Bailey pauses here, leaning on the rail and looking down into the quick flowing water. "Honesty is the best policy, as they say," she comments. "If, as you said, your... thoughts are directed... elsewhere..."

Quentin leans over the rail, looking forlorn. Obviously, for all he was changed, all he was made to be, the deal with these matters was not a skill thrown into the mix.

"I... this could not have happened at a more inopportune time," he finally says. "I really thought that I was close to..." He bangs his head against the rail.

"Shit," he mumbles.

She puts her hand out to keep him from smacking your head into the rail again. "Scrambling your brains isn't going to help," she smiles. "What did you think you were close to that makes this so inopportune?" she asks quietly after a pause.

He looks down at the water.

"Close enough... to someone else, to see if anything of me was reflected in their eyes. To maybe even garner the resolve to take a chance on something without feeling too much the fool for even thinking it."

A momentary pause. "Well, you're not going to see anything if you keep looking down there," she gestures at the water below, a note of light amusement in her voice.

A pause, and then a chuckle. "I beg to differ, Bailey. Looking at one's reflection is easier, sometimes, then looking them in the eye." He smiles, but still looks down at the stream.

A slight sigh. "...difficult..." he heard her mutter, then, "Well, it's a good thing I've never had a problem making a fool of myself..." She lifts his chin, looks him square in the eye for a moment, then kisses him.

Quentin seems surprised. For a moment, at least; he recovers, wrapping his arms about her, settling in, holding her tightly. After a suitable amount of time, he pulls back.

"Well," he says, grin on his face. "That was... unexpected."

She shrugs slightly, corner of her mouth quirked in a wry smile. "You enjoy being difficult. I enjoy being... unpredictable." She looks up at him. "So, have I made a fool of myself?"

"Hell no," he laughs. The he thinks, and snaps his fingers. "Damn, just passed up another opportunity to be difficult." He smiles his smile.

"I have no doubts you will find plenty of other opportunities to cause me difficulty," she grins in return.

"And I hope that you'll find more opportunity to surprise me," he counters.

She quirks a brow, eyes taking on a mischievous glint. "That could be very dangerous..."

"Danger," he says, looking rather cocky, "is my middle name."

"Oh, really?" her smile turns sly, and stepping back a pace, she pulls herself onto the bridge rail, and stands on it. "All right, 'Danger-boy'," she laughs as she walks along the narrow rail. "Prove it..."

"You asked for it..."

He removes his suitjacket, and rolls up his sleeves. Then, he grips the rail with both hands and pulls himself up into a handstand atop it.

"Danger Boy fears no challenge!" he states, blood rushing to his head.

"That's what I'd hoped," she laughs, and promptly shoves him off toward the water.

"SHIT!" Quentin yells, falling into the water.

The water is about chest deep on him.

Suitably soaked, he gets back up to his feet, and runs a hand through his hair. "However, Danger Boy fears hypothermia," he says, sarcastically. "Are you enjoying this?"

"Immensely," she grins, leaning over the rail to look down at him. "You were the one who said you wanted me to surprise you again." She reaches down as if to help pull him back onto the bridge.

"I can think of better ways to surprise me," he mutters, reaching up to her.

She grasps his hand, having to balancing over the rail on her stomach to reach it. "Such as?" she inquires with a tone of sweet innocence.

"Decorum prevents me from responding," grins Quentin, and yanks her off the bridge.

From the startled look on her face, he gets the impression she was expecting such a response, but was NOT expecting it to happen *quite* so fast... with a yelp, she does a graceful somersault off the bridge to land in the water with a resounding *sploosh*

Bailey resurfaces after a moment, spluttering, as chest deep water on Quentin is about nose-deep on her.

"Sorry," he chuckles.

Standing on tiptoe, she manages to keep her head more or less above water. She glares at him for a moment (which doesn't look all that threatening, given that she's drenched and barely able to keep her head above the water), before dissolving into giggles. "No, you're not."

"Well, maybe just a little," he says, chuckling. "Let's get your head above water." He reaches down and hauls her up over his shoulder.

"Hey!" but she continues to laugh.

Quentin laughs and start wading over towards the shoreline. "So let me get this straight, Bails, you enjoy getting yourself and a gentlemanfriend soaked?"

"Gentleman my..." she mutters under the laughter. "That was not quite what I had intended..."

"May I ask what the intent was then?" he inquires, plopping her down on the shore, and climbing up as well.

"The intent was to be unpredictable. The equation did *not* include me getting dunked," she comments dryly as she starts wringing water out of the hem of her dress. "You're fast."

"Thanks. I used to win at all the games..." He sobers a moment, and thinks a while.

"Anyways, you could have been unpredictable in other ways. Drink me under the table, I don't know." He takes off his boots and socks, wringing them out.

"Oh, no. I got into a drinking contest with Fletcher once. They still laugh hysterically over something I did while under the influence, and won't tell me what it was." Though she does look faintly sheepish when he starts wringing out your socks. "I do apologize. As I said, I have this really bad tendency to be... impulsive." She rubs at her arms briskly. "Forgive me?" She looks up at him, eyes wide.

He smiles. "Oh, I'll be okay. Lucky you I took my suit jacket off." He goes up to the bridge and retrieves it, draping it around her shoulders when he comes back to put on his shoes.

"Thanks," she smiles at him softly, then just watches Quentin for a long moment.

He puts his shoes on, fairly oblivious to her looking at him for a while, until he notices, and smiles at her. "What you thinking?"

"Just of this evening's... unexpected turn of event." She brushes a damp lock of hair from her face, pulling the jacket a bit tighter around her against the evening chill.

He rises, and offers a hand to pull her to her feet, smiling faintly. You mean the good one, or the bad?"

She takes his hand, and lets him pull her up. Rolling her eyes at his question she comments, "The good one."

He chuckles again and nods. "And what do you think of it?"

She quirks a brow at him. "Do you think I would have kissed you if I hadn't been thinking about it?" she teases gently.

He grins, obviously pleased, and motions along the path.

"You have a point. Though it's possible, I suppose, that this is the treatment of visiting foreign dignitaries to Ivory..." He trails off, still grinning.

"You haven't seen me kiss Bishop, then shove him off a bridge, have you?" She starts along the path with him, laughing. "So, what do you think of it?"

"Just because I haven't... nevermind," he quickly laughs. "What do I think of kissing? It's an enjoyable pasttime." He tries to look innocent and fails.

