#amiably difficult and theyre just taking it on the chin and rising to the challenge

[recitedemise]

Oh, gosh, yes, let's take him apart to his very last atom. In fact, let's savor all his secrets, plundering through his belly to chance a gander at his heart. Let's burrow for his memories and let's moon upon his aches, and let's render him a study less a puzzle more cadaver -- and poke and poke and watch him bleed. Oh, she boasts a mouth that's caustic. She bears a gaze like knives. And it'd be fun, wouldn't it?, so earnest as he is with those eyes so deep. Yes, Gale's harboring his secrets, his orb somehow sucking to draw her in, and not for the first time, his mouth nearly waters when he takes a peek at her. Something strong. Something ancient. For she is more than she seems.

It would love to have her, wouldn't it? Yes.

Gale, with effort, pointedly ignores that.

"And for the sake of your pride, I shall pretend your attempt at indifference was convincing." Gosh, they're similar, apparently. She can't rightly remember, but her body's memory — long, and considerably so — holds to her fondness for both rebellion and odds. Gale seems much the same, little buckling to the weight of her needling provocations, but then, perhaps his time in Blackstaff had taught his lean for mettle. Being an Arse 101. He was a damned prodigy in the making. "Mind you, not that I'm in any rush to lay myself bare before your whittling study," he continues, amiable if not witty, "but considering my understandable allure, I wager I haven't much a say." No. "If you aren't much for jaunts, then you're more for spelunking down considerable ravines. That said, I've ought to warn you of the vastness of this wizard before you. Much like a book, his mystery is hardly offered as much as it is wrested from his grasp. One could find themselves tumbling right on down his depths," his aches, "but I suppose I couldn't fashion a more tempting challenge if I tried."

Silly man. Though, there's a more frightening threat, isn't there? An adage of sorts, if she'd recall, something about peering into the shadowy dark. Should she stare too longly, then the void, all-seeing, would stare back in turn. And what will it discover? What in her will he find? Gale watches as she settles, the swarthy of her shadow strewn about the rockcliff in these woods about them. He stops his writing, scratching out a verse about dock-side promenades, and the way she intrigues and endlessly beguiles. (Fallen angel? Fallen chosen.) His orb throbs again. "Ha. I'm sure she'd appreciate the sentiment," dear Tara, "though I imagine she would say I've spent enough time being owned." How interesting. Gale's eyes go wistful, and leaning over, offers her a pillow for comfort. "Learn to stand on your own, she'd tell me. I've the feeling this-" their journey "-isn't what she had in mind."

"mh, please do." the retort comes, immediate and amused; it is a threat that some would have taken as an arrow to the chest, but the sorceress finds herself rather unshaken by the promise of it. at worst, she could simply walk away from the babbling mess of a wizard; she has done it before and would have no qualms about doing it again. at best, she would find it amusing to dissect his words; the pieces of his speech that are there because they must, the pieces he brought because he thought the audience would like them, and the pieces that are shy to emerge for they are only there because he is. he is a well-oiled machine she would like to take apart, cog by cog, in the hopes of getting to the heart of whatever machinery has brought him here; a bomb in his chest and him as the forelorn lover of a goddess.

"i shall pretend you did not just insult my wisdom", she offers most benevolently, like a dagger pressed to fragile skin and taken away just as quickly; the kiss of a threat, and its loud retrieval, "though i am disappointed, wizard, do i look like the kind of girl who seeks jaunts?" her smile is tantalizing; she knows little about her past life but something has travelled to the other side of amnesia-- her love of defying the odds. challenges are quite difficult for her to ignore, so sure of her ability to withstand any amount of pain or loss if presented with the promise of victory. here, standing above him like a fallen angel whose wings are naught but flickers of light and specks of shadow, she is just a smile; she meets his stare with one of her own. whatever spell he speaks into existence, she seems rather interested in seeing what will blossom from the incantation. "i prefer my entertainement to be a bit more… substantial. we shall see if you can make yourself interesting enough." there, gale of waterdeep, a challenge of your own: see how long you can keep her enraptured.

as for the mention of his tressym, she laughs; she does not know if she had animals prior to her becoming the home of a rather disgusting larva, but she finds herself to be rather taken by the idea of being a creature's companion. "from the looks of it, it is more likely i will fight tara for custody over you, not the other way around." which is to say: she chose you and owns you more than you do her. as for what can be implied with such a statement, well, it shall remain hidden in the smirk blossoming on her lips as she finds a spot to sit cross-legged, as graceful as ever when she lowers herself to ground. an invitation for him to tell her more about these… thrilling adventures he spoke of.