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The nutritional adequacy of plant-based diets
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Joined: Sept 2010 Gender: Male Posts: 1,334 Location: The Arse-End of Ferelden Karma: 22
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #60 on Jan 7, 2012, 3:45pm »
Sol did not think the stream of chatter he seemed unable to stop counted as mindless babble. If he failed to enunciate, however, she might concede the point. Rather than consider the current looseness of his tongue, Siorus surveyed his collection of daggers, thoughts still stuck on reasons for remaining sober. Being in possession of several sharp, pointy objects seemed a good one.
"You should not get drunk because you have a lot of daggers?" Sol blinked, obviously trying to connect the two points. "Are you worried that you will stab yourself?"
“I have seen it happen,” Siorus put in. He’d seen accidents – a dagger re-sheathed hilt first, a knife slipped inside a sock instead of a boot, a hilt getting caught in the back of a chair – and he’d seen the fights. Siorus had fought intoxicated men. He showed them no more mercy than he might a sober opponent. Even to draw a weapon when drunk, the intent had to be there.
Sol shrugged and sipped her wine. "Well, they are over there, and we are here, so I do not think that is a valid concern at the moment."
A sober nod felt altogether different when weighted with wine. Siorus attempted one anyway. It felt... less than sober.
Lips twitching, she added, "I will protect you from the daggers, Siorus. I swear it.”
Siorus laughed. “If they become animated, we will seal the cellar and continue our tasting upstairs.” The logistics of this... He waved a hand. “That is a silly thought, and beside the point. I had a point, about the daggers. I was explaining why I do not get drunk, though perhaps we should examine why I feel it necessary to carry at least four blades on my person at all times.” He grinned. “Perhaps I fear the grapes will become animated.” He laughed again, then nudged Sol’s ribs with his elbow. “This is your fault, just so you know. Wine tasting.” A snort interrupted his chuckle. “You prompt me to do many things I might not otherwise consider.”
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #61 on Jan 7, 2012, 4:57pm »
He laughed. The sound washed over Sol, and she realized she'd heard him laugh more in this visit to the cellar than she had probably in the time she'd known him. Despite sitting on a dirty, cold stone floor, she suspected they were more comfortable with each other right now than at any other point in their relationship. All the barriers had disappeared; unimportant, useless things. The wine had erased them, and Sol wondered, briefly, if they had been deleted permanently.
“If they become animated, we will seal the cellar and continue our tasting upstairs,” Siorus said, referring to his daggers. Sol snickered as he waved a hand, the image of rebellious daggers laying siege to the locked cellar door coming to her far too easily. “That is a silly thought, and beside the point. I had a point, about the daggers."
"All the daggers have a point," she observed. Her eyes opened wide as one of her chuckles emerged as a hiccup instead. "Pardonez-moi."
"I was explaining why I do not get drunk, though perhaps we should examine why I feel it necessary to carry at least four blades on my person at all times,” Siorus continued with a grin. “Perhaps I fear the grapes will become animated.”
"The grapes would be less danger—wait, no. The vines, they could strangle you. And they're a virtual army, out there in the fields, just waiting for an unsuspecting sloppy blond mercenary-bann to venture amongst them." She nodded seriously, though her eyes danced with teasing.
Siorus nudged her, laughing again. “This is your fault, just so you know. Wine tasting.” He snorted. “You prompt me to do many things I might not otherwise consider.”
She smiled, nodding again. "I am challenging." She poked his shoulder. "But you are, as well. Teaching a mage to fight with her hands and a sword." A snort of disbelief left her. "C'est incroyable." She paused a moment, her brow furrowing. "But you do not see me as a mage, do you? You do not see me as a blood mage. You do not see me as I see myself." Evil, forsaken, unforgivable. She shook her head, banishing the words. "I do not understand that. I do not understand you, how you can be so…so…" She waved her glass around, then took a sip of the wine, seeking inspiration from the crimson depths. She found it. "Accepting," she finished. "You accept me. You see me. All that I am, all the bad, and you still…"
She pressed her lips together, cutting off the damnable words emerging from her loosened tongue, then quickly downed the last of her wine. Lifting the bottle to pour herself another glass, she discovered they had exhausted the Anwadal. A pout curved her lips.
"Non, elle est morte!" she wailed, then continued in Orlesian. "Quickly, we need another!"
Lurching to her feet, Sol started in an altogether curvy path for the table and one of the unopened bottles resting there. "You talk of being foolish," she said over her shoulder, the Orlesian words slurred but still recognizable. "I wish to be foolish! It is so much more fun than being serious."