Her eyes take on a dangerously amused gleam again. "You're being difficult, Quentin..."

"But I thought you liked that," he says. "Oh, wait; it's me who enjoys being difficult."

"And you're very good at it."

"So, the original question... would you have done it if you hadn't been thinking about it. My guess is no, Bailes." He reddens a bit. "Now isn't this an awkward position for me."

He scratches his chin. "May I ask how you came to be thinking about it?"

"Oh, so put me in the awkward position. Very sly," Bailey chuckles. "Well, I've always had a thing for the dark, brooding type," she comments. "And you fit that very well. You're fun, you like to cause trouble, which I can appreciate, as I have a fair talent for it myself."

She pauses for a moment here, staring up through the trees at the stars. "I... feel a certain sense of camraderie and kinship with you. You understand what it's like having lived on the run. Having lived with the... things... Ciro does to people..."

Shaking her head of those thoughts, she moves on. "You didn't automatically assume that I was bent on evil and mayhem, just because my father was Brand."

She finally looks at him again. "And it's been a damned long time since I've found anyone I feel as comfortable around as I feel around you."

Quentin smiles as she goes through her list. "Although there was no mention of me being a "hottie," that's... quite a list. And though I don't feel deserving of such... praise, I'll accept it."

She chuckles. "I meant dark, *handsome*, and brooding." She stops suddenly. "So, now that I've spilled my guts, and possibly made an utter fool out of myself, it's you're turn to answer. "What did you think?"

He clasps his hands behind his back as he walks along. "Oh, I've been thinking about it for a while now. I had wanted to find out about you ever since the Tir vision... and I did, and I saw something... enticing..." He looks away, smiling, "when I met the genuine article."

Quentin stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Unlike some of my relatives, I'm no mind reader, so I had no idea what you may have thought about the matter, so I guess I thought I'd... wait it out, and so what happened."

"And, so now that the first move has been made, what are you going to do about it?" She smiles up at him, somewhat impishly.

He grins, almost wolf-like. "A few things pop to mind."

She laughs. "Anything decorum is going to prevent...?"

He laugh/snickers. "Oh hell yes."

"And do you really care about decorum, Quentin?" She asks with an innocent air.

He stops, and turns to her. "Nope. Not a lick." Never taking his eyes from hers, he steps close. "What are your thoughts on decorum?" he says, softly.

The impish smile returns. "Screw decorum."

He looks surprised for a split second, then laughs out loud. "A woman after my own heart," he chuckles, leaning down to find her lips with his.

She slips her arms about his neck, relaxing into the kiss. After a while, she pulls away. "I warned you there was nothing lady-like about me," she reminds him.

He chuckles. "My eyes would tell me otherwise. C'mon. We've got to get you out of those wet clothes."

That sets her off laughing again. "I like your style, Quentin," she gestures for him to lead on.

He does so. "Thanks," he says, smiling coyly. "And lest you think otherwise, I'm only interested in you physical... well-being." The same smile.

"Mmhmm." A similar smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Such gentlemanly concern..."

He nods vigorously. "Yes. A true gentlemen ignores the fact that his own sogged clothes must also be gotten out of, as well."

"Oh, and, as you are my guest, I can't go and ignore your physical, well... being, now can I? Such a horrid host that would make me..." She's trying, and failing, to keep a straight face.

They break out of the park, and can see the castle about a half-mile up the mountain. She frowns a bit at the distance. "Do you think you can handle it if I do a little hocus pocus?"

He sobers a bit. "Yeah, I think so. A little teleportation shouldn't get my dander too far up." He smiles. "Not many women have... appreciated my... personality. I'm glad you do."

"I have eclectic tastes," she smiles brightly, then takes your hand.

She closes her eyes, and her face sets in concentration. And sure enough, the hair on the back of his neck begins to stand as magical power begins to build around the two of them. But then the amount felt fades a bit, and he saw signs of strain on her face just before reappearing elsewhere.

Quentin found himself standing in the center of what looks to be the outer room of a suite. It was about 30 feet in length and about 15 feet deep. Quite spacious. A fireplace dominates the north wall, and bookcases line the entire length of the eastern wall, crammed full.

He saw two closed doors: a double door in the southwestern corner, and a smaller door up in the northeastern corner. The room seems to be arranged so that the half nearest the fireplace is a sort if comfortable sitting area, with two pappasan chairs, some cushions and a futon. The half nearest the south wall, which has a large window, looks to be a study area, with a large and very cluttered desk, and a couple of long tables, also quite cluttered with books and papers.

The coloring is subdued blues and greens, a very calming effect. And over the fireplace is a large painting of a river.

Bailey shakes her head, looking faintly woozy. "I am seriously out of practice at that."

Quentin calms himself from the experience, and takes a look around, before turning back to her. "Well, we both seem to be in one piece..." He looks around a bit more. "These are your quarters?"

She nods. "Home sweet home." She gestures to a seat, and then vanishes through the small door, returning a moment later with some towels, one of which she tosses to him.

She glances to the fireplace and looks about to gesture, then stops, walks over, and begins to start a blaze through mundane means. "That should help a bit," she says as she returns to his side.

Quentin scrubs his hair with the towel, then takes his shoes and socks off again. "Cool. I hope Luke wasn't expecting this suit back. Though I have to admit, I looked good in it."

"I quite agree," she smiles, plopping down on the floor in front of the growing fire, working at the still dripping ends of her long hair with the towel.

He gets up and sits down beside her, putting his feet close to the fireplace. "May I send out for some wine?"

"Actually," and she grins, "no need. If you check in that cabinet..." and she gestures to a cabinet door built into one of the bookshelves.

He smiles and hops to his feet, headed for the cabinet. "So," he says loud enough so he doesn't have to turn, "are you warming up?" Quentin will get a bottle of white wine and two glasses, and pop the cork.

"A bit," she says as she starts combing out her hair with her fingers, untangling knots along the way. "You?"

"Yup. I'm a bit soggy, but believe me, I've dealt with worse." He comes back with the wine. "I once had to spend a night in a ditch."

"City sewer systems are worse," she comments, taking the bottle and glasses, and pouring for for him and herself.

He looks amused. "Ever had to sleep in a rat-infested dumpster?"

She laughs. "No, missed out on that experience." She sips at her wine. She stretches out on her side, closer to the fire.

He smacks his own head. "How romantic, Quentin." He drinks from his glass. "So..." He drinks the rest of his glass. "Tell me of yourself. I have a feeling that I only am familiar with the tip of the iceberg."

