"Time for Himself" Log Date: 10/17/00 Log Cast: Tara, Julian Log Intro: He has been a very busy man as of late, has Julian Nemeides. He is Deus of his House -- by simple virtue of no one being left to do it. He is, though this is a far less public job, the new Master of Thieves in Haven. He is father -- acting and actual -- to four very different children. It's more than enough to keep even the most vigorous of men constantly occupied, and in the midst of it all, the Rook has barely had enough time to stop and sleep, much less indulge himself in personal relaxation. Ever since Auvrey, the redheaded young Mongrel woman who'd been acting Provost and who'd grown more close to him than he'd ever imagined possible, left Haven he has tried with only marginal success not to let himself dwell on such matters... they don't make for easy thoughts, when a man is alone in his bed. But there's one other Mongrel woman who has grown close to Julian, and who's been so ever since she saw the scars upon his back. Tara, like him, has been going through a number of changes in her life as of late; like Julian, she's had much to keep her occupied. Still, this hasn't stopped her from coming to House Nemea's new mansion in a back part of the Empyrean quarter, not only to bring word of the missing Sabrienna to the Master of Thieves -- but also to remind Julian that every so often, it's good to just stop and take time out.... ---------- Morning steals into the room, finds the occupants... A patch of early morning light illuminates golden-blonde hair, a pretty face with lips curved in a slight smile, and a bare shoulder and arm fling across his chest. Tara's snuggled close, close enough he'd need to wake her to move, cheek resting on his chest, legs tangled with his, breathing even, content. Julian is already awake, and has been for some time now, content for the time being to let the fair-haired young woman cuddle up close to him. As he had done the night before, he has cast aside the conflicting faces that he ordinarily pulls forth to display to different portions of the world, depending on what he must face at any given time. Neither Rook nor Deus, he simply lets himself seize the luxury for once of lying in bed with no other purpose than to let himself be. But though his body is relaxed, his mind is active, his gaze resting keenly upon the face of the Mongrel woman curled against him and taking in the details of her tranquil features. Tara mumbles something, drowsily, arm tightening a little, and nuzzles closer, hair falling into her face and in a golden pool on his chest. There's a break in the cadence of her breathing, before it shifts to a different rhythm, fingers spread on his skin, and she nuzzles again, sleepy but more deliberate. Breath warms his skin as she murmurs, "S'is nice.." One corner of Julian's mouth curls up at this sign of stirring, and though his gaze remains intently thoughtful, it lightens a touch at the obvious contentment in the murmured syllables. He _ought_ to get up, to attend to the business of the day... but he cannot help but think that it would be almost criminal to dislodge Tara from his side, so at ease does she seem. But because she is there, he also cannot help but stare searchingly down into her face. She is so young. And although her hair is blonde, not red, she cannot help but remind him of another young Mongrel woman, whose presence in his memory he will not allow to leak out into his words -- he is too much of a gentleman for that. But Julian nevertheless cannot help but wonder at himself: why he has only let himself be drawn to such women, young ones. Mongrels. Gently, he brushes a kiss across this Mongrel's brow even in the midst of his inner reflections. "Good morning," he murmurs. Blue eyes open, warm, trusting, still a little sleep fogged. And she smiles, sleepily, dipping her head to kiss his chest, before looking up again. Softly, "Dinar fer yer thoughts?" The wingless one's arms squeeze for a moment about the form he holds, in silent punctuation to the greeting he's already given. "I was thinking," Julian answers in an equally soft voice, "that I'm most glad you're here." It's not a lie, either; he had in fact thought this very thing after he'd awakened, even if it had not been forefront in his awareness just now. "Mmmm..." A smile. "An' the rest?" She's lightly teasing, knowing that he can and probably will say no, but offering, nonetheless, an ear should he wish to listen. And too, she's conscious of not wanting to break the mood. A fingertip draws a cricle on his chest, feather light. A small self-deprecating grin is Tara's immediate answer to her offer, a grin that doesn't quite lift the veil across Julian's twilight eyes. "Primarily," he drawls, "a lot of what certain acquaintances of mine would describe as 'starin' at me navel.' Without even the benefit of being drunk." Tara laughs, softly, and moves to kiss him in that region. "Seem t'remember I was doin' that last might." Her eyes sparkle wickedly at the memory, a smile curving her mouth. falling into her face, before she slides up to brush a soft kiss on his lips, sweet and light. Gently, "What's done is done, hon. All any of us c'n ever do is learn from it an' put it aside." Built like an Empyrean is Julian, though he is dusted with a fine dark down along his chest that proclaims by simple virtue of matching his hair that he is darkling. And though he has become Deus of a merchant House -- a job one might expect to involve a great deal of sedate business -- he retains a lean musculature of a man quite accustomed to a more active life. The muscles of his belly shift subtly beneath Tara's attentions, before