Creation and Observance

lake-light
Pen is usually awake before Nick. Not so this morning: this morning, Pen is deeply asleep.

This is their broad bed: wood headboard, four wooden posts two of them very tall at the head with wooden leaves carved high above their heads and wood branches (dead [this is no living tree and Nicholas, although subtle and clever, is no Odysseus]) out-stretched. Some of the covers are wrapped around her in a perplexing fashion, because one wonders how exactly she had to move in the night for them to wrap around her limbs so, and she is not concealed by the covers at all: only enchained by them, only bound by them. This morning finds her sleeping on her stomach, one arm trailing off the bed and the other curled around her head, her face buried in the valley between two pillows.

It is possible that not long ago she had an arm resting heavily over Nicholas's throat or even hugging his thighs because she does not heed the tyranny of head-at-the-head of the bed and feet-at-the-foot of the bed. They didn't see one another at all the night and day before unless it was after Pen came to bed, and that rather late: and then it was dark, and she was limned in radiant energy, a gleaming thing bright-eyed her hands warm from whatever ritual she'd spent the night before the whole of the day attending.

crow
They didn't see each other at all the night and day before because Nicholas, while he tries to go to bed when she does more often than not, must keep to a schedule he would not have chosen for himself, early mornings and early nights.  She is usually awake before he is and so this morning he has laid abed longer than he might otherwise have done, sleepily wondering at what is different this morning: this vague sense that something is, see, without knowing what.

He looks up at the wooden leaves, still blinking away sleep, shaking away the hand of death's cousin.  He rolls over and: promptly flings an arm into Pen, quite without meaning to, simply because he is not used to encountering her there.

Nicholas raises himself on an elbow.  The sun is not yet up but it will be soon, and so Pen is still silvery in the half-light (half-dark?) as the sky begins to pale outside, and maybe this is the effect last night's working has on her.  There are still the shadows of that radiance in her hair, in how first dawn limns her cheekbones and the curve of her limbs.

He edges closer, doesn't quite spoon because that will be dangerous, that will have him asleep again, and gives her shoulder a gentle shake.  "Pen?"

lake-light
Pen does not stir. There is a glint of noise from the back of her throat. He is perceptive, so perhaps he hears it. Otherwise it is lost in the rustle of sheets, the sliding of Nicholas's skin over sheets. She is loose and relaxed and unstrung; when he shakes her shoulder, gently, it seems more dramatic than it is, all for how loose and relaxed and unstrung she is. Breathing? Yes. But it's always good to check.

crow
He hears the noise in the back of her throat and this is encouraging; it means she is at least more on one side of consciousness than the other.  He could let her sleep; Pen does not, strictly, have appointments that she must make today. Of all the likely futures that could spring from such a thing, Pen is likely to be upset in more of them than not.

He instead wraps an arm around her and draws her firmly against him, pulling her back from the edge of the bed, gently taking hold of the dangling arm and lifting it from over the brink.  "Pen, do you want to get up today or do you want me to let you sleep?"

lake-light
Nick draws her firmly against him; so now she is on her side. He rescues her arm; her ribs expand as she breathes in deep, and her arm at least has some sort of agency, because she runs her hand over Nick's arm and her ribs and up to her collar and tugs on the part of the covers which is wrapped around her other arm and then her hand roams back down and she discovers Nick's arm proper and pulls it between her breasts and wants the hand under her cheek and she cuddles his arm like it's a very comfortable pillow mouth soft against the back of his wrist. Once again, mere sound: not a glint, but an unh unh.

crow
There is a noise not of surprise but of amusement as his arm is seized and converted to Pen's purposes, which apparently are to use it in place of a pillow.  He adjusts his hand so it curves more naturally against her cheek, nestles his mouth in against the back of her shoulder.

