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[versigny]

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[swage]

[Joking or not, he colors a little at the prospect—heat flushing right up into those silly ears. He bends to retrieve his shirt rather than think too hard about the semantics of that, and only has got as far as thrusting his arms into the slightly tatty sleeves when he marks that— what? Her hesitance? A tiny flicker of the demure in a place that is, frankly, mind boggling to find when not that long ago she'd contrived to strip out of all her clothes in what had seemed to him practically one motion.

Pausing with his shirt about his armpits, Henry flusters right back.]

Thanks. [There it is. The stupidest thing he could say, probably. Tomorrow he'll have to find that rocky ravine to chuck himself down after all.] You too. I didn't know ladies knew how to be so forward.

[No, that's worse still. It sounds like an insult, doesn't it? Ladies, meaning well bred ones. And reveals that he's some cock up who's hardly actually had his cock up much of anywhere. Better find the deepest ravine.]

You're impressive, I mean. Generally. Not just on account of this sort of thing.

[versigny]

[ she's happy to let him keep speaking if it means he'll continue digging himself into a deeper hole and amusing her along the way - by nature, very little offends her, and after the luxury of having a close-knit family like hers, even less qualifies. he can at least be comfort by the fact that her smile is closer to a knowing grin, with no presence of irritation or anger. ]

You're all right. I know I'm a little different.

[ there's more Margaery wants to say, but it occurs to her then that it's possible she'd been so determined to fall into bed with Henry to comfort herself with the knowledge that she still retained the capability of inciting desire. he'd confirmed it beautifully, but there's still an unspoken pool of concern that has yet to clear itself out.

I must be cursed, she'd said, and now she believes it. three marriages, three complete shams. ]

I was always taught that if I wanted something, I should take care to get it. What is it that Lord Capon always likes to say? Fortune favors the brave?

[swage]

I have indeed heard him say that. [And a few other choice things best not repeated, no matter how badly behaved the two of them have been tonight.] Though for the record, I'm not sure I'd pick Sir Hans as my guiding star.

[Surely she doesn't need him to tell her that, though. Lady Tyrell is a perceptive young woman, and Hans Capon is—well. Neither of those things, for starters.

But no, he hasn't missed the fact that she has said she wanted something. That that something was this. To lay with a man? To lay with him, specifically? No, that's not something he's going to work through just this moment, though just the whiff of the idea puts a strange knot in his belly.

He finally shrugs into his shirt.]

🎀

[versigny]

[ as tempting as it is, Margaery only bites back a smile at his words; it wouldn't be appropriate for her to dress down one of her gracious hosts, even if he doesn't quite have the authority just yet. instead, a softer, ]

He reminds me of my brother sometimes. How he used to be.

[ the words float out of her, too natural for her to snatch them back without creating an awkward situation. so instead, she shakes her head to indicate that Henry doesn't need to deign her with a response - what could anyone even say to that, anyway? - and does her best to get comfortable on the bed.

the pillow somehow makes it feel as though her head is somehow even lower than her feet, which thankfully becomes less of a problem when she allows herself to relax and let the exhaustion that's been pooling on the edges finally pour in. in one moment, she's realizing she should sit up again to turn out the light. in the next, sleep is blessedly pulling her under, darkening her awareness so quickly that she has no chance to resist. ]