#wr. thread.

[highaver]

@stormlit.

"What have you done to your hair, child?"

Covered as it was by her hood, Balfour could still see a messy attempt at pigtails sticking out from beneath her cloak. She looked as if she had just been dragged backward through the underbrush behind a speeding horse.

[serbaird]

@supportary.

ㅤGregor had been very well behaved tonight. He hoped that, above all things, Sylvie recognised this. He had not said a word while they'd been in the pub about what he wasn't sure hadn't been a slip of the tongue or maybe just Sylvie showing the deepest affection for his parents. Things were different now. It was just the two of them, their only company the summer evening breeze and the sound of the sea on the other side of the road. Gregor had his arm around her shoulders.

ㅤ“ Kind of rude of you not to tell me you were married to someone, you know, ” he said lightly. He pulled her in closer, squeezing her against his side. “ I mean, who are these in-laws you're talking about? Devastating. ”

[grenewoden]

@meiquene.

ㅤ“ I've not seen thi here before, ” he smiled, half-squinting into the sun as he stood with his hands on his hips. Robin was certain he would remember a face like hers. Even if he hadn't been in the area for all that long at all. He carried on walking beside her, back facing the direction they were strolling through the meadow, with that damn grin on his face. “ Is tha from t' village? ”

[frsthws]

@highevar.

ㅤMurdag was unhappy. This was usually so for them when their cousins descended upon the Mac Eanraig fleet, disturbing the perfect balance of the Vinsomer. They used to think that it was unforgivable. Now, as they watched Elethea sitting in their quarters, lonely and miserable as Ivor and their father had stolen Balfour away, they felt guilty for their disdain for her. Almost.

ㅤThey cleared their throat to gain her attention. They stood not far from the door of their bedroom, hands upon their hips, and Elethea would not be wrong to assume they did not wish to be saying this.

ㅤ“ My mother wishes for you to know... If you would care to stay with your brother, you may both have my quarters. ”

[highaver]

The others deserved to know. They did. If Ylfa thought herself a danger - even if Balfour did not wish to believe it to be true - then the others should at least be aware of such a thing. But she had asked him not to say a word, and she had been through enough, these past weeks. Things no child should have to see or have to do.

He didn't know what to do. There was nothing good here, nothing fair or simple to navigate. Any decision that any of them made would undoubtedly feel like the wrong one - or, worse, the only one they could have made and equally horrific. What could he tell Ylfa? To make it better. To spare her something.

He rubbed at his beard and sighed.

"You do not have to tell them, Ylfa," he said, finally. His tone was firm but not without affection, reassurance. "But you should. Perhaps just even Timothy. And if you allow me to tell the others, I will explain that you are no threat and they have nothing to fear. But we might all help you better, if we know."

balfour looks miserable, but isn't everybody? this is not how any of them wanted their lives to go, but they didn't get to choose their path. things just happened, and they reacted, and however much lightness they find and grab onto, it is because they've forced it into the shadow, seeking refuge for just a moment. they might all die tomorrow. they probably will. ylfa just doesn't want to be the one to kill them, not when she so desperately wants to protect everyone instead.

❝ i can most of the time. but i was so angry and...hurt. ❞ she lost control. ylfa's sure that somewhere in her head, the wolf would have something to say about it, but he's quiet right now, and she is alone. just one wolf, without the shadow of death trailing behind her. she sort of misses him. but the little girl takes a deep breath, and nods. ❝ what i said...please don't tell anyone. i mean, you can if you think you have to, but please don't. i didn't even mean to say it to you. and... ❞ she doesn't want everyone to look at her differently. she doesn't want to be considered a legitimate threat to her friends. ❝ it's the past. we're stuck here. ❞

it doesn't matter.

[highaver]

@sanitatcm. time traveller sc.

"My wife, sir?" If he was stupid in the modern day, he was even worse here. Call it a lapse in his memory: there were so many details of his new life to remember, sometimes he forgot the blatantly obvious. It was easy enough to remember that he worked in a pub, yes, but he'd not actually had a wife in years. And Clara had only been his very fake one for two weeks. The realisation hit him promptly. "Oh!" A quick scramble, then, to try and make himself seem like he wasn't the world's most terrible husband. "You've met her? You're, uh - a regular to the Hare & Hounds, then?"

[serbaird]

@supportary. call.