Pen's response is the perfect response for eliciting questions.  "Did you do a ritual last night?  What was the ritual?  Tell me about it."

lake-light
Pen sets her teeth gently into Nicholas's hand; breathes some half-formed word out, and it might as well be sea-mist dissolving, unresolved. This time the noise she makes sounds almost like words; like this: oo ih ishmael? Of.

crow
Some half-formed Word, and there is the sound of his skin sliding against the sheets as he adjusts, props his head up on one elbow.  "Ishmael?  Is that a name of someone you invoked?  Were you up late doing a marathon book reading and not doing a ritual like I thought?"

lake-light
"You're clever," she says, and now her voice is clear. Perhaps she is awake; perhaps she is waking up, truly. He does not have much experience in waking her up from a deep sleep, truth be told, and yet: well. Perhaps she is awake now. He can see that her eyes are still closed; the dark burnt-charcoal line of them still sweeps down low. "Clever, clever."

crow
He doesn't have much experience waking her up from a deep sleep: perhaps there is a memory there, contained in the pause, the space from one breath to the next, of how she could easily give the impression of being awake when she is not.  "You're right," he says.  "Maybe I'll have to start asking you about Hermetic secrets.  You could tell me what Diana really thinks of me.  Or how Hermetics decide on the precise number of craft names they use."

lake-light
"One craft name. One shadow name. One name to rule them all," and she drifts, dreamily: even her voice. Absolutely awake. "Nicholas?"

crow
There is a short laugh from him at this, and his voice is not smooth as lake stones this early: at the end it rasps, it catches.  "Hmm?"

lake-light
"You're a Nicholas," she tells him. "You're a Nicholas and you are a Nicholas who is warm and you are against me."

He needed that breaking news update, you see. Penelope sighs: "Nicholas Kryphios. Skêptouchos." Where is his leg? Pen grips Nicholas's leg, his thigh; she wriggles back against Nicholas who is warm and against her.

crow
[Get uuuuuuuuuup.]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 10) ( success x 1 )

crow
It's too comfortable; it's the sort of comfortable that makes him consider calling in to work.  He emits a contented hum: this just before he lets out a sigh, a low huff, because the double life he leads has him calling off often enough as it is (for other Work, of course.)  Nick starts to haul himself up into a sitting position, and Pen along with him.  She can stay latched to his arm; she's just going to be upright before long.

lake-light
Pen does stay latched to his arm; and look, now she is upright, or at least sitting, and she still has the arm that is hers albeit attached to Nicholas part. Her eyes are still closed; she is suspended. She will fall against him as soon as there is no momentum; her eyes are still closed, although her eyelashes flicker. "Mine. No."

crow
He has hauled them both upright, and no sooner has he done this than Pen falls limp against him, her head rolling against his shoulder even as she continues to cling to his arm.  A sleeping person can't cling so tightly, so she must be awake, right?  Maybe.

Nicholas considers calling in again for the second time in this handful of moments.  Instead of reaching for his phone, he leans down and places a kiss on the sharp edge of her cheekbone.  "I thought you said you didn't want me to let you sleep?"

lake-light
An army needs to sleep on its feet. Penelope Mercury Mars is part of an army; it is an occult army, and it is steeped in mysticism and individuality, but right now the metaphor about the army and its feet is almost apt, because she doesn't drift to the side and fall, although her breathing stays deep and steady and she stays draped against him and she stays arms wrapped tight (possessive) around his arm (mine). "I am asleep," she agrees. "I didn't want to."

crow
It isn't the first time he has seen her sleep like this, but it's the first time in quite a while.  Nick holds her against him for what must only be a scant few seconds though it seems like longer and shorter all the same (morning sun moves so quickly).  And then he carefully begins to lower her back to the pillows, and just as carefully begins to try to draw his arm free.  This is a slow process, and he begins to wiggle it from between her arms because she can't manage to hold on that tightly, can she?

lake-light
[Let's see. Strength?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 8) ( success x 1 )

crow
[Noooo.  Opposed dex?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (2, 4) ( fail )

lake-light
Pen does not loose hold his arm, although he can lower her back to the pillows without a problem. Perhaps he is aware enough of her to feel her heartbeat; it drums out a steady rhythm, slow and slow, and her throat works when she swallows.

crow
There are sharp pinpricks of frustration that spring into sweat at his temples, because he is trapped and if he cannot free himself he will be late for work.  That would be a too easy thing to direct at Pen, who is only exhausted, and so instead of suppressing it he instead lets out a groan and draws in the sort of breath that swells his chest and stomach both at once.  He can feel her heartbeat, and how she is still asleep, and after a moment's rest he tries to slide his arm free again.