She reached the table and her hands curved around each of the necks of the unopened bottles. Then, casting a glance over her shoulder at Siorus, she giggled. "Bring the glasses!" she shouted.
With that, she ran for the door to the cellar. After fumbling with it and the bottles for a moment, she managed to get it open without incident, and careened down the hall, laughter in her wake.
Joined: Sept 2010 Gender: Male Posts: 1,334 Location: The Arse-End of Ferelden Karma: 22
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #62 on Jan 7, 2012, 6:00pm »
When Sol suggested the vines might rise up and strangle him, Siorus leveled a flat stare at the mage. “That is... imaginative. And, I am not sloppy, I am disheveled.” Why he should take offense at being sloppy, he had no clue. Sloppy sounded slovenly, however, and Siorus did not consider his appearance... Well, alright, perhaps it was. Laughing, he nudged Sol and blamed her for distracting him from the sensible, prompting him to take risks.
"I am challenging." A finger poked his shoulder. "But you are, as well. Teaching a mage to fight with her hands and a sword." Sol enjoyed her lessons, which, of course, meant that Siorus enjoyed them. "C'est incroyable." She paused to frown. "But you do not see me as a mage, do you? You do not see me as a blood mage. You do not see me as I see myself."
Siorus did think of Sol as a mage, but not in the first instance. More often, he thought of her as a woman first, mage second, and, more frequently, as time passed, as his companion first, and a woman second – mage being relegated to third. He felt magic no longer defined her, though he supposed such a conclusion would be as ridiculous as saying his sword no longer defined him. But, they could want more, they did want more.
The terms maleficar and blood mage did not enter his thoughts often, and he tended to discard the former as chantry superstition. The latter he regarded with an uncensored view. No, he had not liked being the victim of blood magic, but he doubted the men he had killed liked being the victim of his sword.
"I do not understand that. I do not understand you, how you can be so…so…" Sol continued, waving her glass around before pausing to consider the wine within. "Accepting," she finished. "You accept me. You see me. All that I am, all the bad, and you still…"
“Still what?” Siorus prompted, caught up by the narrative.
"Non, elle est morte!" Sol had discovered their supply of wine had expired. "Quickly, we need another!"
Dispensing with the serious conversation, Sol staggered toward the table, collected the last two bottles of wine, as yet un-sampled, and somehow navigated a path to the cellar door, an instruction to bring the glasses – and several giggles – in her wake. And, despite the fact she spoke Orlesian with an intoxicated accent, Siorus understood her, because, sometimes, actions bespoke more than words.
He caught her before she reached the cool room, the cold storage pantry. Glasses dangling from one hand, he grabbed at her wrist with the other, careful not to wrench her about, a feat of dexterity that proved nearly beyond him considering the fact the floor felt more uneven than it had on the way in. It wasn’t, of course, but Siorus refused to admit he was drunk. Not yet. He was moving, was he not? More or less upright? And he had a purpose.
Nudging Sol toward the niche of a doorway, he arched a brow and said, “Are you running because you enjoy being chased or are you avoiding my question?” A second brow joined the first. “I am the one who avoids questions, not you.” His expression softened. “I still what?”
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #63 on Jan 7, 2012, 7:42pm »
She did not remember the cellar corridor being quite so winding. The walls swung about in all directions as she ran, and she found herself doing some fancy steps in order to avoid them. It didn't help that laughter had all but stolen her breath; she didn't think she'd exhaled without a giggle in the last few minutes.
Siorus caught up with her just before she reached the pantry, grasping her wrist and halting her forward movement. It wasn't a heavy hold; should she desire to, she could pull away, she could escape him. She did not fear him, however, and let him nudge her toward a doorway. A saucy, daring gleam entered her eyes—she did not think she could go another round, and if he could she would be stunned, but she could still tease, no?
She opened her mouth to make a pointed comment, but Siorus spoke first. “Are you running because you enjoy being chased or are you avoiding my question?” Both of his brows arched, inviting her to answer. “I am the one who avoids questions, not you.” His expression softening, he repeated the question he'd asked earlier, after her voice had trailed off. “I still what?”
Arching her neck, she closed the distance between them and nipped at his lips. "I like my games. Just as you like yours, hm?" She leaned back, his question echoing in her mind, her expression losing some of its playfulness. "You still abide me, even knowing the…the…wrongness." A more eloquent description for the twisting she felt within herself eluded her. "You still care for me. You are still my friend, you are still here. Is it any wonder I l—" She cut herself off, pressing her lips firmly together, before she could break her promise.
