i would kiss you fondly thus

holy rebrand batman

Neither Addam nor Flora have come of age under the sight of the particular notion that marriage is a particularly serious venture, or notion, or duty. Flora has always rather figured that she'll get on well enough whether or not she ever finds a partner, considering how much figuring she has to do on what she herself really wants out of life already, and Addam in turn has figured even a little more solidly than that that he'd benefit none from presuppositions; the pike his potential betrothal will someday, one day (potentially) come down is not likely to be diagnosable in any capacity, considering that he cannot even tell if the roadway exists in the first place.

That's about the pursuit, anyway. The privilege itself follows in character from those base reasonings as such: Flora expects that it'll be sensemaking, if and when it comes, and Addam expecs that it'll be tenuous, if and when it comes. Neither posit that the affair is grim.

If marriage isn't serious, then, is it gay and bright? Not that gay and bright partnerships are likely to be either Flora's brand of appreciable sensemaking or Addam's brand of approachable tenuous. They're more...giggly salubrious and boisterously sensational. The kind of thing one apprehends (two ones, in a pair) by a chance meeting which is shortly followed up by the natural observance of a high degree of inseparabilitude.

Addam and Flora did have a chance meeting, somewhat salubrious and sensational, but it had been neither giggly nor boisterous, and it had been shortly followed up by distinct separation for several weeks at each time. The kind of thing that could easily have slipped away from one (two ones, in a pair) less fatally gifted than they.

Marriage. That sacred institution. That forging solid of partnerships otherwise left to the wind. That sealing of the fleeting bonds into eternal history.

(In politics and in Torna, it is, in fact, serious, because it's part of the determination of one's degree of status; divorce or other moniker for separation is all well and good among the common folk, but if the queen should divorce the king? well, then there's a pretty how-de-do...)

But it probably is markedly unserious, in the end, if it's anything they (these two, bright gay ones packing in a pair) actually want to deal with. And with that preamble about taken temperatures aside, we arrive at the true point of this discussion: are there rules in Torna about pre-marital displays of affection, public or otherwise?

There aren't rules, no, not necessarily. But there is gossip, and there is the ambition to retreat from one's possible position as the subject thereof. There are little snickers, and there are big stares. There are fond humilities. There are hats and there are sleeves and there are bangs and there are every conceivable sort of device to provide not modesty but character, if your character dictates that you must politely look aside when a young couple exchanges a kiss.

Every time Flora looks at Addam, her eyes shine. Addam looks back, and his eyes sparkle, but because he's a bit clueless (at least a bit, and maybe a bit more), he doesn't actually do anything about it. And why should he? If he were, in fact, to engage in the notion, he would lose sight of his lovely companion. His eyes might cease to sparkle - worse, hers might cease to shine!

He stares adoringly just as much as he can, preserving sight of that self-same humility. He's no exhibitionist, is this soon-to-be Alettan lord. He's no one, specifically, to show Flora off to. He's only himself, and his affection.

Flora's hands linger, cool and inviting, in Addam's much larger grasp, as they stand at the terminus of a walk through Auresco, out overlooking the moat. Soft wind rustles at Flora's relatively light skirts. By its hem, Addam's doublet clings to its tuck into his pants. It's a simple picture, isn't it? Of simple folk.

"I don't think," he muses to his captive audience, "that when I met you, I was prepared to be as taken with you as I have ever been with anyone."

"Only as?" Flora remarks playfully. If Addam isn't mistaken, the shine in her eyes has perhaps recessed, but he's sure he can bring it back. He's sure he must, or otherwise perish. "It doesn't bear comparison," is his simple and judicious reply.

"Then don't say it," says Flora, and she's very, very right.

"I wish you could know!" Addam exclaims. There's a trace element of ardor in his voice. "And by you knowing, then maybe I could know. Maybe I could be..." endeared eye-rolling ensues "...apprised of my own position. If some way existed for me to communicate that to you, and thus back to myself."

"Some mythical proposition." Flora scrunches up her chin and wriggles her nose and surreptitiously arranges her ear to rest upon some clavicular structure owned by the bastard prince, so as to, of course, better conduce sound and salient thought. "I don't think I go in for rings."

"Right! Neither do I. I can't imagine. Lovely pieces, surely, but by the time they're finished, I think some of the spirit goes out of it."

The ear detaches itself. "Are you quite sure?" For of course the mouth had been reverse-psychological sarcastic, or some such.

"I'm not sure of much."

At Addam's sympathetic admission, the ear remounts to its accustomed place. On they stroll, and stroll, and stroll, only they haven't moved at all.

"I'm sure there might be a way."

"Only might?"

"It doesn't bear comparison."

Indeed, it doesn't. Either there is a way, or there isn't, and if there is, they surely would have discovered it by this point.

