The air is salty, and it stings her nose as it drifts in from the sea. But as he stands before her, a scent that is uniquely his mingles with the gentle breeze. She is embarrassed at his teasing, and she tries to laugh it off with a wave of her hand.
She moves away from him to rest her hands on the cool iron railing, trying to break away from the intensity of his gaze. She inhales deeply, letting the harsh air fill her nostrils. But it only lasts a few moments before he is beside her. He leans back against the railing, looking into her face.
"Fran and I may take you up on that offer. I'd like to see more than the treasure room next time," he replies softly. She is trying desperately to identify just what scent he has.
There is the smoky hint of gunpowder, an undercurrent that settles around him like a cloak. There is the scent of leather, a more dominating aroma. But there is something else that goes beyond these scents. He notices her distraction, and he speaks again. "Is that all you wanted to discuss, Princess?"
She tries to make her nose give up its quest to determine what makes his scent so interesting to her. She nods her head and smiles. "Yes, I just wanted to make sure you knew how much I appreciated all your help."
As she speaks, she bows slightly, her nose begging for another whiff of him. It disgusts her that she is actively trying to smell him. It's a very warm scent, probably some cologne. It envelops her, making her slightly dizzy. He must have put some on before they dined that evening. She lets the heat of the fragrance course through her.
He shuffles over slightly and leans again on the rail. He is now within a few inches, his hand gripping the railing beside hers. He looks at her sadly, his eyes seeking her own. She can barely understand him, the intoxicating scent of him slowing her ability to concentrate. "You look as if you're never going to see me again. I promise you I'm not going to run off tomorrow. I'll be with you. We all will."
His assurances calm her, but not entirely. It is very possible that tomorrow would only bring the scent of death. "I know that. But it does feel like the calm before the storm, does it not?"
He considers her words, and she lets the fragrance settle around her.
It is maddening to be this close. He supposes his moving mere inches away from her was not a wholly unconscious act. Though he never considered himself to be all that sensitive to smell, something in the air was grasping for him.
Traveling with a Viera let his own sense dull. He relied on her nose to detect danger or give him a knowing look when a lovely young woman was approaching them at the bar during some respite from treasure hunting. But everything seems heightened in the night air, the sense of something greater than two companions standing on a balcony. Greater than a Princess and a pirate. Greater than a man and a woman.
Her scent is something that gets under his skin. She drifts around him, a distant rose garden. Not sickeningly sweet, but a warmth and a lush quality that he simply cannot pinpoint. He wonders if it is perfume or just a natural aroma that is hers alone.
He inhales, trying to let the fragrance fill him. Like a rose garden, there are thorns. There is the sense of something forbidden. She is a Princess, not some tavern girl or airship hostess. To smell her is to breathe in something rare, uncommon. He grins inwardly. It was as if she was some relic in an undiscovered treasure horde, waiting for him to discover and claim her. The scent was the bait, the treasure map directing him to the secret places within.
He is utterly distracted now. She said something, but all he knows are roses. "I'm sure things will have a way of working themselves out tomorrow," he offers, trying to be supportive.
She looks at him, a strand of hair falling in front of her eyes. "And if they don't?" she inquires.
It tumbles out before he has a chance to keep it back. "I suppose I'd want to make the most of the time I have left." Could she smell it? The shift in the air?
"Do something spontaneous you mean?" she replies quietly. The scent has led him directly to the inner sanctum, the last stop before the unknown. The fragrance makes him lightheaded, not himself.
"You could say that." Every alarm bell in his mind begins jangling. Abandon ship, they tell him. She's standing so damn close. Focus.
She surprises him by threading her fingers through his.