[One intrepid bee scout floats over to rest on Myr's hair as he crosses to the bench. He's a moment considering the sound as Hector seats himself before taking the space beside the sheep--carefully, reaching out a hand to feel for it before he does so.]
Mmhm! At least, not for the same reasons we do--as a, a marker, a signifier that we carry with us throughout our lives, to make us stand out from everyone else. They do have ways of referring to each other, but it's more like how I've heard the Qun to be--each bee is known for what she does, and it changes, day to day.
The hive has a name, though. [His excitement, his joy in all of this is brilliantly clear in his smile.]
Precisely. [There's a mix of pride and awe in Myr's tone; bees really are miracles.] I hadn't known quite how much until now, but it's really a wonder how they organize it.
[He is distracted a moment by the scent of the something delicious that Hector's brought and takes a deep appreciative breath of it before continuing.]
You want the whole thing? [His grin widens.] It's not tidy to put into words. Something like-- "The Hive That Is Twenty Seconds Flying From the Honeysuckle Along the Line of the Sun's Axis and One Minute Flying Sunward to the Apple Tree and--"
[He goes on in this vein for at least thirty seconds, naming everything a bee would be interested in foraging from in at least a mile's radius. Bees, man.
Apparently they're also getting after the sugar at a nearby bakery, if "Ten Minutes' Flying From Crystal Honey In the Stone House" is anything to go on.]
[Hector listens to the ridiculous name of the hive. He snorts, and it turns into a chuckle. Myr probably doesn't know yet what a rarity it is, hearing Hector laugh.]
That's... simultaneously the most rational and least practical name I've ever heard.
[He shakes his head and lets out a long breath. The tin, he brings over toward Myr.]
Here. These are for you, if you want them. They're soaked in honey-syrup, so they're sticky.
[Since Myr can't see them, he figures a warning is merited before the other faun reaches for one and finds out for himself.]
[Myr doesn't know the rarity of that laugh, but he's clearly pleased to have garnered it anyway. It's always a lovely thing to make someone he likes laugh.]
Isn't it? Though I've done them a disservice in the translation; it doesn't take nearly so long for them to relate it as it does me.
[His ears lift as Hector makes his offer, and he reaches with cautious fingers to feel for the tin and take a piece of the baklava.]
Thank you, [for both the treat and the warning; they are awfully sticky, and Myr's quick to get his free hand under the piece he's taken before it can drip anything.] They smell marvelous--what d'you call them? And have you had any yet yourself?
[Because as much as Myr loves being gifted food, he loves sharing it even more.]
They're called baklava. It's phyllo...uh, a thin layered pastry...with chopped nuts and honey. [Hector's not sure if phyllo dough is a thing on Myr's world, though he was pleased he was able to find it here. It's a pain to make from scratch.]
I tried it at home, to make sure I made it right. Honey is precious, so I'm glad I didn't ruin it.
[He'd like to think his attempt didn't come out half-bad.]
I don't care for many sweets, but this one is a favorite of mine.
Oh! There's a layered cake we've got like that back home, [the Tevinter word Myr uses is placenta so, thanks, translation spell, for not making this awkward,] though it's got cheese in it.
[He takes a healthy bite of the piece he's holding and chews it with rapt concentration. Definitely better than half-bad, if his expression's anything to go on.]
Oh, that is good. I'm giving you more honey. And you ought to have more--
[The look on his face is mostly sly but also a little sad.] If we were really Faunish about it I'd feed it to you, but then we'd get it everywhere.
[Hard to do that with someone you can't see and don't know well physically--yet.] And that would be a waste and a tragedy. [He munches down the last bite of his piece and licks his fingers by way of emphasis.]
[Hector hums at Myr's description. He's heard of sweet baked tarts with cheese in them, so a cake isn't too far of a stretch for him.]
You like it? [He's pleased, and it shows on his face and in his voice. For so long, he was rejected and alone. Making people happy isn't something he ever imagined he could do, and when he manages it, it's always a victorious moment.]
I could feed it to you... [Hector offers, a little uncertain if Myr will want it, but also distracted by the sight of that tongue licking at his fingers. Those could be Hector's fingers there, if Myr wanted. If they're feeling...faunish.]
Myr doesn't know all Hector's story--or much beyond a tiny, tiny fraction of it--but there is enough of a hint of awkward melancholy about him that that question stirs something protective in the deer's breast.
(Everett's so fond of Hector, too; and as Myr well knows, the diplomat's affections are strongest for those most in need of them.)]
I do like it, [Myr affirms, and hesitates just a breath before adding,] and I'd like that, too.
[Whatever a Faun's instincts, and whatever renewed confidence Myr's found in his more amorous pursuits since coming to Aefenglom, there's still something fraught and tender in these first moments of courtship. Just don't think about how it could go wrong--]
[When Myr agrees, Hector hesitates over the tin, seeking out the perfect bite-sized morsel to offer up to the deer. The flirtation he tacks on have him awkwardly clearing his throat. A reminder of Hector's completely uninhibited petting of Myr's sleek fur...and his ears, until Myr had gently cautioned him to pause.
