(LOG) Morcant & Osanna: Because It Melted Our Minds (And Should Yours, Too)

[Disclaimer: You will need brain bleach, stop reading if you've run out.]

Osanna wasn't the type of person to offer up her entire life story, but she wasn't exactly hideing anything either. In short, they were on par in that aspect. They didn't know, didn't ask and took what was offerd graciously enough. It wasn't the first time he'd made her laugh, but for some reason, it always felt strange. Laughing that was. Then again, 'laughter' was mostly attatched to 'basic communication' something Osanna did not excel at. "I'd tell yeh o'my pie, but yeh'v allready had it," Not even she could keep a wink out of that sentience. Poor Christoph. If the man was in his office, he'd have enough material for nightmares for the rest of his life. It was a strange feeling, that washed over her, there in his arms, the fire finally takeing hold of all the wasted tinder it had so stubbornly refused. She nuzzled him, an almost feline sort of movement, smooth cheek to his rough, "I like yeh Morcant VanGatt, I like yeh very well."

Morcant smiled, naturally (he noticed he did that a lot lately, how cliche), and placed a light kiss down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder when she went to nuzzle him. She tended to be an oddly feline sort of person - albeit, a grumpy oddly feline sort of person. Like the kitchen cat that seemed to only take a shine to the people who didn't mind getting bitten (or gummed, as usually her 'bite' didn't hurt too much) every now and again, and petted it anyway. "Good," he answered. "Wouldn't do for me to be liking you without some sort of return. Even if it was just pie." And it was good pie. He didn't rightly care about Christoph, little man could be smushed if he really felt like it, and he outranked a Steward anyway. Sniff. Anyway, Van Gatt was feeling rather jovial, and apparently reckless, as he planted a small one on her lips; not short enough to be considered a peck, not long enough to be anything but a sort of chaste-ish expression, but one nonetheless. See if she liked him now.

Osanna was indeed, exactly like that particular feline personality in the kitchen. Grumpy old thing that she was it was no small wonder that the six foot tall servant and the twelve pound cat got allong. Another chuckle at his comment. Oh he liked her well enough she knew, and it wasn't entirely about her pie, although that had certainly been the way into his heart. He was....uncommonly close she realized, and then, lips pressing against her own. She stiffend and.....relaxed. It wasn't...it wasn't bad. No, it wasn't untill she'd returned the little bit of softness that she realized she wanted to. Fingers pushed through the wooly clumps of dreadlocks, her lips, suppriseingly soft for all her sneering, her spitting of curses and bellowing of insults. No push of tongue, just, gentelness, as if he'd break or pull away or leave... Shy even, for all her brute strength, her commanding presence. Yes, she had a soft side, tasteing of thoes peppermint candies she so favored.

Morcant likely tasted of... Rumballs, oddly enough, since he'd not finished his last one all that long ago. And now he got peppermint kisses - sweets all around, apparently. He'd expected to lose his junk, but on getting a shy sort of response, he just got bolder. Poor Christoph could walk out any moment and get his mind melted. Christoph or not, the Justiciar was presently grazing his tongue very lightly over the edge of one lip (at which point, it became particularly obvious that he might have always paid for it, but he'd not gone uneducated), and adjusting his arms to permit one hand pressing up to the back of her shoulder, whilst the other brushed over the back of one hip. Still with that enveloping business, though it was rather hard not to when she was a rake and he was a barge. Nothing about it seemed particularly urgent - too slow, too unconcerned with being hurried to have any particular, 'on your back then luv' implications.

Osanna on the other hand, hadn't paied for a thing, or realy, done much of anything at all, least of all at her own accord. She was clumsy, she was inexperienced, but there was feeling in that, a sort of desprate want. She was a rake, he was a barge, but she was tall enough not to require too much bending and small enough to be a comfortable handfull. Beucase that was what she was, a handfull. In all ways. Fingertips traced the line of his cheekbones, the backs of his ears, down his neck and splaying across his shoulders. It was slow, it was comfortable and that was all that realy matterd. It felt...natural. Poor Christoph and poorer Van Gatt. He'd have a hard time getting rid of that woman now.