Joined: Sept 2010 Gender: Male Posts: 1,334 Location: The Arse-End of Ferelden Karma: 22
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #64 on Jan 7, 2012, 8:04pm »
Sol’s lips caught his briefly, he felt a nip, then she said, "I like my games. Just as you like yours, hm?"
The half grin found him, pulled at his smile, and Siorus uttered an affirmative noise, a grunt or a growl, or something.
Leaning back, Sol sobered a little, obviously considering his question. Then she answered, "You still abide me, even knowing the…the…wrongness." Siorus’ brows drew together; not a wince, more an acknowledgement he should have left well enough alone. "You still care for me,” she continued, “You are still my friend, you are still here. Is it any wonder I l—" She stopped, lips closing in a firm line.
He heard the words, though, they whispered soundlessly in his ear, echoed noiselessly off the stone arching overhead.
“You can say it.” It sounded like his voice, but not. Perhaps the whisper in his ear affected his hearing. He did not waver, though, duck or hide. He stood still and waited to feel the impact of those words.
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #65 on Jan 7, 2012, 8:29pm »
She expected Siorus to pull away. He'd gotten his answer, no? More than. She'd noted his brow furrowing; no doubt he wished he'd merely chased her down the hall and up the stairs, instead of stopping her, instead of demanding an answer to a question that could have gone unanswered.
Particularly when those words nearly escaped, she did not expect him to stand there. She certainly did not expect what he said.
“You can say it.”
She looked up at him, her features falling slack in surprise. He did not look entirely convinced that it was his lips that had uttered the phrase, but he didn't try to deny it. He didn't try to run from it. Her eyes searched his—what she sought, she couldn't say. Confirmation that he meant it? She swallowed, then took a breath. Held it. Then let it out, along with the words.
"I love you."
The words sounded odd in the hallway, smaller than they should be. It had been different, when she had said them in bed that morning weeks ago; hearing them in her mind now and again, they seemed more full, echoing with meaning. Spoken now, they were just words—and yet, more.
If anyone, Sol knew what power words could wield. They could focus a spell. They represented thoughts and ideas, making them concrete. They trapped, or they released. They comforted. They wounded.
She hoped—prayed—that Siorus would take these words as the embrace, the acceptance, they were meant to be. Shaking her head slightly, her red hair rippling, Sol lifted her chin, defiance entering her posture. He would, damn it. These words would not hurt him.
Joined: Sept 2010 Gender: Male Posts: 1,334 Location: The Arse-End of Ferelden Karma: 22
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #66 on Jan 7, 2012, 9:22pm »
For a moment, Sol said nothing; she simply looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes. She drew in a breath and held it, and Siorus felt his own lungs expand as he did the same. Then she said it.
"I love you."
He thought he was prepared, but he wasn’t. It hurt, all over again, and he did not know why. He tried not to show how it felt, tried to maintain his calm demeanour, his easy stance. He’d yet to expel that held breath, though, and could hear blood moving behind his ears, a slow, swish and pulse.
Shaking her head, red hair sweeping along her jaw, Sol lifted her chin and said it again.
"I love you, Siorus Cadigan."
This time, her words knocked the breath out of him. Air left his lungs in a noisy rush. But, Siorus stepped forward, rather than away, filled with a sudden need to be closer to Sol, to a person who loved him. The hand at her wrist slipped around her waist and he tucked his chin over her shoulder, then inhaled, the scent of peppermint and rosemary, wine and warmth filling his nostrils. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward more, so they touched all the way down.
He turned his head, slightly, lips brushing her neck. “It hurts,” he whispered, and it did, still, a stab of pain every time he drew a breath. “One day it will not.” A quiet statement. A fact, though it felt more like a wish, because when it stopped hurting, he would be able to say it back.
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #67 on Jan 8, 2012, 10:18am »
The first utterance of the words seemed to freeze Siorus. He remained still, unmoving, as though caught in an ice spell that had locked him in place. The second utterance shattered that illusion, jarring Siorus into motion.
His breath left him, a noisy exhalation, and Sol braced herself for him to turn, to walk away. He did not, though. He stepped forward, embracing her. Chin over her shoulder, hands around her waist, body pressed against her from head to feet. He was as close to her as he could manage, without that final joining, and somehow, it felt even more intimate than that.
Sol closed her eyes, lifting her burdened hands—damned wine—to hug him awkwardly. He had not walked away. Just as he had not when they'd looked at stars that night, just as he had not when they'd argued at the well. He no longer ran from her, did he? The realization stole her breath.
