity, clutches — embrace? After, he bent to a crouch and began working at his boots. This was already a poor idea. His feet had not seen sunlight in—years? All his life? It couldn’t be all his life, surely. He’d been swimming at some point in his youth. But not at any point remotely recently. They would be paler than the rest of him.

As he unfastened the last button, he eyed the dusty, stone scattered earth and track-ridden market path. There would be animal manure on this ground. He tried to contain his expression, but a reluctant wince-grimace seemed inevitable. Not enough though, unfortunately, to overcome the impulse to oblige.

It was true that a fair number of the natives went barefoot, and while he firmly considered it deeply inadvisable, he hoped he could survive at least a few minutes if it would satisfy—whatever variety of strange pixie nymph he’d somehow managed to earn the temporary attention of—‘Nyx.’ Thus, after removing them carefully and trying not to be horribly judgmental of his own snowy feet, he stood, adjusting his feet with an initial wince to find better ground before glancing to her.

“You think this looks…less odd?”