Chuckling, she refills his glass. "Well, the vital statistics: 32 years old, 5'2" if I stretch, 107 lbs..." She shrugs. "I'm... me. Obstinate, impulsive, playful; extremely good at getting into trouble, and almost as good at getting out of it." She smiles. "I love my family, even if they drive me up a wall most of the time..."

He smiles at the description, but sobers after Bailey's last statement. He looks deep into the flames in the fireplace, and drinks at his wine.

"And I seem to be awfully good at bringing the conversation to a screeching halt..."

He chuckles, but keeps looking at the fire. "It's not you. Just when you mentioned your family, in Ivory... I thought of mine, in Amber. Two universes, a very long ways away from each other..."

She props her head on her hand, looking at you. "A distance which can be gotten around... with incentive."

He smiles faintly and looks at her. "I just don't like to start things, and not properly attend to them. It wouldn't be fair to either of us."

"Point, but I'm willing to take the chance, and make the effort... besides, I promised to back you up against Ciro. Means I have to stick by you, doesn't it?" And she smiles.

He smiles back. "I guess so. Though most people haven't be able to put up with me for long periods of time."

She just grins. "Maybe I'll surprise you."

Quentin climbs to his knees and scootches over to Bailey. He lifts his glass. "To a new... partnership," he toasts, grinning.

She sits up and clinks her glass to his, her eyes dancing. "To partnership," she echoes, then takes a sip.

He sips as well, and sets down his glass. "I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful partner. Well, I could have, but they wouldn't have been able to find one."

"Flattery will get you absolutely anywhere," she grins.

He moves close to her, sliding a hand along her cheek. "Anywhere?"

Another sly, impish smile. "I think it a distinct possibility..."

"I think we're going to make excellent partners," he says, running a hand through her hair, and leaning down to kiss her about the neck and ear.

She sighs deeply, a low, contented, purring sound. "Suddenly having premonitions?" she teases gently as she runs a hand up his arm.

"Yup. And I didn't even have to go up to the Tir to get them." He continues his attention.

"So what makes you think we'll be such excellent partners?" She asks, though she sounds somewhat distracted by his attentions. "Not that I disagree, mind you. Just curious." Her arms slip about him.

He lifts his head back up and looks at her.

"Well, for one, as you'd said before, we've both been in similar situations, and nasty ones at those. I've had to deal, recently, with situations involving others who were not of like mind with me..." He sighs, but then continues, "Remember on the way through Shadow to Ivory? That posse we formed; I wasn't happy with it, and that's kinda why I didn't say too much. I mean, those demons are on our ass, and Gen, she wants to combat them in a duel or something."

He chuckles. "Don't get me wrong; I love and respect my cousin. In a straight, fair fight she might even been able to defeat me. But I'd never fight fair. I'd already surmised that the demon's hides could deflect edged weapons, so I went for the sure win. Call it foolish, but it was effective."

"Now, if you and I have our backs, we both know that each other is capable. We're also yin and yang, brute force and finesse, muscle and magic." He chuckles.

"Anyway, that's my take on that. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I may not have answered the question with the same understanding of what "partners" was supposed to entail." He grins. "I'm sure I can put together a speech on *that* too, if you'd like."

Bailey listens, her expression thoughful, eyes never leaving his. At his last statement, she smiles. "Oh, I'm sure your treatise on that aspect will be equally fascinating..."

He smiles softly. "Honest truth? I've never been as... fascinated... by a woman until I met you..." He laughs a little. "I'm sorry, I like to think myself a master of sarcasm and entendre, but when it comes to reality, my words are often short and to the point."

Eyes sparkling with amused delight, she caresses his cheek. "No reason to be sorry, Quentin. I admire honesty. Even blunt honesty. But," and she grins, "I do admit to curiosity. Why do you find me so fascinating?"

"It's not every woman, or man, who would take it upon herself to retrieve and carry that Jewel around, being dogged by demons at every step, Bailey. It's something that I don't even know if I could have done. You're... enigmatic. Deceptive. I would never have guessed you'd pushed me off that rail earlier. I have little doubt that you can give as much as you take in a fight. You think, you control magics as well as anyone else I know, you're strong... There's a lot to admire to you. Yet there's a lot still not known, a tantalizing mystery behind your eyes."

He breathes and licks his lips. "Oh, and I forgot to mention that you're damn beautiful." He smiles.

She slowly caresses his cheek. "I'm definitely going to have to keep you around for a while, Quentin."

"...if only for my complementary tongue," he says, smiling and closing his eyes.

He catches a glimpse of a merrily wicked smile before closing his eyes. "If only," she whispers, and then she kisses him.

He reacts appropriately, laying her down in front of the fireplace after a time.

She seems quite amenable to this, and pulls away a bit, smiling impishly. "So, warming up any?"

He smiles, and nods slightly. "Tho I don't think it's the proximity to the fireplace..." He chuckles. "I have to admit, I've never been so... pleased... to have been thrown into a moving body of water before."

"This was the effect I was hoping for..." Again, the sly grin as she plants soft kisses along his jawline.

"That's an unusual method of seduction," he teases. "May I inquire what other "effects" you may be hoping for?"

"Something along the line of the current... encounter."

He chuckles, moving his hand along her arm, and down the side of her body, along her leg. "Well, count me in as a more than willing participant."

Quentin notices an odd lump along her leg, but does not linger.

She chuckles. "That's good to hear. It's much more fun that way." Her hand slides along the side of your neck, and down the the top button of your shirt, which she slowly undoes.

"I've always thought so," I say softly. He returns his hand to whatever it was along her thigh -- figuring out that it is her staff, in shortened form, holstered on his hip.

"Tell me one thing, Bailey..."

She moves down to the next button. "What, Quentin?"

"Will you respect me in the morning?" he asks, grinning.

"Maybe even more than I do now," she grins.

He just grins, and moves his free hand along her side and back.

She sighs contentedly, and continues down the row of buttons. "And will you respect me, still?"

He smiles softly. "I hope that you will find, with me, that once I have trust and respect for someone, that it takes nothing short of catastrophe to remove it... and that's a promise I don't lightly make." He moves his hand up into her hair, combing his fingers through it, caressing it.

"I hope you find me worthy," she comments quietly. Finishing the buttons, she slides her hand up along his side.

"Too late," he says, smiling, and leans forward to kiss her.

She returns the kiss, sliding her hand along his back, under the shirt. "Well, I'm honored," she says a few minutes later.

