nexus_sages | made waves with some friends I know

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made waves with some friends I know

The season is a'changing, the weather is warmer. The forecast calls for high temperature, low humidity and a light breeze. A near perfect day. What better reason to gather the friends and have a good time with a bonfire? Grab a beer, have a seat. Cheery tunes fill the salty air. There's plenty of room and so much to eat.

Matt Murdock is actually dressed for the beach. Still likely more than usual. He burns so easily. There's no way he could have done this alone. Anyone who is anyone in Nexus knows that there is that distinct Verity Willis touch on everything. If the sounds and the sights don't get you, it is going to be whatever Clint has on the grill. That man is magic.

[ooc; Come on in, guys and gals! Hop threads, twist time for sooner, later and all things in between. It's a real party. Don't be shy!]

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You mean she isn't already? Well right now she is making headway. Hail to Frea, may she reign forever more. Surely there are much grander feats than making a giant warrior woman happy.

Deftness could be applied to other arts not just swordsmanship. Right?

After a time Brienne finally dunks her head beneath the water and come up to spout water. If it so happens to be in Frea's direction, so be it.

Frea honestly can't think of anything she'd prefer over Brienne learning to be happy. Yes, she has other duties, but there's no reason she can't manage them and help Brienne both. Managers need to be able to oversee many projects at once, and prioritize accordingly.

This is surely true. Many arts benefit from a deft touch. Sewing, one imagines.

It just so happens to be in Frea's direction, so accidentally, uh huh. Brienne's got a wicked sense of humor when she lets loose and Frea's loving it. "Ack! I'll get you for that one!" Splish splash she's so threatening, really.

Just wait until the next time Brienne closes her eyes. Frea vanishes and won't be so easy to find.

She has selected a challenging subject. Not impossible. There are bits of hope and whimsy that have always been hidden away. And Frea being so very much an insistent and vibrant person, there is simply no reason Brienne has to combat her or treat her ill. They both are willful women.

When you put down your knitting and raise shields and swords you do forget that there are subtle things that are just as piercing and tough.

How she manages to grin and not swallow sea water yet is anybody's guess. That's what she deserved. One blink too many in the bright sunlight and Brienne is seemingly alone. "Frea? ...Frea?"

The challenge is what makes it worthwhile. Struggle makes the reward all the sweeter. Two willful women working in the same direction toward the same goals is no bad thing--that's a force to be reckoned with.

A knight with an understanding of the subtle things would also be a force to be reckoned with.

Frea's not answering. But there's a distinct tickling in the small of Brienne's back. Nothing there when she whirls around... just how long can Frea hold her breath?

About this long; she's surfacing behind Brienne now, trying to fill her lungs again before she's caught.

A force to be reckoned with and without dragons. The ground covered has been utterly sweet. Winter might be coming but Brienne best brace herself for other things of the future. It has only been a few weeks time.

She whirls around treads water trying to get a distance and perspective. No time to worry yet. "Frea, you're not a fish." Though it has been some time now. There's a gulp and when she has turned around...drat. A moment too late.

"Frea." She idly splashes at the surface. Waiting now.

They may not have dragons, but they may have something better than dragons. They have a capacity for mercy and kindness; they have the strength of their own arms; they have a healing touch. Not traits often seen in power in Westeros. It's past due.

No, she's not a fish. Or is she? Is she perhaps a mermaid? Or a siren?

No. The water is not her element or her native home, but she can get around in it well enough to brush a hand against Brienne's leg before flitting away again to surface out of reach. There's no mistaking or hiding the mischievous grin behind the hair plastered to her cheeks.

Trust is also a valuable asset that is oh so lacking in the seven kingdoms of Westeros. Brienne likes to believe that another age of heroes is sure to come. Those were times when strife was met with greater acts of chivalry and goodness. This new time should be about women.

Real women. Not teasing, fish impersonating women.

Finally there she is! And such a smile that is. Even out of reach with the sunlight reflecting off the waters, Brienne can make out that smile. "You think you're very clever don't you?" She may not have very impressive lungs but she can swim. Brienne dives and heads like a shot in Frea's direction.

Real women can tease, and laugh, and still kick ass. It's part of the magic. Maybe Brienne can come to trust that. Otherwise, Frea will have to look into introducing her to a mermaid. Some people trust with their eyes before their hearts, poor things.

"I think you like the challenge," she retorts. She'd be smirking if she wasn't in the middle of realizing she's in trouble. She tries to dart to one side so she won't kick Brienne, but it's harder to get started when she's being so careful. It won't be hard to catch her.

In all of this if there is one vital takeaway it's that a woman can be multiple things. It's everyday truth and magic. Just because everyone else does not believe that or even know doesn't mean it must continually pain and define her. Frea and all the marvels she knows of are helpful. So far drastic education is not needed. But no one would turn down seeing a mermaid!

"I like you don't I?" Careful, her competitive nature is comfortable ground. She can say things like that. And it is true. If she is kicked, it won't be a problem. Brienne is very sturdy. And they are at war. Wounds happen. She grips Frea about her torso and pushes to surface so they can breath.

It would seem that the May Queen is a prisoner!