There's a small comfort in the fact that Myr can't see him blush. He takes a breath, and forces himself to settle on a piece. He lifts it, lets it drip a droplet of honey back into the tin, and brings it slowly to Myr's lips.]
Open. [He prompts, though he doubts Myr needs the prompting when they're leaned in close like this, with the honeyed treat just barely grazing against his lips.]
I, um, recall that you had a talent yourself.
[Hector wasn't the only one petting that night, at least.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote2019-08-01 12:00 am
no subject
Mmhm! At least, not for the same reasons we do--as a, a marker, a signifier that we carry with us throughout our lives, to make us stand out from everyone else. They do have ways of referring to each other, but it's more like how I've heard the Qun to be--each bee is known for what she does, and it changes, day to day.
The hive has a name, though. [His excitement, his joy in all of this is brilliantly clear in his smile.]
no subject
[And bees are known for their efficiency, aren't they? Always at work, and with geometry that fits together perfectly.
Myr sits beside him, and Hector pries open the tin. The honeyed, nutty smell of the baklava wafts up from the container.]
Well? You can't say that and not tell me. What do they call it?
this embarrassing two-day gap brought to you by me musing over what a beehive would name itself
[He is distracted a moment by the scent of the something delicious that Hector's brought and takes a deep appreciative breath of it before continuing.]
You want the whole thing? [His grin widens.] It's not tidy to put into words. Something like-- "The Hive That Is Twenty Seconds Flying From the Honeysuckle Along the Line of the Sun's Axis and One Minute Flying Sunward to the Apple Tree and--"
[He goes on in this vein for at least thirty seconds, naming everything a bee would be interested in foraging from in at least a mile's radius. Bees, man.
Apparently they're also getting after the sugar at a nearby bakery, if "Ten Minutes' Flying From Crystal Honey In the Stone House" is anything to go on.]
this beehive is adorable and worth the wait
That's... simultaneously the most rational and least practical name I've ever heard.
[He shakes his head and lets out a long breath. The tin, he brings over toward Myr.]
Here. These are for you, if you want them. They're soaked in honey-syrup, so they're sticky.
[Since Myr can't see them, he figures a warning is merited before the other faun reaches for one and finds out for himself.]
no subject
Isn't it? Though I've done them a disservice in the translation; it doesn't take nearly so long for them to relate it as it does me.
[His ears lift as Hector makes his offer, and he reaches with cautious fingers to feel for the tin and take a piece of the baklava.]
Thank you, [for both the treat and the warning; they are awfully sticky, and Myr's quick to get his free hand under the piece he's taken before it can drip anything.] They smell marvelous--what d'you call them? And have you had any yet yourself?
[Because as much as Myr loves being gifted food, he loves sharing it even more.]
no subject
I tried it at home, to make sure I made it right. Honey is precious, so I'm glad I didn't ruin it.
[He'd like to think his attempt didn't come out half-bad.]
I don't care for many sweets, but this one is a favorite of mine.
no subject
[He takes a healthy bite of the piece he's holding and chews it with rapt concentration. Definitely better than half-bad, if his expression's anything to go on.]
Oh, that is good. I'm giving you more honey. And you ought to have more--
[The look on his face is mostly sly but also a little sad.] If we were really Faunish about it I'd feed it to you, but then we'd get it everywhere.
[Hard to do that with someone you can't see and don't know well physically--yet.] And that would be a waste and a tragedy. [He munches down the last bite of his piece and licks his fingers by way of emphasis.]
no subject
You like it? [He's pleased, and it shows on his face and in his voice. For so long, he was rejected and alone. Making people happy isn't something he ever imagined he could do, and when he manages it, it's always a victorious moment.]
I could feed it to you... [Hector offers, a little uncertain if Myr will want it, but also distracted by the sight of that tongue licking at his fingers. Those could be Hector's fingers there, if Myr wanted. If they're feeling...faunish.]
no subject
Myr doesn't know all Hector's story--or much beyond a tiny, tiny fraction of it--but there is enough of a hint of awkward melancholy about him that that question stirs something protective in the deer's breast.
(Everett's so fond of Hector, too; and as Myr well knows, the diplomat's affections are strongest for those most in need of them.)]
I do like it, [Myr affirms, and hesitates just a breath before adding,] and I'd like that, too.
[Whatever a Faun's instincts, and whatever renewed confidence Myr's found in his more amorous pursuits since coming to Aefenglom, there's still something fraught and tender in these first moments of courtship. Just don't think about how it could go wrong--]
You are quite good with your hands.
no subject
There's a small comfort in the fact that Myr can't see him blush. He takes a breath, and forces himself to settle on a piece. He lifts it, lets it drip a droplet of honey back into the tin, and brings it slowly to Myr's lips.]
Open. [He prompts, though he doubts Myr needs the prompting when they're leaned in close like this, with the honeyed treat just barely grazing against his lips.]
I, um, recall that you had a talent yourself.
[Hector wasn't the only one petting that night, at least.]