The note is in careful, terse hand writing - every letter a capital and each scrawled as if with infinite patience. It says only: "Battlements, noon. -N"
If he comes, she is waiting there, a package under her arm, frowning out over the mountains, the wind crisp but the sun almost warm, as it hasn't been in months.
The note is so very Nerva-like, it's downright charming. It did earn a smile to see if left for him.
Twisted Fate arrives per her request, adjusting his hat. "A fine afternoon to you, Nerva." His eyes flick to the package, but he hardly assumes that's for him. Clearly, she has a delivery to make later. "I'm pleased this is becoming a usual meeting spot for us," he says jovially. "What can I do for you?"
"We are to have a ball, apparently." There is a slight wryness to her
voice, and her brows furrow and she watches his hands unwrap the mask.
It is burnished silver, shining gold in places but darker as it folds in on
itself. It covers half the face, the markings closely resembling Fate's
own, but twisting off in ways that are far more fanciful, turning into
leaves that edge the mask. The eye is almond shaped, the edges carefully
rounded, and the nose and the mouth have almost a smirk to them.
"I'd been working on it, regardless," She admits, somewhat awkwardly, the
frown deepening. "But I thought - if we are to have a ball, it is only
appropriate that we have the proper accessories, so as not to tarnish the
Inquisition's reputation."
(Basically, she wanted to give it to him, and is very relieved to have an
excuse.)
For a moment, Twisted Fate is distracted, the tips of his fingers running over the design of the mask. He already knew what she liked to do, designing and crafting masks, but he never thought that she would take the time to use her hobby to make him anything like this.
Funny to think how rough their relationship started, one making assumptions of the other. Only now he's grown terribly fond of her.
Suffice it to say, Twisted Fate greatly approves.
"Thank you," he says, his voice soft. "I was considering simply purchasing one from one of the Orlesian merchants, but I don't think they'd quite match up to this."
Fate looks up, his brows knitted, but his face is genuine. "It's beautiful."
"A mask can only be accurate if it is made solely for you," She says, as if
lecturing, but then the brows unknit and her face muscles relax and a smile
appears there. A small one, but a real one. Proud, pleased, and maybe just
a little fond. Just a little.
"I am glad you approve of it." She admitted, her voice more of a murmur -
as if she wasn't sure how to raise it when she wasn't being angry or
passionate about something. "I was not sure I would have time to adjust it,
if you didn't."
"So what I'm hearing is that I always have a smirk on my face. Suppose you're not wrong." There's a pause, and he offers, "I'm teasing, of course. The mask if incredibly lovely. I would be glad to wear it at the soiree."
Twisted Fate holds it carefully in one hand, as if the mask is delicate. Whether or not that is true is irrelevant; he approaches Nerva, holding out his other hand.
"It is the mask you choose to wear most often," she pointed out, glancing
at the offered hand with somewhat of a bemused expression, before looking
up at him.
"Are we having an impromptu lesson?" She asked, taking his hand as she
would if they were about to dance, because she can't think of any reason to
hold it out otherwise.
Nerva freezes, trying to ignore just how tight her chest clenched at that,
and pulls her hand back both too quickly and far too slowly. She doesn't
have to ask herself - she knows that no one has ever tried that. It was...
incredibly gentlemanly, and whatever the templar order was for her, it was
hardly full of gentlemen.
At least not gentlemen that saw her.
She swallowed, frowning deeply, and she could feel the heat at her collar,
rising to her face, and immediately berated herself for it. Ridiculous.
Simply ridiculous. He must have been mocking her. Or at least, that's what
she would have though, even a week before, perhaps.
But she knows he's not.
"Of course." Her voice is tight, stilted, but it isn't frustration or anger
so much as... confusion. As not exactly knowing what the proper response to
such an action was. She was pretty sure it was not returning a hand kiss in
kind. "I think it would be difficult--" A hesitation, and she realised what
she was saying, but her mouth kept going despite herself, "--not to."
She cleared her throat, getting more flustered by the minute, and suddenly
found looking at him to be difficult, so she looked away instead.
For a moment, he pauses as he recognizes the tightness of her voice, but quietly concludes it isn't due to annoyance him. She's puzzled, just as he was at receiving the gift. Orlesian ball or otherwise, it's still not something he expected. Twisted Fate looks up, releasing her hand.
Difficult to not think of him. That's something to consider.