Women can be all the things they want to be. That should be the true rebellion in Westeros: one of ideas. The rebellion in Brienne's heart is a start. Her successes will pave the way for others.

There will be a mermaid meeting in their future. She can arrange these things.

Oh, so that's how it is? "I sure hope so." The flirtatious possibilities of the exchange aren't lost on her, and she does wonder just how Brienne means that...

It's not a time for daydreaming because now she's been caught. Oh dear. Once they've surfaced and caught their breath she brushes Brienne's hair out of her face. "Hello there."

Brienne has a prisoner. What's she gonna do about it?

Such knowledge cannot help but be shared. Of course it would continue on from Brienne. Big things have small beginnings.

Their outings will never be dull at the rate they're going. Hot springs, flower fields, sun-soaked beaches now and they haven't covered much ground at Nexus.

Like can mean so very much. It is the only word that she has for what Frea has been inspiring in her, like interpreting a language. Oh who can think now?

Caught with arms and not tentacles of a Kraken or shark will mean she stays afloat! Those wouldn't have to worry about straw patches of hair in the way. She opens one eye completely than the other. "Hullo. Now you won't be slinking off. How am I to splash you?"

Great things have small beginnings, it's true. Brienne must have been an adorable baby. All chubby cheeks and smiles, Frea's sure. Babies are some of Frea's favorite things, and so is Brienne.

There's so much still to see and do. More than either of them could manage in a lifetime. It'll be so much fun trying.

Thinking can be highly overrated at times like these. 'Like' can mean too many things. She'll have to wait until Brienne is sure. Certain and ready. She only hopes it won't take too long.

Staying afloat is a very desirable outcome in this situation, and she has no complaints. When Brienne's hair is somewhat tidy again she stretches her arms out in either direction, all innocence and vulnerability in Brienne's arms. She couldn't possibly be planning anything. "I guess you'll have to take a risk and hope you can hold on with just one arm."

She looks and sounds so innocent.

Too innocent.

Chubby cheeks, smiles and beautiful. They all start out beautiful right? There wasn't any thing too remarkable about her size then. New things to the world, no surprise that Frea would like them. Marvelous, challenging things seem to be her flavor.

A lifetime here ma be longer than the usual life expectancy of a knight, even a careful one. Brienne has set herself firmly in place here, taking all that there is to experience like a rock in an open field. Anything that comes will.

Like, yes. There is like. How much how to express it? Bit by bit.

The waves rock and this close she can appreciate the curve of Frea's mischievous brow and how her mouth turns up to smile. "One arm to swim, right?" Or paddle with her feet. It is very suspicious. Enough to have Brienne take a small glance away from her friend.

All babies are beautiful to her. So is Brienne. Broad and strong and lovely. And challenging, too, certainly that. Stubborn and certain and loyal and good.

All manner of things will pass through a field with a rock in it. But she'll only see the one sky that way.

This close, they can appreciate all sorts of things about each other. Like how strong Brienne's shoulders are, and the glorious length of her neck. "Well, that too, yes. If only you had more arms. Then you'd never have to let me go."

But alas, Brienne looks away, which earns her a splash to the back of the head. When she looks back, Frea's looking innocently up at the sky. Innocent except for that smirk, anyway.

All babies? It begs the question of how old Frea is and how many babies she has seen in her time. Personalities are what make such wonderful faces mean less. Brienne has come to think her strength and strive for goodness are all she has. Those last much longer. But what are those to timelessness and May Queens?

One second, one blink and watery chaos. Brienne squawks and dips them both not enough to submerge. Almost letting go, but almost isn't really.

"Clever! Very clever! I have arms enough for you." To hold her and see? Not letting go. They bob and sway now. It is much like dancing.

All babies. She's old enough to know her own mind and young enough to be certain she's always right. A month or a millennium, depending how you look at it. Babies are potential, and potential is beautiful to her. Strength and goodness are excellent things that Frea admires.

Frea gasps when they dip, expecting to be submerged and surprised when she isn't. A loosened hold isn't one given up, true, and she has no interest in fighting it.

Instead, she rests her hands on Brienne's shoulders. Can't cause any mischief with her hands there, can she? "Yes, you do, and I'm luckier for it."

Potential is beautiful. And boundless in infants. Is that the appeal of spring? The promise of all the things to come in the buds, babies and unhatched eggs. Now it is all making sense.

Brienne laughs softly. The shoulders are a good place to hold. The cut of the suit makes them look a little more narrow. Mischief is bound to happen. From one woman or the other. Since Frea is so willing to be ready she goes again even whispering, "Three, two..." Down they go again and under. The waves sway. They must breathe and no one will be drowning today and so Brienne pushes Frea first.

Frea isn't as random as she might appear. Good work, Brienne, beginning to see that. There is hope for mutual understanding yet.

The width and breadth of Brienne's shoulders do not need to be narrowed. She's perfect the way she is. They wouldn't save her from mischief forever at any size. Another count, but not another race: another chance to go together. Frea doesn't fight, letting Brienne pull her under the waves. When she's pushed back into the air her hands take hold of Brienne's arms. They go together.

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made waves with some friends I know

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https://youtu.be/wCfWHqrYUqo

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