called_lioness | (no subject)

(no subject)

She's bored.

She's groomed Corella, and she's practiced her archery, and she's had hot chocolate, and now she's sitting in a tree and dangling her legs and considering dropping things--tiny things, mind you, like twigs, non-inclined-to-injure things--on people should they pass by.

So. Bored.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh, she totally would.

Ha! Acorn. Brilliant.

Wait for it. Waaaait for it--bombs away!

"Ow!"

Tirian rubs the top of his head, looking up. His resentful look fades somewhat when he sees his assailant.

"Lucy?"

She grins down at him and hangs from the branch by her arms.

"Hullo, Tirian."

Tirian still looks a bit sulky for a moment--she dropped an acorn on his head--but Lucy's grin is infectious, and he's half-smiling as he asks,

"And to what, praytell, do I owe the honor of being pelted with acorns by such a fair lady?"

"Don't be cross," she begs, still grining, and continues to hang, giggling a bit.

"You were simply blessed, I'm certain."

Half-grudging, but also teasing, now, with the smile still growing,

"Cross? Aslan forbid. Surely, such attention should be counted a blessing, o fair one."

This last is punctuated with an elaborate, courtly bow that's no less elaborate or courtly for the fact that it's being given to a girl hanging by her arms from a tree.

"So I've been told," she says lightly and drops in front of him, giving a curtsey when she's her balance again.

"And I shall choose to believe."

Tirian chuckles.

"Well, you seem to be in a cheerful mood, so may I trust I find you well, kinswoman?"

"Oh yes," she says cheerfully and puts her arms around his neck in a brief hug before stepping back.

"And you?"

After a mostly-playful show of deliberation: "Oh, tolerably well, I suppose. Nothing to complain of, at the moment."

"Only tolerably well?" she asks, shocked. "Not even good?"

Another exaggerated moment of consideration, and he amends, "Of course, I think your company would have to tip the scales a bit more towards good, so there is that to take into account."

"Flattery!" she laughs and puts her hand to her chest.

In a tone of wounded sincerity, "I speak only the truth, my lady."

"You and your kinsman both claim that, and I think it true from neither mouth, differences in motivation aside," she grins, "but I thank you all the same."

"Ah, well," Tirian sighs. "I suppose I can be content with that."

"Only content?" She's Concerned, and mock frowns at him.

"My lord, we must find a way to improve your mood."

"Indeed?" Tirian glances at her sidelong. "And how do you think we might accomplish that?"

"Well, that depends. What do you want?" Logical is Lucy.

The question, simple as it is, pulls Tirian up short.

What do you want?

He wants to go home. He wants to have a home to return to. He wants it all to never have happened.

Lucy can't give him any of that.

He ducks his head and looks away, but on the whole, does a poor job in hiding the fact that his smile is gone.

Trying for lightness, "I'm afraid I'm at a loss to thing of anything you could give me, at the moment."

"Poor Tirian," she says, softly, because he doesn't hide it well at all. "As stuck as the rest of us.

"--Come on," Lucy declares after a moment and reaches out for his hand, firmly.

Tirian blinks, but takes her hand without hesitation.

"Where are we going?"

"To cheer you up, however I must," she grins. "And you are to let yourself be cheered up, or tickling shall resort, and how undignified will that be?"

Or, the stables.

"I might point out that you don't know if I'm at all ticklish," Tirian protests in the kind of tone only ever used by ticklish people trying to pretend they aren't.

"You've Caspian's blood in you," she says, "I've no doubt you are. Shall I try and find out?"

She'd so win a bet that he is, she's certain.