He tilts his head to look at her, smiling faintly. "Bailey, I'm just this guy from this universe who you happen to have some common relatives with. Believe me, it's me who should be honored."

She snorts. "Quentin, you are far more than just 'Joe Average of Amber'. Besides," and she smiles, "I'd never consent to relations with just some common relative. I have refined tastes."

"Oooh," he says, chuckling. "Careful now, ma'am, all this faint praise will go to my head..."

She sticks her tongue out at him.

He laughs and grins. "Don't stick... never mind," he chuckles, his hands moving up the side of her body, around her back, to the top of her dress. He traces a finger lazily around the top button.

She grins back, and kisses the tip of his nose in a playful gesture, and lightly trailing her fingers down his back.

Quentin undoes one of the buttons. "Oops," he says, looking innocent.

"'Oops?'" she chuckles, planting a few kisses along his collarbone.

"Accidentally undid a fasten," he says, enjoying the attention. He undoes two more buttons, and grins. "I'm accident prone."

"Mmhmm." Her eyes dance with amusement, but she continues her attentions. "How accident prone?"

"About four more buttons' worth," he chuckles, loosing another fasten.

She laughs against your shoulder before continuing her kisses up the side of your neck. "You never struck me as the accident prone type, Quentin," she whispers teasingly in his ear.

He closes my eyes and smile. "Okay, I'll fess. This is a deliberate attempt by myself to unfasten your dress." And with that, he undoes the last remaining buttons.

She chuckles. "Well, you did say earlier you should get me out of these wet clothes."

"All in the interests of you physical well being, of course." He grins, and holds his hands up, as if to show he meant nothing other than that.

She laughs. "The perfect gentleman," she grins, still caressing his back.

"Now, don't let that get out, or everyone will expect that type of behavior from me," he laughs, hooking his thumbs up near muscles at the base of her neck, and applying some pressure.

"Mmm." She sighs contentedly, that soft purring sound. "That's nice."

He grins. "A chance to show off some talents. Would you mind lying on your stomach?"

In answer, she slowly lets him go, and rolls onto her stomach, pillowing her head on her crossed arms.

He kneels down next to her, and starts kneading her back in the appropriate places. "Something I picked up in Vancouver," he says, softly.

"Mmhmm," she closes her eyes, looking quite content. "Must be an interesting place."

"Yes... and no. Meaning, it's probably not the safest place in the world anymore. But I suppose I could always find a Shadow where it was a little more hospitable..." He arcs small ovals down along her spinal column and sighs. "It's good to be able to... relax like this. I truly did miss it," he grins.

"I've gotten so tired of running," she says quietly. "I haven't been in one place for more than a month at a time in almost 6 years. This is damn close to heaven." she smiles.

"My feelings exactly," says Quentin.

He smiles and works his way down her back, to her thighs, and calves, and finally her feet. Working on one, he chuckles. "You know, I could pressure you for all the secrets of the universe right now, and you wouldn't be in a position to argue," he says, grinning.

She glances back, and sticks her tongue out at him again. "That is assuming I know any," she chuckles.

He tweaks a toe. "You sure? Are you *really* sure?" He grins, still holding the foot (heel up.)

"Are you making threats, Quentin?" she teases.

He lightly runs a finger over the bottom of her foot. "There's got to be a better term for it than that," he says, smiling. "But I can stop if you think that my attentions are focused in the wrong area."

She squirms slightly, and laughs, eyes dancing with merriment. "Something like that."

He chuckles and scoots on his knees over toward her, to lie on his side and face her. He props his head up with his left hand. "Is this better positioning?"

"Much," she grins, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

Quentin moves over to scoop her into his arms, and draws her into a long, passionate kiss. She twines her arms about his neck, responding to the kiss with equal intensity.

Quentin slowly, gently begins to ease aside/down the shoulders on Bailey's dress, stopping if he thinks she's uncomfortable, or says something.

Nope. In fact, she shifts her arms down about his waist, to make it easier. Upon doing this, Quentin found (besides the normal female type undergarment) two tattoos, one on each arm. Each is a slim band of intricate Celtic-style knotwork, in a vivid blue, that goes about the upper arm, not too far below the shoulder.

He stops when the tattoos are revealed. "Whoa," he whispers. "Where did *these* come from?" He sounds more fascinated than anything.

Bailey laughs a bit. "My rebellious teenage years. I originally got them to annoy my parents." She looks at him. "What do you think?"

He grins. "Sexy. You never cease to amaze me, Bailey," he says, shaking his head and smiling.

"Good," and she grins. "Wouldn't want you getting bored with me..."

He looks down at her and himself with wide eyes, then back into her eyes. "You have *got* to be kidding me," he says, smiling, shrugging off his shirt.

"Maybe just a bit," she teases.

He lies back as he did before and runs a hand through her hair. "Dear, if I *ever* say I find this boring, arrange for me to shot, please?"

Chuckling, she slips her arms out of the dress the rest of the way. "As if I'd let you off the hook that easily."

He smiles with a bit of dark humor. "I suppose you could always try to reprogram me..." He traces the lace of her undergarment with a finger.

She gives Quentin a wry grin, running a hand along his chest. "I have more style than that."

He smiles. "Let's just see how much style you have," he says, drawing her close to kiss her again.

"Talk about performance anxiety," she chuckles before their lips met.

He kisses her, drawing back after a moment. "Somehow I get the impression that you're more... competent... than that." He grins, caressing her cheek.

Her hands slide slowly down his back. "Another premonition?"

"Let's call it a prediction," he says, idily tracing his fingertips along the fabric of her garment. "I'm hoping to prove it correct."

As he ran his fingers along the lace, Quentin felt a slight shiver run down her back. "Anything I can do to help?" She queries with an innocent smile.

He returns the look, smiling faintly. "Pro-active participation is always appreciated."

She trails her fingers across his stomach until they come to rest at the waistband of his pants. "Anything to be helpful," she comments as she idily plays with the fastener there.

He takes a deep breath in, and closes his eyes for a moment, opening them again after a bit; his hands continue to trace along the fabric of her garments, spiraling and circling randomly.

She shivers again at his ministrations, kissing him deeply as she undoes the catch on his pants.

He returns the kiss, bringing his hands up along her sides and arms to her shoulders, running his fingers underneath the straps/supports of her garment.

She lets go of him a moment to squirm the rest of the way out of her dress, then suddenly lets out a small laugh.