Lips brushed her neck. “It hurts,” he whispered.
But he did not run from it. He did not try to deny it or pretend she had not spoken, or any number of things he could have done. He endured.
“One day it will not.” It sounded almost like a promise.
She drew in a breath, ragged and shaky. Her lips nuzzled his shoulder. "I don't mean to hurt you," she breathed. "Never that. I just…I feel so much, Siorus." In general—something he knew already—and specifically for him, something he perhaps did not know. The alcohol coursing through her blood stream did its job, loosening her tongue. "You make me feel like I can be more, like anything is within my reach. You make me feel normal, and special, all at once. You desire me, but you also accept me, something…something I cannot do for myself. The words…they bubble up in my chest so often, wanting to be said. I want you to hear, I want you to know that you are special to me, Rus, and you always will be."
If her hands had been free, one would have risen to thread through his hair or cup his cheek, but the wine bottles weighed them down. She kissed his shoulder again, a soft chuckle escaping her. "I often wonder that you have not yet sent me on my way," she admitted. "I am trouble, am I not?" She drew in a breath, pressing closer to him. "I am glad you have not."
Joined: Sept 2010 Gender: Male Posts: 1,334 Location: The Arse-End of Ferelden Karma: 22
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #68 on Jan 8, 2012, 2:20pm »
“I don't mean to hurt you.” Sol’s breath rasped by his ear. "Never that. I just…I feel so much, Siorus."
“I know,” Siorus murmured, answering both statements.
Sol then told him what he made her feel, how he made her feel. Siorus listened quietly, eyes still closed, lips against her neck, arms about her. As much as her words stabbed, they also lifted him up, made him feel as special as she seemed to think he was. It wouldn’t last, that feeling. He’d let it go as soon as they ascended from the cellar, out of necessity, self preservation. Until they left this space, however, this moment, he could allow it to wrap around him, as warm and real as the woman he held so closely.
Her lips touched his shoulder again, warm against skin exposed by his sloppy (disheveled) tunic. She chuckled, breath sweeping past his neck, and said, "I often wonder that you have not yet sent me on my way. I am trouble, am I not?" A breath and she pressed closer. "I am glad you have not."
His brow creased as words that sounded like a promise escaped him. “I will not.” Drawing in a quick, sharp breath, Siorus continued to speak before he could remember he spoke, before he could stop himself. “You are more, you are...” Fingers gripped her waist as dizziness swept through him, loosening limbs, making the floor seem as if it shifted. “Special.” Had he ever told anyone they were special? Probably not.
Lifting his head, moving so he could speak to her rather than against her shoulder, Siorus offered a crooked smile. “If I scowl at you for saying those words, remind me I am a fool, hm? That I am playing this game with you.”
He kissed her then, because it felt appropriate, because he wanted to, because he had no other way tell her how he felt, how she made him feel, and his thoughts fell away, replaced by the most simple need, the most simple desire. He did not hear the light step of his seneschal or feel the presence at the end of the cellar. He did not notice the crinkle of skin about bright blue eyes or the amused curve of lips as the seneschal took in the sight of his lord, certainly disheveled – tunic undone and untucked, feet bare – and the woman known as Renée, clad only in a tunic, kissing in the shadow of the closest doorway.
When he came up for air, though, a sound, a shuffle or breath, alerted him. Almost lazily, Siorus turned his head and saw Beck standing there. Slowly, he blinked.
“I came to see how the tasting progressed,” Beck said, his voice soft, tone dry, eyes twinkling with humour.
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #69 on Jan 8, 2012, 4:15pm »
“I will not,” Siorus assured her, drawing in a quick breath. “You are more, you are...” His hands grasped at her waist as though he needed an anchor. “Special.”
"I must be," she murmured, her mind swimming. "It is not every day that one is granted a birthday as a gift."
Siorus drew back, his lips curved in a crooked smile. “If I scowl at you for saying those words, remind me I am a fool, hm? That I am playing this game with you.”
Her breath caught. "You are a fool, Siorus," she said, lightly teasing even as her bottle-laden hands tightened around his waist. "My fool," she managed, just before his lips descended upon hers.
As happened now more often than not, the kiss wiped away everything but Siorus. There was only him, pressed against her, his lips and tongue toying with hers, teasing, tempting. She exhaled, giving herself over to him. Did he know? Did he realize that she had willingly done so?