[Dex please?  WP?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (2, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

lake-light
[But :(]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 4) ( botch x 1 )

lake-light
Nicholas escapes! He is successful!

As soon as there is no longer a Nicholas arm to hold onto, which all of her (sleeping) strength had gone into holding (whether fire or beast or leaves of gold), all of that energy has to go somewhere; we are sad to report that she hits herself, getting her mouth directly, and this seems to startle her awake:

Or her eyes open, anyway, their expression blank and troubled and betrayed and without understanding.

crow
All of Pen's energy goes somewhere and it goes straight for her mouth, and when she opens her eyes she'll find his own wide and staring at her and his hand half-reached toward her in some not-quite-quick enough attempt to save her from herself.  He makes a noise that is half surprise and half sympathy.

His eyes contain a look that is torn between amusement and rue and the sort of empathy that leaves an ache, more of the latter two than anything, and he winces as he smooths a hand over her shoulder.  "Pen, are you all right?"

lake-light
[Am I awake? Wits + Alert]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )

lake-light
Pen runs her hand over her face, pausing at her lip to touch it gingerly with her ring finger; she sleeps with her wedding ring on, and sometimes one or two others, although that changes depending on what she requires of her rings. She is silent for a second, although she is indeed awake now, and the betrayal filters away, and so does the blankness, but she is grumpy. The grumpiness turns in her like a metal leaf; it scrapes against her ribs; it is gold. She breathes in, and then breathes out, and says, "Yes." She does not know what happened; she props herself up on one elbow, then grinds her palm into her left eye. "Why are you up?"

crow
"Work," he says, and he has rocked back on his hip now that he has ascertained for himself that she only hit herself hard enough to startle.  His voice is regretful, and doubly so because he watches her for this scant moment before asking, "Should I have let you sleep?  I was going to but you wouldn't let go of my arm."

lake-light
Pen begins to answer but the answer is swallowed up in a gigantic yawn which she covers behind the back of her hand. There is another beat after that. She is measuring her responses before she gives them, she is - is this sluggish? She is not sluggish; it is a choice. She chooses to take a moment 'lest she allow herself to -

Here. The moment has been taken; at the end of it, her mouth quirks. "Then I wish you would have let me have it for the day; I miss you when you are gone."

crow
He for once is not yawning; it's a strange role reversal, though his attempts to wake her and pull his arm free of her probably helped.  He stretches his legs to their full length, pulling the muscle fibers as far out as they'll go until they quiver momentarily, and then they slacken once more.  "I'm surprised you have the time," he says, and his mouth quirks too - the other side.  "I miss you when I'm at work.  I'd call off if I didn't think we'll end up needing the time later."

For ritual, or to hide bruises from Paradox, or for Tradition business, or for any number of other reasons.  That is the sort of life they have.  "What sort of ritual were you doing?"

lake-light
"Why are you surprised I have the time?" Pen says, with a blink. And then, "I have a whole hour, just for thinking about what I want to tell you but cannot because you are absent from my side." A look, see, a smouldery one, side-long and testing; and then she covers her eyes with one hand.

"Don't call off, just give me your arm next time." Beat; she is gathering her thoughts. "Did I not tell you before I began it? It was a ritual of creation and observance."

crow
Her eyes smoulder; his are amused, crinkled there at the corners.  "You keep yourself busier than anyone I know.  Even the Hermetics," he says, and he is amused yes but he is also so fond: sometimes his affection for her overflows, comes spilling out of him even though cups and chalices are more her domain than his own.