Quentin looks at her, tilting his head a bit, looking amused. "Hmm?"

She pats the side of her leg, where the staff is, looking faintly sheepish. "Probably won't be needing this," she quips as she unbuckles the holster from around her leg.

His eyes sparkle mischievously. "I should say not," he says, running his hand down to about her ankle, and bringing it back along her outer thigh.

She sets the staff aside, but, he notices, still within easy reach, then closes her eyes and sighs at his caress.

They spent a long while touching, caressing, quietly.

"So, do you have any other tattoos I should be aware of?" His smile.

She lazily opens one eye, her mouth quirking in a mischievous grin. "As if I'd make it that easy by telling..."

He grins and shakes his head, looking her over. She wore only the most minimal of undergarments.

"That leaves a lot to the imagination," he says, chuckling, and shrugging off his trousers. He wears powder blue boxers, and looks a bit chagrined by them.

Bailey vainly attempts to keep a straight face, but after a moment dissolves into helpless giggles. In apology, she pulls him close and kisses him. "I never figured you for pastels."

He smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, well, it was a spur of the moment conjuration that even got me the suit. Maybe someone with better fashion sense can get me something more stylish one of these days." He smiles.

"Oh, I don't know..." Mischief glints in her eyes as she snuggles close against him. "It works, somehow."

He kisses her about the neck and ear. "And how's that, Bailey?"

"It's... cute." She kisses lightly across his chest.

He laughs, and lays down flat on his back. "'Cute' is not an adjective oft used to describe me...," he says.

Grinning, she continues her attentions. "And how many people see you in powder blue boxers?"

He chuckles. "Point taken," he says, pillowing his hands behind his head, and closing his eyes.

She kisses back up along his collarbone, running a hand across Quentin's well-defined stomach.

He shivers a bit, and props up onto his elbows, kissing the top of her head.

Her fingers trail parallel and just above the waistband of the boxers. "Problem, Quentin?" she inquires with mischievous innocence.

He grins. "No, just that... usually when I'm touched around that area it's in an act of violence."

She continues her caresses, impishly planting a soft kiss right above his navel. "You have no worries here. I'm utterly harmless."

He grins. "Yeah, right."

Her fingertips slide just under the waistband of the boxers. "You don't think I'm harmless?" she blinks innocently.

He continues to smile. "I don't think I'm in any position to argue."

She plants another kiss right below his navel, and hooks a finger over the waistband of the boxers about at your hip. "But I thought you liked being difficult," she teases.

"Apparently so do you," he says, laughing and sticking his tongue out at her.

She starts working the boxers down over one hip, but stops when he says that and gives an indignant look. "How am I being difficult?"

He sobers a little. "Easy now, I was just teasing you, because you're... teasing me." He smiles a little sheepishly.

She grins. "I could... stop."

"That would be... a tragedy. For me, yes, but much more for you." His grin is wide.

She edges the boxers down another inch. "And just how would that be a tragedy for me?"

"I just assumed you had a vested interest in whether my drawers came off, tis all." He smiles his smile.

She hooks a finger on the other side, and slowly begins drawing that down too. "Vested interest, eh?"

He chuckles. "Can you think of a better name for it?"

She pauses, looking off as if deep in thought. Then, with a bright smile, "Nope," and pulls the boxers the rest of the way off him.

He looks at her. "Well, how about that," he says, quirky smile.

She drops the boxers off to the side, and teasingly runs her hand up the outside of his thighs, then across his stomach and chest before leaning over to kiss him, to which he responds.

After some time, he says, "I have noticed a disparegy in the amount of clothes we each are wearing..."

"And what exactly are you planning to do about it?" she queries with that innocent smile.

"My options are limited," he says softly, sliding his arms under hers and around to the back of her top, undoing the catch.

"Limited? How's that?" She chuckles.

"Well," he begins, pulling the top away from her, "as I see it, there were three options: Don't take anything else off, which I did not look kindly on; Take them off with your hands, which is what I chose; And the everpopular "remove your underwear with my teeth" option that, well, just doesn't seem to go over that well." He grins.

She laughs aloud at the last. "Had complaints of that method in the past?"

He thinks for a moment. "Uh, well, it's just what... something... I think I heard from some guy." Quentin smiles.

She dissolves into laughter again before giving him another kiss.

He kisses her, hands tracing across her arms, shoulders, and back before coming to rest on her rear.

She slips her arms around him, and kisses the hollow of his throat.

He trails his fingers along her skin, slowing only to catch the waistband on either side, and in one slow, fluid motion he slides them down, and away.

"Now we're even," he whispers, smiling slightly.

She chuckles against his neck, pulling you close. "On that score, at least."

He holds her tightly. "I'd forgotten how good it felt to hold someone like this."

She twines her legs about his. "Mmmhmm. It's hard to be a romantic in a string of one-night stands."

He nods silently, looking as if he's giving that some thought. Eventually, he regains focus. "I... don't want to continue that string."

She is quiet for a moment as well. "I never liked that string to begin with. And I was hoping this might turn into something a little more... stable."

He smiles softly, touseling a lock of her hair around his fingers absent-mindedly. "Well, since neither of us has impending doom breathing down our necks anymore, that should be a more-than-obtainable goal."

She chuckles softly. "Oh, there you go. That's going to jinx it." She kisses your neck.

Quentin shifts so that he's a bit more eye-level with her, and smiles. "No such a thing, luck...," he says, kissing her softly, and frequently. "...actions, or inactions, that're responsible for our situation." His hands move to caress her.

She responds to his caresses, pressing against him and kissing him back. "I hope... inaction... isn't your plan in this particular situation..."

"That would be pushing my luck," he grins, shifting atop her.

"Most definitely," she smiles, running her hands down his sides.

He leans down to kiss her, passionately, and they fell into lovemaking...

Afterwords, Quentin slumped down next to her, perspiration glistening in the firelight. Trying to catch his breath, he says, "That was... inspired..."

It takes her a moment longer to catch her breath. "So, was your prediction... proven correct?" she eventually asks with a mischievous smile.

He pushes his hair back with a free hand and chuckles. "Oh hell yes. There's something to be said for being an Amberite..." He looks at her, smiles, and caresses her cheek. "Like I said, you never cease to amaze me."

With a contented sigh, she wraps herself around him in a tight hug. "Just means I'll have to continually be... inspired to keep your interest... up," she grins.

He laughs. "I look for more in people than great sex, you know."

"I *meant* in a general sense," she sighs in mock exasperation, pillowing her head on his shoulder.