Eventually, their lips separated, the need for air overpowering the need for the continued embrace. Siorus looked down at her for a moment, then turned his head, slowly, almost lazily, to regard something at the end of the hall. Sol craned her head around Siorus's shoulder to see Beck, the seneschal, standing there, looking quite amused.
“I came to see how the tasting progressed,” the older man said.
Sol squeezed out from Siorus's arms and held aloft the two bottles. "We have two more bottles to taste!" she announced in slurred Orlesian. "My favorite is the Andwalalalal."
Beck's brow furrowed for a moment. "Ah," he said, noncommittally.
Casting a glance over her shoulder at Siorus, her eyes gleaming with mischief, Sol extended one foot, wiggling her toes for a second before her balance threatened to topple. She stumbled sideways, then righted herself. "Beck," she began, cajolingly. "Siorus will not massage my feet, and they are sore."
The seneschal frowned again. "Uh, my lady…" He gave an apologetic shake of his head. "My Orlesian is not that good."
"Am I speaking Orlesian?" Oh, she was, at that. Sol frowned, struggling to find the Fereldan words. They eluded her and her eyes narrowed with frustration. "Siorus can translate," she finally decided, waving a bottle in his direction.
Beck's gaze travelled to the bann, his lips twitching slightly. "Shall I see you to your rooms, my lord? Perhaps"—his eyes flicked to Siorus's bare and rather dirty feet—"a bath and supper."
"Yes!" Sol agreed enthusiastically. She lifted one of the bottles, but couldn't quite make out the marker. Giving up, she thrust it at Beck. "Something that goes with this, I think. We can taste the wine with food, now that Siorus knows the basics. I had to teach him the sniff."
Beck blinked, then took the bottle from Sol. She almost whined, but he'd have to know what it was in order to have the cook make something to go with it, no? "Very good, my lady." He turned back to Siorus. "Ser?"
Joined: Sept 2010 Gender: Male Posts: 1,334 Location: The Arse-End of Ferelden Karma: 22
Re: Viniculture [Closed] « Reply #70 on Jan 9, 2012, 8:46am »
Beck’s presence did not fully register until Sol moved away to answer his question. A waft of cool air replaced her, tickling skin exposed by an open shirt, reminding Siorus he stood half dressed. The mercenary had been caught in compromising situations before, but not usually so tender a moment. He continued to blink slowly as sobriety tried to find a way past the indistinct edge of his intoxication.
After pronouncing the Anwadal (Andwalalal) her favourite wine, Sol informed the seneschal Siorus would not massage her sore feet. A chuckle fell from Siorus’ lips as he matched the mildly perplexed expression on Beck’s face to the task of rubbing the lady’s feet. He did not realise Sol spoke Orlesian – drunken Orlesian – until Beck tactfully reminded her. When invited to translate, Siorus, felt his mouth crook into a half grin.
“I will leave that one to your imagination, Beck.”
The seneschal’s eyes twinkled in the lantern light, his lips twitched. "Shall I see you to your rooms, my lord? Perhaps,” bare feet were indicated with a glance, "a bath and supper."
“Supper?” How many hours had passed while he and Sol rolled about the cellar floor?
"Yes!" Sol squinted at a bottle before holding it out for Beck. "Something that goes with this, I think. We can taste the wine with food, now that Siorus knows the basics. I had to teach him the sniff."
“We have been tasting sunshine,” Siorus put in dryly.
Beck suddenly had the bottle in his hands. Without studying it, he assured Sol her bidding would be done and turned to Siorus. "Ser?"
“I have to collect my daggers, those vines are just waiting for their opportunity to attack.”
The resultant look on Beck’s face outweighed any effort it might have cost Siorus to look silly. With a chuckle, the mercenary spun on a bare heel and retreated to the cellar to retrieve his collection of sharp, pointy things.
Later, an indeterminate period of time later, bathed and fed – supper had not been accompanied by wine – Siorus tugged Sol toward the bed. In the absence of continued sips of wine, lassitude had crept in, weighting his muscles and thoughts curiously, as if he’d fought a battle. Siorus did not particularly enjoy the sensation and counted it as a good reason not to drink to excess in the future. Not being able to move seemed more dangerous than possibly moving in the wrong direction. Nevertheless, he did not regret the afternoon spent in the cellar. He had learned more than how to taste sunshine, had he not?
Curling himself about Sol, he breathed in the clean, fresh scent of her and murmured, “I am not at all cold, just so you know.” His hands did not wander and his lips pressed only chaste kisses to her ear and cheek. He just wanted to be close, that was all.
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