ㅤ“ You showed great valour back in the Great Hall. ” Gregor considered her for some moments, a frown creasing his brow. She had not struck him as the type, though he had to admit that he had not much spoken to her before the attempt on the Queen's life. He smiled. Thank the Maker for having sent her. “ Her Majesty is most grateful for your aid. As am I. You are... the Lady Sylvie, yes? ”

[grenewoden]

@gysborne. call.

ㅤ“ Now, sir knight, tha'd not slay an unarmed man in a chapel, would tha? ” Robin had his hands held in the air, head-level, eyes trained on Guy's face. He had seen what the man did in the villages surrounding Nottingham, and he knew that, aye, Guy had depths that he might sink to that would shock another man. What was one more sin to add to the list? Perhaps something else mattered more to him, however. Robin wasn't sure it was the right thing to say, to bring up, but he'd not let that stop him. “ What would Lady Marian say? ”

[highaver]

He did know the type. And Clara wasn't like any of them. Wasn't desperate for a bit of his life just so that she could flaunt it about, so that she could bask in the attention that came with scattering little bits of him out into the wind for others to snap up and savour. He'd dated a lot of women like that, had a lot of friends who weren't really his friends.

His eyes flicked up to hers, anxious and searching, though he already knew what he was going to find. And Balfour's gaze softened. Just so.

"Here, um -" His fingers slipped from beneath hers, and with his usual carefulness, Balfour opened the sketchbook. There were pages he wasn't quite ready for her to see: the odd bit of writing, sketch of his father or the worst of his thoughts. They were no good for her eyes. He stopped on a page toward the back, something safe - for him - and easy. There were those vague thoughts of her, then, plastered over the page, with all that care. A handful of figures, familiar from the last few times they'd met each other.

When he passed the sketchbook to her, his eyes were wide and he watched her with an uncertainty. Suddenly - and not unusually for him, in truth - there were no words to say. There was just the waiting. And the hoping.

amidst all her teasing and the glittering humor that clara wore like a second skin, there was an undeniable kindness woven into the fabric of her being. she couldn’t help but be kind. her moments of cruelty, though far more common than she would care to admit, were the ones which required precise calculation. kindness was her true neutral. it was constant, permeating even her darkest jokes and less-than-ideal moments. now, as she peered up at him, it spilled over her features.

fingers close over the book, over his hand, stilling there. not making a move to open the book; not when he wouldn't look at her. if his cheeks were her guide to his emotions, his eyes were the rosetta stone, allowing her to decipher when his blushes were born out of affection, or a more dark hot flush of emotion.

without them, she couldn't open the book.

❛⠀ i suppose you're right. it's more fun to be someone's secret muse. plus, it sounds like bragging, and you know how much i hate that. ⠀ ❜ ⠀ delicate fingers squeeze over his, asking again for him to look at her. ⠀ ❛⠀ you know the type.⠀ ❜

[highaver]

@isbrilliant. call.

"Are you sure this isn't busywork?" Balfour didn't much trust the Doctor. Especially not when he'd sent the two of them to the arse end of London with nothing more than a load of technobabble to see them off.

[serbaird]

@supportary.

ㅤ“ Are you being for fucking real right now? ” Sylvie wasn't actually doing anything. Except for standing there, of course, and washing the dishes while the sun streamed in through the kitchen window. The light was bringing out all the undertones in her hair, and he thought his heart might stop if she turned to look at him. He was trying so hard not to smile. “ What the fuck, babe? ”

[grenewoden]

@covrroucer. call.

ㅤ“ I need help from thi. Though, I admit, I am loath to drag thi into bother tha's better off not touching. ” Robin's face was open, earnest. He hated involving those who need not be involved in his schemes, but only a fool would move against the likes of Guy without preparing himself fully. “ If tha tells us no, I'll leave it at that. Aye? But I've business wi' Sir Guy, and cannot reach him by missen. ”

[highaver]

All of Christine's complaining made him laugh, obviously. It helped that she was laughing all the way through them herself. Soft idiot that he was, Balfour would have put her down in an instant if he thought she'd genuinely hated it or he'd made her even the slightest bit uncomfortable. (Long gone were the days of him causing Christine Chapel any grievance. At least intentionally.) He was doing his best to head toward the door without having the two of them topple over.

Of course, he wasn't past joking about it, though.