"Bailes, you're great, in all the best ways," he says. "I don't think I've ever met a woman who was just all that on so many levels." He wraps an arm around her. "I think it's me who should be asking you if you've found things to be acceptable."

She looks up at him. "More than 'acceptable', Quentin." She smiles. "On all levels."

"Glad to hear it," he says, smiling, and sighing contentedly.

"So, now what?" she murmurs, a sleepy-sounding edge to her voice.

He yawns. "In the old days, I'd of said I had to get up early the next morning, dressed, and left. But I wasn't as mature then as I am now." He smiles. "I'm guessing you have a bed?"

She gestures to the door near the fireplace. "Yup."

He kisses her. "Stay right here," he says, smiling, and sitting up. He retrieved his boxers, donned them, and went through that door which she gestured to.

Through the door is her bedroom. A large bay window with window seat dominates the wall opposite the bed. The bed is large, and he snagged a patchwork quilt off the top. Two doors beside the entry, are visible. Another desk, this one just as messy as the one outside, and two more bookshelves, crammed full.

He returned to find Bailey propped up on her side. "Okay, sleepy, time for bed." He smiles, and gestures as to pick her up. She allows him to wrap the blanket about her and she lets him scoop her up with no complaint, though she does snag the staff. "Just because you've gotten me all tired out..." she teases.

He laughs. "Back in my old Shadow there's a sport called soccer. Anyways, the coaches of this sport had a rule before big games that the players were not allowed to sleep with their wives and girlfriends, fearing that their energy would be sapped." He sets her down in the middle of the bed, and then drops their clothes to the side. "I never really put much stock in that, but now I think I understand."

That gets a sleeply laugh out of her, that turns into a yawn. "I probably wouldn't be so tired but I haven't done that much spellcasting in a day in a while. And given the recent activities..."

He slides into the other side of the bed, feeling for her in the darkness. His voice becomes low. "Bailey, I... I'm glad that one of us didn't mind risking making a fool of herself."

She stretches out against him, slipping her arms around him and settling her head against Quentin's shoulder. "I like taking risks," she murmurs with affectionate amusement. "Especially those that have such attractive benefits." There's a short pause, then she lifts her head to look at him. "Quentin, I've spent too much of my life forced to run away from everything, good or bad. When I see something like the possibilities I saw in us, I'll risk whatever I have to. Immortal or not, I've been taught... by circumstance that life is a very fragile gift, and should be lived fully every day."

He nods. "I know all about that," he says softly, more to himself than anything. He strokes her hair with her free hand. "And while I'm rather out of practice at all this, I'll give it all I'm worth."

"That's all I could ever, or would ever, ask," she murmurs, obviously fading off into sleep.

Quentin smiles, kisses her atop the head, and settles back himself, to sleep.

The night passed, and it was not yet dawn when Quentin was woke by a particularly ominous dream...

Without moving, except opening his eyes, he took stock of the area around him. It had not changed. Bailey shifts against him, and mutters sleepily, "Quentin?"

"Shh, go back to sleep. I... need some air," he says, trying to remove himself without disturbing her too much.

She half sits up, rubbing at her temples. "You dream loud," she says. "Are you okay?"

He sighs. "No," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "No I'm not."

She scoots over to him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, Quentin?"

"I dreamt of him again. Of Cirophsoph." He takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "And I fear what may happen, not for myself, but for... you."

She looks genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

Looking a little forlorn, he turns. "I'm getting back bits and pieces of my time with him. From what I can gather, we were both under his control at about the same time. He was trying to get the location of the Jewel out of you, and was getting it, but not as fast as his master would have liked."

He looks away. "Ciro, as my dream faded, turned to me to get the info out of you."

She shakes her head. "Quentin, maybe that's what he intended, but that never happened. I never even saw you before the day at the gate. So you never could have done that." An involuntary shudder runs down her back. "I'd remember." She slips her arms around him. "He'd mention." she starts, her voice somewhat distant, "on occasion that he couldn't devote as much time to my 'care' as he'd like for he was creating a 'well-honed blade of vengeance'," she quotes. "But I always got the impression that vengeance was directed elsewhere."

He shrugs. "I suppose you have a point,' he says. "But I worry and wonder if this isn't exactly what Ciro would have wanted. Both of his enemies together, ripe for the picking. Or who knows what control he might still have over me." His fingers grip hard on the pillow next to him, and he chucks it across the room with a dark look.

Something akin to a low growl issues from Bailey. "That demon-spawn bastard has already taken to damn much from me. I'm NOT going to let him take what we might have here as well." She takes his face in her hands and looks into his eyes. "I'll take the risks, Quentin. I've lost so much to him. I won't lose you, too."

He looks withdrawn; his eyes steely grey in the dim light. But after a bit, they look up at her. "I'm sorry," he sighs. "I just don't like the idea of not being in control of myself. I pride myself on it. And these damn dreams make me think I could lose it at just the wrong time..."

She leans forward and gives him a long, gentle kiss. "I trust you." She strokes Quentin's cheek. I'm quite aware that alone, neither of us could touch him. But together... *We're* stronger than he is. You managed to break away from him before he implemented whatever he had planned for you. That says something." A slight pause. "As for the dreams..." Once again, that involuntary shudder.

He draws his arms around her. "You tremble at the mention," he says, softly. "Would you tell me? Do you have the same dreams? Or is it just the memory of...?"

She lets out soft sigh. "It's not the dreams, Quentin. I don't dream anymore." She looks up at him. "I honestly have no idea how long I spent under Ciro's 'care,'" she starts slowly. "It was sometime during the second year I'd had the Jewel. I got cocky, and the jerk caught me, but not before I'd managed to drop the Jewel somewhere safe. But anyway. Once he realized that... physical means of persuasion weren't going to work, he started playing games with my head."

She shrugs. "After that and after I escaped, the dreams were so bad I woke up screaming every night for months. Mom eventually had to block that area of my mind out. I haven't dreamed about anything since."

"I'm sorry I brought it up," he says, softly, holding her tightly. He chuckles. "Dont' worry, I'll do the dreaming for us."

She settles deeply into his arms and lays her head against his chest. "I miss it sometimes."

He held her until she slept again; he however, looked off to the side, towards a window that became brighter and brighter until the light shown dull orange through it. Bailey began to wake, but it was about ten minutes later before she finally woke.

She blinks sleepily, then looks up at him. "Hi," she smiles.