"Then I consider myself lucky for that," he says, deciding it better to not tease her right now. "I didn't intend to embarrass you."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
During the Party Prep
If he comes, she is waiting there, a package under her arm, frowning out over the mountains, the wind crisp but the sun almost warm, as it hasn't been in months.
no subject
Twisted Fate arrives per her request, adjusting his hat. "A fine afternoon to you, Nerva." His eyes flick to the package, but he hardly assumes that's for him. Clearly, she has a delivery to make later. "I'm pleased this is becoming a usual meeting spot for us," he says jovially. "What can I do for you?"
no subject
She didn't beat around the bush, but held out the package, instead. "This is for you."
no subject
Few things catch Twisted Fate off guard, but this... this certainly does. Receiving a gift is a rare thing indeed.
Hesitantly, he takes the package, looking at it in his hands as he carefully unwraps it.
"What's the occasion?"
no subject
"We are to have a ball, apparently." There is a slight wryness to her voice, and her brows furrow and she watches his hands unwrap the mask.
It is burnished silver, shining gold in places but darker as it folds in on itself. It covers half the face, the markings closely resembling Fate's own, but twisting off in ways that are far more fanciful, turning into leaves that edge the mask. The eye is almond shaped, the edges carefully rounded, and the nose and the mouth have almost a smirk to them.
"I'd been working on it, regardless," She admits, somewhat awkwardly, the frown deepening. "But I thought - if we are to have a ball, it is only appropriate that we have the proper accessories, so as not to tarnish the Inquisition's reputation."
(Basically, she wanted to give it to him, and is very relieved to have an excuse.)
no subject
Funny to think how rough their relationship started, one making assumptions of the other. Only now he's grown terribly fond of her.
Suffice it to say, Twisted Fate greatly approves.
"Thank you," he says, his voice soft. "I was considering simply purchasing one from one of the Orlesian merchants, but I don't think they'd quite match up to this."
Fate looks up, his brows knitted, but his face is genuine. "It's beautiful."
no subject
"A mask can only be accurate if it is made solely for you," She says, as if lecturing, but then the brows unknit and her face muscles relax and a smile appears there. A small one, but a real one. Proud, pleased, and maybe just a little fond. Just a little.
"I am glad you approve of it." She admitted, her voice more of a murmur - as if she wasn't sure how to raise it when she wasn't being angry or passionate about something. "I was not sure I would have time to adjust it, if you didn't."
no subject
Twisted Fate holds it carefully in one hand, as if the mask is delicate. Whether or not that is true is irrelevant; he approaches Nerva, holding out his other hand.
"Fortunately, I see no adjustments needed."
no subject
"It is the mask you choose to wear most often," she pointed out, glancing at the offered hand with somewhat of a bemused expression, before looking up at him.
"Are we having an impromptu lesson?" She asked, taking his hand as she would if they were about to dance, because she can't think of any reason to hold it out otherwise.
no subject
Gently, he takes her hand. "No," he answers, sounding thoughtful before he bends down, pressing a light kiss to the back of her hand.
"Thank you again. For thinking of me."
no subject
Nerva freezes, trying to ignore just how tight her chest clenched at that, and pulls her hand back both too quickly and far too slowly. She doesn't have to ask herself - she knows that no one has ever tried that. It was... incredibly gentlemanly, and whatever the templar order was for her, it was hardly full of gentlemen.
At least not gentlemen that saw her.
She swallowed, frowning deeply, and she could feel the heat at her collar, rising to her face, and immediately berated herself for it. Ridiculous. Simply ridiculous. He must have been mocking her. Or at least, that's what she would have though, even a week before, perhaps.
But she knows he's not.
"Of course." Her voice is tight, stilted, but it isn't frustration or anger so much as... confusion. As not exactly knowing what the proper response to such an action was. She was pretty sure it was not returning a hand kiss in kind. "I think it would be difficult--" A hesitation, and she realised what she was saying, but her mouth kept going despite herself, "--not to."
She cleared her throat, getting more flustered by the minute, and suddenly found looking at him to be difficult, so she looked away instead.
no subject
Difficult to not think of him. That's something to consider.
"Then I consider myself lucky for that," he says, deciding it better to not tease her right now. "I didn't intend to embarrass you."
no subject
She rubbed her fingers together against her palm, unconsciously.
"No, no. I am just glad that you like it. If you'll - ah - excuse me, I should return to my duties."