"Do you seriously think that I'd ever let you fall?" he asked. And, of course, a second later, he faked a stumble, with the comedy woooaahhh! naturally included as he tried to regain the balance he had very much not lost. And then he almost tripped over one of her shoes that he'd nicked for real. Naturally.

"Oh, fuck -" He caught himself. One hand against the wall, the other arm tight around Christine's waist to stop her from falling. He put her down quite daintly after that - and promptly burst into laughter again.

one of the most irksome things about bal was his towering height. it clocked in just below the way his eyes softened during a hug and slightly above the beautiful way he translated the word in his drawings. it might have slid down the scale if her brain ever got around to accepting his everest-like proportions. but since it stubbornly clung to the idea he was only an inch taller than her, her knee-jerk reaction when he unceremoniously grabbed her from her very comfortable spot on the ground was a protest.

❛⠀⠀stop it! you are going to drop me! and don’t think for one single second i’m going down alone. if you drop me, i’m taking you with me. set me down, bal! ⠀ ❜ ⠀ clenched fists make contact with his back. not enough to hurt, but just enough to make her protests heard. though how effective those were, considering they were spoken through gasps of laughter, is a whole other conversation.⠀ ❛⠀⠀you’re not my mom, you can’t make me go to school — work! ⠀ ❜

it is only a few seconds later, when she realizes how far her head is from the ground, that reality sets back in.

with a prolonged sigh, christine makes herself comfortable.

❛⠀⠀joke is on you. i'm comfy. ⠀ ❜

[highaver]

@yes7erdays. cont.

They'd gotten comfortable, the two of them. In more ways than one. From the way that Balfour moved around the Hare and Hounds, collecting plates and cups and all else that had been discarded so haphazardly about the room, he might have looked like he'd been doing this his whole life. Like he belonged here, almost. He didn't even put on that deer in the headlights look when Clara touched him as he passed her. He stopped, of course, and smiled when she leaned against him, talking on of worker's rights, which he never had any clue about.

He must have said something in response to her. Must have. Balfour didn't have it in him to ignore Clara, and there was much to be said - fondly, if not teasingly - at her temperament, of how she could likely spark a revolution all on her own. But he had no hope of recalling the words that had just left his lips. Not a shred, with Clara's fingers at his chest, cold against his skin and pulling him closer, to where she relaxed back against the door. His own fingers tightened briefly around the edge of the plates in his hand, fighting the urge to let that usual rush of feeling force him to step back or straighten or make any move that might encourage her to let go. His other hand, naturally and without much thought, moved to cover her own; he'd always run hot, and there was no reason not to share his warmth on such a cold winter night.

"Mistletoe?" he asked, then, and glanced up, just briefly, to see what Clara meant. Ah. Of course. It was a wonder that Balfour could even feel the chill at all, from the way the usual blush spread across his cheeks and warmed his face. Returning his gaze to Clara, he managed a slight smile. Flustered and embarrassed and all of those usual Balfour Sutherland things that made him question why he ever said a damn word around her in the first place.

And something else.

"Well... I wouldn't want us to have... any more bad luck," he said, sounding as though he were trying very hard to choose the right words. Taking his hand away from hers again, he moved to rest it against the door as he leaned in. Part of him was worried he was making a fool of himself. Maybe he was, maybe Clara, teasing and wonderful and cruel Clara, would push him away at the last second, bad luck be damned. But he'd gotten comfortable - and it was so much harder to pretend he didn't fancy her, now that they spent all their time together. Which she probably knew anyway, because she was Clara - clever and aware - and he was Balfour - obvious and unsubtle, even when he tried his hardest not to be. So he took the risk, in the end, vaguely dizzy and very overwhelmed, and kissed her.

[serbaird]

@supportary. call.

ㅤ“ Will you stop moving? Five seconds, you got that in you? Why are you so annoying? ” Gregor was, of course, grinning as he said this. It shouldn't be taking so long to tie up her hair, but Sylvie appeared to be delighting in making this as difficult a process as possible. He gave her hair a pointed tug. In that thick Mancunian accent he so loved slipping into: “ Ooh, do me hair before we go to t' garden centre, Gregor! I'm gonna leave you here and drive there myself if you don't start behaving. ”

[grenewoden]

@gamwill. call.

ㅤ“ Oi, lad. ” Robin wore one of his usual smiles as he approached his nephew, bow in hand. “ Me and David are off thieving. And I reckon tha's about big enough to come with us, now, like, if tha'd care to. What's tha say to that? ”