"Good morning, you." Quentin smiles softly. "I'm still here."

"I noticed," she grins, pulling away to stretch, then curling back up in his arms. "And I'm glad."

He chuckles. "'Twouldn't behoove me to be galavanting about a foreign capitol late at night in only my skivvies."

She rolls her eyes in amusement. "Might get you deported."

"Or an ambassadorship," he quips, absent-mindedly twirling some of her hair in his fingers, and yawning.

"Did you get any more sleep last night?" she asks, a bit of concern in her voice.

"No, but that's okay," he says, quietly. "Soft beds and warm bodies next to me spoil me anyways."

"Mmmm," She wraps herself around him in a tight hug. "You going to give the opportunity to spoil you on a regular basis?"

He grins. "Certainly, if I'm allowed to... spoil you, as well."

"I'd be a moron not to," she smiles brightly, giving him a long kiss, which he returned.

"So, what are your plans for today?' he says, after some time.

She chuckles. "I hadn't been thinking much past last night," she comments. "But I think maybe I need to go have a talk with Uncle Aloran..."

He nods. "I'm going to find Bishop today. That's about all I had planned." Quentin sits up, and begins stretching his arms and shoulders. "Most mornings I usually get out and run a few kilometers, but I can be persuaded to do otherwise."

She flashes him an utterly wicked grin as her fingers trail lightly across your chest. "Oh, really?"

He looks down at his chest, confused for a moment, but then the implication kicks. He grins. "Christ, I think I've found somebody as bad as I am..."

She laughs. "I did warn you, Quentin."

He chuckles, lying back down again. "I didn't say I didn't like it."

"Really," she says coyly, "if you'd *rather* go running..."

He rolls his eyes. "Any cardiovascular activity can substitute. Wrestling... riding..." He looks at her innocently.

She pokes him in the side with an impish grin.

He sticks his tongue out at her, and pokes her in the rear.

"Hey!' she yelps in amused surprise, then pins his arms to the bed. "Damn. You're not ticklish."

He laughs after her initial reaction, then looks in amusement as she holds him down. "Nope. Well, at least not in the side." Innocent smile.

"Hmm," she feigns thoughtfulness, sitting back. Suddenly, she dives for his foot. He noticed another tattoo, a Celtic knot on her thigh, but chalked it off to more teenage rebellion.

"This could be amusing," he says, watching her.

She tries tickling the bottom of his foot.

He smiles a bit more, but she probably could notice that he's tensing up whenever she attempts this.

Still grinning, she works her way up the inside of his calf.

He becomes more tense, grinding his teeth a bit.

She gives him a perfect look of wide-eyed innocence, pausing for just a moment. "Is... is something the matter, Quentin darling?"

He rolls his eyes, but he chuckles. "You're approaching some sensitive areas, dearest..."

"Really," she lazily, and lightly, traces a small figure eight on the inside of his thigh, just above the knee.

He jerks, almost spasmically, and burst out laughing. "Backs of my knees...Achilles'..." Quentin is overcome with laughter, that could almost be described as giggling.

"Aha," Bailey smiles sweetly, and attacks the back of his knee with mock ferocity.

"Shame on you!..." he cries, laughing, attempting feebly to ward off her attack. "Stop... I give..."

She lets up her attack, laughing brightly.

He recovers quickly, looking a her with an exaggerated crossness. "Damn, woman, you tryin' to kill me?"

"Oh, like *that's* likely," she grins.

He chuckles and lets out a large sigh, pulling a pillow over his head.

She scoots back up to lie alongside him, and pulls the pillow away and gives him a kiss. "Am I forgiven?"

He keeps his eyes closed, and tries to look upset, but his usual smile is peeking through. "Kiss me and make everything better, eh? I shouldn't make it so easy for you." He finally grins.

She nods sagely. "I might even begin to believe you aren't difficult anymore..."

"NOW IT'S ON!" he yells, jumping up into full tickle attack mode.

She lets out a squeal of mock terror that quickly shifts to gales of helpless laughter as he easily overpowers her.. "Quen... Plea... I..."

He smiles evilly, but his tickles turn into caresses after a while. "Yes, dearest?"

After she manages to catch her breath, she chuckles. "I was going to say 'I give', but somebody was making that difficult." Then she lets out a soft sigh at his touch. "But I think I can forgive you."

His hands roam about her. "...if only for my delicate touch?"

"If only..." and she pulls him down into a passionate kiss.

They wiled the early morning hours away, much as they did the night before...

Afterwords, Quentin lies there in that state of joyous fatigue. "Beats the hell out of running..." he chuckles.

"Glad you think so," Bailey murmurs, curled up against him.

He strokes her hair. "So... how do you want to handle... 'us'. As in, the general public?"

She sighs. "Maybe, given what Gen told you last night, we should keep it quiet for a bit. I wouldn't want to rub it in at Gwyn." Bailey smiles wryly. "She already doesn't like me."

He sighs, as well. 'Discretion is, after all, the better part of valour."

He turns to her. "How do I break my cousin's heart?"

She closes her eyes. "I don't know, Quentin. I don't know her well enough."

He steeples his fingers together near his face, resting his elbows on his drawn-up knees. "There but for the grace of God, go I... I'm a regular fuckin' quote machine this morning," he says, a bit harshly.

But he sighs again. "I'll figure it out, somehow."

Bailey looks faintly distressed. "Quentin... if... if you'd rather try and work something out with Gwyn, I'd understand..." she trails off.

He looks over at her, confused. "Bailey... there's nothing to work out. I love Gwyn as my cousin and friend, nothing more. When I see her, I see a little girl I used to play with as a child. That's why this is hard for me..."

He sighs, and after a few moments, speaks softly, "Do you think that I would have come back here with you last night if there had been feelings for anyone else?"

"No," she agrees softly. "But I thought I should at least give you the option." She holds him close.

He sort of chuckles, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers. "Sweet of you, but unnecessary, let me assure you. I absolutely must see where this road we're on goes to."

Her normally bright smiles returns full force. "Maybe I should warn you that I have no sense of direction?"

He grins. "That's okay; when I drive, I don't ask for directions."

"In other words, we're going to get hopelessly lost, aren't we?" she smiles up at him.

He kisses her forehead. "I had thought," he says, smiling, "that that was the point."

"Okay, I'll give you that," she chuckles. "So," and that mischievous grin returns. "How do you think your family would take a return ambassador from Ivory?"