Addam starts up. "A shame it is that we're already engaged. If we weren't, I might have to woo you."

Flora knows that he never had, never did, and never would. Moreover, her fiancé's supposition incurs another occurrence of that invocational standard - "Only might?" Except, not truly enough so as to merit the speech of it aloud.

"How would you manage that, pray tell?"

"I might bring you flowers."

"And when the flowers die, lest I forget of your affections...?"

"Surely not many material gifts."

"Surely not!"

"And surely not one single material gift, in the form of a ring."

"Surely not..."

"But what else could stay with my love, to signify my love, forever?"

Might Flora think, my love could? Might she, indeed. But it is a puzzle, isn't it?

"It seems to me you're trying to put a seal on it. And rings are good for that."

Addam might never pick up on that bit of doubled-downed intentional reversal in psychology, but he has picked up on the solution to his own conundrum: "Aha! I know what's better. In such a circumstance, of course."

The one that doesn't exist, because he never should need to (never had, never did, never would). Of course, of course.

"Pray tell?"

"The best of all, for wooing." He clasps her hands just the slightest bit tighter. "A gentle kiss-" his nose brushes the apple of her sweetly blushing cheek "-like that."

Leaning back, Addam sighs. It's a mixture of contentment, confusion, relief, and perhaps even some peculiar air of resignation. Knowledge appears in all forms and with all manner of herald. "Yes, I think that's what I'd do."

"In such a situation," Flora prods. Addam nods. "And what else would you do?"

"Oh! Come to think of it, I learned this one from Minoth."

It begins with the slightest hint of a bow, as the suitor stands back, still keeping the lady's delicate palm wrapped over his knuckles. Then he brings their joined hands up, in a manner likely inappropriate for serious court, and bestows kiss to hers' back, so neatly held to availability.

"Supposed to be brilliant for flattering - do you feel flattered?"

"Hypothetically," Flora murmurs, "indeed, I feel flattered. Indeed, I am flattered! Flattered, hypothetically, am I."

(Non-hypothetically, what is she? Let's hope not only [or at all] bemused.)

"And wooed?"

"And p-- No! No. Not quite yet properly wooed."

To Flora's shock, Addam suddenly pulls her closer by his secure handle, and in a moment of extreme distress henceforth known as extress, drops her hand altogether in order that he might seize her by the shoulders!

"You mustn't give me hints! You mustn't help me!"

"I mustn't?"

"Not for worlds!"

And then he's shoved her back again, and regained himself, and fetched both her hands, and brought them almost feverishly to his lips. In not apology, but a fervor altogether separate!

Flora finds herself quite satisfied with the prince who's gone unaided, in these matters, just then.

It would be cowish for him to gaze up at her as he thrusts his affections through the demonstrated procedure, so Addam's coolness wins him another point. Flora can feel herself selfishly deciding not to decide when to let up and say she's been wooed, thoroughly and properly. After all, if the point is that her knowing will lead to Addam's knowing, then he won't need hints, will he?

Not ever! You mustn't help me!

So she doesn't help him, as he sweeps her into his arms to cradle her against his chest and gesture towards the dusky sky as if it were star-studded.

"I would kiss you."

She hardly even hears the words.

"I would take every chance, every moment I came under threat of forgetting."

She's not sure he's quite himself.

"What it has been, to love you..."

So he admits, does he, that he has been doing it? Even as they feignt around the purpose and presentation of a kiss?

"What it will continue to be! Oh, Flora, I will try my best."

And oh, how she believes him.

"If this is your best," she whispers to his chest, to the place where his arm branches off from his body and makes to make a circle wrapped completely around her, "then I believe you will be more than tolerable."

"As a suitor?" he whispers to her crown.

"As a husband," she whispers back.

Slow and secure, altogether comfortable, is Flora's movement rolling from in to out, along the well-apportioned muscles of Addam's bicep, upper to lower arm. One moment she's blinking in the makeshift darkness, and the next she's cuddled by the cheek to a prince's earnest face - this interrupted, of course, solely by the solemn duty that prince retains to kiss her cheek, and kiss it again, and reiterate what cannot be revoked in any court of opinion or gods or plain people, for that matter.

"I don't think kissing on the lips is part of wooing."

"Does it have to be? Since I don't need to be wooed."

Addam gasps. "You don't?! You should have said so instantaneously!"

She would slap him on his naked cheek if she thought that he deserved it, but truly, she doesn't, and she kisses him all the same.

"I think I liked the chivalrous kisses better," Flora decides, curiously licking her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"They were better. They were spontaneous!"

"As if I can't be spontaneous."

"Perhaps you can't!"

"Addam, this has all been quite ridiculous."

"And? Is marriage so serious?"