Maybe he would've teased her further or given further voice to other things he would like to do today instead, but the sun will be rising soon.  Even as she gathers her thoughts he is watching her, offering a slow shake of his head when she asks whether she'd told him before she began.  "Creation and observance?"

lake-light
"I am a bee," Pen says, and she looks as if she is contemplating biting Nicholas: sinking her teeth into his thigh or his hip, something that would sting. The contemplation only suggests itself in her expression, the way she studies him, looks him over; she does not quite move to do so, although the way she stretches balances precariously between nonchalance and intention. She is still sleepy. It is rare that she wakes up, unwilling to force herself awake proper. Creation and observance he says: "Yes," she replies, and sighs as she curls back into a ball. "Creation and observance. Are you trying to pry Hermetic secrets from these Hermetically sealed lips? Ah, Crow. You could create with me, and observe."

crow
Pen stretches, and for a moment he does think she might try to bite him and his suspicion is forecast in the way the muscles of his thigh tense.  He's prepared to scoot himself away, he's been subject to such whims often enough that he is watchful.  It is for nothing though; her spine flexes and curls and he runs his knuckles along the length of it in the center of her back.  "I'm just interested in your Work, that's all," he says, with a hint of amusement.  "You'd like me to do ritual with you?"

lake-light
"You are not learned in the Arts I used last night, but of course I'd like you to do a ritual with me; I like it when your magick seeps into my skin; I like the taste of it - " How smoothly her eyebrows rise; her hand drops from her eyes; she rests it over her heart. He has to go to work, and she - "Do you shower this  morning?"

crow
She says he's not learned in the Arts she used, and maybe she isn't looking at him but she can still probably imagine the way curiosity gleams bright in his eyes.  The truth is that yes: he is interested in Hermetic secrets, though he is interested in them primarily because they are important to Pen; nonetheless.  "Not yet.  I woke up and started trying to wake you up, when I realized you were still asleep."  This rueful smile, a half-apologetic thing: perhaps he ought to have let her go on sleeping.

lake-light
"You should shower now," Pen says, "and then wake me when your hair is wet."

The smile she offers him is sweet; it is an intimate thing, this - not a smile that other people have seen.

Pen: she turns her back to Nicholas and closes her eyes.

"I want your hair wet," this - murmured. Maybe she has been asleep this entire time: Nicholas can remember holding conversations with her, on those rare occasions she sleeps more deeply than he, that turned out later to be conversations held with sleeping Pen.

crow
Perhaps she has been asleep this entire time: her train of thought is puzzling enough that he wonders this.  But her smile flips his heart nonetheless, because it always has, and it's the kind of fondness that aches.  The glance he casts across her back is equal parts amused and tender, and the sun is already starting to show itself and so he rises.

And though the memory of the struggle to wake her moments ago will still be fresh in his mind, he will again attempt to wake her when his hair is wet.

lake-light
Pen wife does not notice when he leaves the bed for the shower, because she is asleep. She is exhausted; her body hurts; her mind, precarious on the precipice of alertness, has fallen into the abyss of sleep, slumber, dazing away; elsewhere. She sleeps for the whole of his shower, less deeply than she'd been sleeping before, but still: it is good.

When Nicholas does attempt again to wake her, he finds it somewhat easier, although a fresh-woken Pen the second time around is plaintive and his hair is wet and she cannot sleep through that so she calls him her water nymph and drags herself to the kitchen table although she'd really rather just lean against Nicholas until she fell asleep again. He has such a nice lap; she loves to curl up in it; to curl up in him. She'd like to inhabit him, necessary as air. She'd like to - well. So she can be woken; she can even bring herself to see him off and say farewell and begin her day. So, apparently wakeful, she is steady.

"Call me at your lunch break," Pen says, and: mischievous glint. "Tell me something I don't know when you have an hour free, and - "

Delicate yawn; she stifles it behind her hand.

" - and when you get home, you will help me with a rite."