He takes a deep breath in. "Some would like it, some would not. Either way, their opinion does not affect my opinion of the ambassador." He smiles faintly.

"And what would affect your opinion of the possible ambassador?

"Not too much. I mean, she's already thrown me into a stream in the middle of the night. I guess I can't get too upset with her, all things considered last night..."

She laughs. "I thought you looked for more in people than just great sex," she mocks teasingly.

"Sometimes that's enough," he teases, grinning.

She feigns a wounded look. "So that's the only reason you came home with me last night?

He tilts his head, and smiles his smile. "I think you know better than that, Bailes," he says, stroking her cheek with his hand.

She smiles. "Just being... difficult." She wraps herself around him again. "Probably should think about breakfast in the near future."

He holds her. "Yeah... would mean getting out of bed, though."

"That's the stumbling block to this plan," she chuckles. "I'm pretty darn comfortable right here."

He smiles and yawns. "I don't suppose it couldn't be sent for?"

"It could..." she smiles. Then giving him a kiss, she slips out of the bed. Rummaging through a drawer in the dresser, she pulls out an oversized t-shirt and slips into it, then pads out of the bedroom.

He chuckles, runs a hand through his hair, and takes a better look around her room than last night...

        The sun is now shining quite brightly in the window framed by the
window seat.  In the light, you can tell that the door next to the window
leads out onto a small balcony.
        The room is colored much like the outer - the walls are a deep,
calming blue, and there are touches of deep greens and purples..  It's
almost like being underwater.
        There's another large, and very cluttered desk, framed by two
bookshelves crammed with books.  These though, seem to be novels,
fairytales and the like.  You catch sight of Tolkein, CS Lewis, etc.
        A few pieces of artwork hand on the walls, most of a fantasy
variety (dragons, faery, etc.).  You also notice at the foot of the bed
(and on the floor now), some stuffed animals: the requisite beaten up
bear, a few stuffed dragons and the like.
        On the nightstand next to the bed are a few books, and a photo
in a frame.  You recognize Brand, Layrien, and a much younger Bailey
(you'd guess she's about 7 or 8 in the picture).  All are smiling, and
Brand has his arms around his daughter in a warm hug.

Bailey pads back into the room a few minutes later. "Breakfast's on its way." She crawls back into bed, but not before scooping up the animals on the floor and setting them back on the bed.

He gestures over at the picture. "Cute," he smiles. Quentin looks around. "Have you always lived here?"

She nods. "This suite used to be my family's." She plays idly with the tail of the stuffed dragon she'd picked up. "When Dad left, Mom closed up a lot, and decided to make her home at the Church. So I took over the suite, blocked off their old room for sorcery experiments..." She looks about her room. "It hasn't changed much in here since that picture was taken," she nods to the frame, and chuckled. "Unicorn, I was young."

He laughs. "Weren't we all. I thought it was weird coming back to Amber, after living in Shadow all those years, to sleep in the same bed I had as a child... Gotta do something about that. I suppose as a Prince of Amber, I'm entitled to quarters at the castle." He shrugs. "The thing I've found about being of the Blood, is that your elders never really consider you grown, no matter how old you get."

Bailey chuckles. "That is one thing I never miss about being home."

He looks as to weigh that in his head. "Very true. Amber's gonna be... weird, from now on."

She pillows her head on his stomach. "How so?"

His shoulders shrug. "It may not be... pleasant... for you, in the beginning. Some of my relatives are open minded, some... are not." He strokes the top of her head. "Complications I wish you didn't have to deal with."

She watches him for a moment. "I've dealt with worse, Quentin. I'd actually be more worried about the fallout you'll get for being involved with me."

He shrugs. "I'm thirty years old, Bailes. I won't put up with being treated like a child." After a bit, he smiles again. "I suppose if it got bad enough, I could always try to get Bishop to hire me on as an assistant here."

"Oh, wouldn't that be poetic," she chuckles. I finagle my way to get sent to Amber as ambassador, and you get sent back here."

He laughs. "I dunno. Do you have any sisters?" Quentin grins.

"Men," she snorts as she tickles the bottom of a foot. "No, I have no sisters, Quentin." About then, a faint knock can be heard from the outer door. "Breakfast," she comments, then scrambles off the bed and vanishes into the living area.

"I was just kidding about the sisters..." he says as she walks off.

She sticks her tongue out at him, eyes dancing, before she vanishes out the door. And she returns a few moments later, carefully balancing a laden tray of breakfast stuff.

Quentin feels the faint beginnings of magical energy beginning to coalesce, but then it vanishes, and Bailey frowns. "Sorry, old habits and all." She proceeds to move the stuffed animals by more mundane methods, to make room for the tray at the end of the bed.

He chuckles. "No problem. Like I said, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine unless you start chucking lightning at me." He grabs a dish and starts loading it up with food.

He stops for a moment. "Have you noticed odd behavior from our other cousins? Luke has been a bit... odd of late."

"I guess," she shrugs. "But I don't really know my brother all that well, yet. I do get the impression something is bugging him, though."

He shrugs as well. "Thought I might ask you. I've learned that I don't have such a good eye for these kinds of things." He smiles wryly as he bites into some bread.

She kisses him on the cheek, chuckling. "Men rarely do, dear."

"I'll let that one go," he chuckles, resuming eating.

She grins, and has some breakfast herself. After she's done eating, she lays back on the bed and sighs contentedly. "This is the life."

He laughs, eating a helluva lot. "I quite agree. Well, maybe I won't be able to find Bishop, and we'll get another day here."

"Maybe it's just my cynicism showing, but I doubt we'll be so lucky." She watches him for a moment more. "Well, I'm going to go take a bath while you finish breakfast."

He hops off the bed. "Wait...," Quentin says, hustling over to her. "As much as I'd like to join you," and he grins, "I need to do the same and change. Do you want to meet up later?"

She grins, and standing on tiptoe, slips her arms around Quentin's neck. "Lunch?"

"I'd like that," he says softly, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Before I go, though..."

He lowers her into his arms with a passionate kiss.

After a long while she pulls away, a bit breathless. "You'd better go before I don't let you," she grins.

"Aye, milady," he grins, scooping up his shirt and trousers, hastily throwing them on. "See you soon." He throws another look over his back before heading out into the other room. She waved back at him, smiling. Quentin donned his shoes and jacket, and slowly made his way out of her quarters altogether, hoping he could find his way back to the guest wing.

He was only a bit surprised, of course, when a door popped open in front of him, and out walked Ben...

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