he once again takes her into his arms and smiles. "My dear, have I told you lately that your wisdom never ceases to impress me?" His gaze twinkles for a moment in the soft light in the room, while he indulges himself in the kiss and murmurs wryly, "Among other things." Tara's laughter is warm, affectionate, before it's lost in a longer kiss, one that *could* catch fire, but equally need not. Ank any man in the Siren, and Tara's mouth is her greatest asset - the way she kisses, the way she.... We digress. That same mouth curves in another soft smile. "Thanl ye." Sincerely meant, as her head settles for now on his shoulder again. She asks, after a moment, "Are ye all right?" "All right in what sense?" asks Julian in response, one dark brow quirking. He is certainly healthy and vigorous -- as he's demonstrated, this past night. Tara smiles. "Happy?" With life, not just with me. The question does take him aback a bit. And Julian doesn't answer it immediately, perhaps a sign of his startlement. It takes him a moment or two before he rasps at last, "I am... not unhappy, my dear." Cool fingers stroke his chest, lightly. The faintest downturn of her lips, coupled with a sparkle in her eyes, suggests that she knows as well as he does that that wasn't an answer. Not an answer... but then again, it's the truth. Julian blows out a sigh, not looking away from those knowing eyes that to him at times seem older than his own. "I've... a family again," he says softly, "or at least the beginnings of one. The children are safe as I can make them. I'm content with that." Tara nods. The question maybe surprises her too, as she asks it, "Is there anythin' I c'n do t'make y'happy?" If the last question had taken him by surprise, this one does even more so. Julian blinks visibly, both his black brows lifting up over blue eyes that widen ever so slightly, a look that does not often cross his visage. Then his expression eases into one of more than a little wonderment. He could say something suave about this girl having already made him happy, with the night they've spent together; that, however, would be trite, even if not untrue. Instead, he lifts up a hand to trace his fingertips lightly across her soft cheek, and at last he says softly, "That I am content is not enough for you?" Tara worries her bottom lip for a moment, then looks up, blue eyes meeting blue. "Is it enough fer ye? D'ye want t' stop at just 'content'?" This time it is Julian's turn to take on a gaze that seems far older than his years, though he smiles ever so faintly at the concerned query. There is a difference between what one wants and what one is likely to get. And he knows it. "No," he replies steadily, without any particular bitterness; there's even a trace of humor there in twilight eyes, an awareness of the nature of his own soul. "Though I daresay, my dear, that I'm not entirely certain I'd recognize happiness if I had it." Tara's smile is gentle. "I think y'would." Lips brush his again, and she asks, softly, "Y'goin' t'answer my question?" "An old Empyrean tactic, my dear," Julian answers through the kiss, dryly. "When one cannot think of what to say, stall. Preferably as cleverly as possible." That said, though, he can no longer elude the question. And he pulls back just a bit to once again study the young face turned to his. "Tell me what happiness feels like," he requests then, voice as steady as always, but offset by a glimmer of something just a trifle vulnerable somewhere within his eyes. "Perhaps I need reminding." Tara frees a hand to brush at her hair, before resting it on his shoulder again. "Bein' happy?" A tiny frown of concentration as she hunts for words. "Lookin' in a glass an' likin' everythin' y'see." She smiles a little. "Knowin'... knowin' that yer doin' yer best t'be th' person y'really want t'be." She settles her head on his shoulder. "Doesn' have t'mean y'got everythin'." Blue eyes seek his out. "But it does mean sometimes thinkin' about yerself, as well as other folk." "I could argue that I do a great deal of thinking about myself," returns the Son of Air, one dark brow eloquently arching again. "I could also argue I've little time to spare for it." Tara says, gently, "Y'should make some." Julian's expression grows a trifle warmer, as he very gently teases, "Does now not qualify, m'gel?" Tara smiles. "Seems like it." She grins. "An' I'll bet ye th'rest of t'day goes quicker, an' with a lighter heart. An' y'get more done." Tara digs him in the ribs, adds, "Assumin' y'don't spend it sighin' an' pinin' fer me." _That_ pulls forth a devilish smile from Julian, who growls in velvet tones as he tugs his companion of the moment closer, "Ah, is that your ulterior motive then, little minx? To wrap me about your little finger?" Tara laughs. "Truth?" She leans in and kisses him, playfully. "T'make ye smile." And again, Julian indulges himself in the simple, heady pleasure of the moment, melding his lips to the inviting ones of the golden-haired young woman who's sought him out this past night. Who's shared herself with him, and let him share himself with her. He might tease her about ulterior motives -- he is Empyrean, raised in a House that might as well have been noble, at least if one goes by raw amassed wealth. Ulterior motives to him are as plentiful as feathers on a wing. But his gaze has turned warm and clear with the knowledge that Tara is here simply because she can be and because she cares. It touches him, and at least for the time being, it lets Julian Nemeides become something more than just content. "You have," he murmurs between the kisses he gives her in answer to each of hers, "you have." [End log.]