Mercy
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The hallway is in a state of heavier use than normal here. A rug has been laid out to fill the entire chunk of hall before the Commander's office door, and a desk and chairs have been set up here. The door to the office is closed, and leaves and petals trail out from it. There is a strong smell of floral here. Erasmus sits at the desk, slouched and dressed in simple work clothes.

Emma has been escorted this way by guards, dressed practically in a pair of trim slacks and a blouse that's worn beneath a leathern bodice. "Goodness, I can smell it all the way down the hall," she mutters under her breath, as she approaches.

Erasmus glances up and straightens. He looks… ironic more than annoyed at the state of things, and greets with, "Welcome to my garden hell." He motions, somewhat ominously to the closed door. Nearby, Hounds are setting down barrows and large baskets for carting debris off.

"Commander," Emma greets, glancing to the surrounding Hounds as she does so. "Thank you, I think. Always good to be in a nice-smelling hell." She is unable to help a grin. "I am quite surprised you can work anywhere near here."

"I think it's seared my nasal passages," Erasmus admits. "You needn't bother wearing perfume until the tissue regenerates." He smiles, standing finally and running a hand through his hair. "I… usually sleep in there too, but it's been couches for the past few days." Woe.
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Emma's brows lift. "You sleep in your office? That is certainly dedicated of you." Her grin turns a bit lopsided. "I will be certain to save any new scents until you can appreciate them, I suppose."

Erasmus points out, logically, "If I keep to cots, I'll never find a live situation uncomfortable. Featherbeds will ruin a soldier." He grins, moving to the door. "I'll, ah, defer to you on what to do with this… I managed to stuff some pink ones together and sent the lot to Rae, but it didn't make much of a dent.

Indeed, when he opens the door, the room is dim and the scent overpowering. There seems to be just enough room for one to walk five steps in, in a sort of flower jungle path, before movement becomes difficult. The bouquets come up to one's waist, and are covering the table, desk and, likely, the cot as well.

Emma says to him, "I think I shall stick with featherbeds, thank you very much." Her grin widens as she steps past, and into the veritable jungle that his office has been made into. "Oh, my. This is — a bit much."

"You detect any sarcasm in all of this?" Erasmus asks cheerily, gesturing for a lantern and bringing it in with him. The light plays rather nicely on the flowers, and there's a great variety of them, all in vases.

Emma winds her way through the vases, careful not to knock any over, trying to get a good look at exactly what is at her disposal. "Sarcasm, or lust," she teases, peeking through a clump of lilies so that he can see the mirth that shines in her gaze, eyes bright in the lamplight.

Erasmus grins wide, peering through the place after her like a man checking for dangerous wild animals. "Really? -This- is a sign of lust? Can't things be -easier-?"

Emma replies, with a smile, "They can be easier. Some of us don't play games. We bring single roses." She ducks back out of sight, save for the brightness of her hair that can be seen through the foliage.

"That's much, much easier," Erasmus admits, wading into the flowers, lantern held high. It's a bit like watching him try to do ballet, really; delicately avoiding knocking things over, tiptoeing through… tulips. There is a rustle and the sound of water, and he curses lightly.

Emma pokes her head up over an elaborate arrangement. "Are you alright?" she asks. She then winds her way back around toward him, as best she can. "I hardly even know where to begin, Erasmus, I confess."

Erasmus is bent over, inspecting a fallen vase of orchids. Water must surely be seeping into the carpet. "I think we have a potential fatality," he muses. "Yes, it's a little overwhelming." Straightening, he gazes out over the mess. "Kind of pretty. Conceals the usual mess very well, so I still have time to clean before you see it -normally-."

Emma leans down to pluck up a branch of the orchids, pursing her lips. "These are so delicate. They won't last for long, I imagine, either way." She straightens once again, chuckling at his last words. "I suppose I should be flattered that you'd feel the need to clean for me."

Erasmus chuckles. "Well. Usually it's only the men coming in here, so it's not exactly fit for more polite company." What does that mean? Porn woodcuts? "But yes, I'd like to at least trick you into thinking I know something about… interior design. My hacienda out in the country is much nicer, mainly due to the servants," he quickly adds.

Emma arches a brow at him, at his mention of his office not being fit for polite company. "A hacienda in the country. It sounds lovely." That said, she glances away from him, surveying the flowers once again, the furrow in her brow hinting she's making an inventory.

"It is, but I see it rarely," Erasmus replies, not sounding too sad about it. He glances about, raising the lantern again. "They're going to start wilting and the smell will… change."

Emma glances over her shoulder at him. "Point taken," she says, frowning vaguely. "Come. If we're to make any sense of this, we'll need to move some of this out into the hall, or — somewhere."

"Toss it off the battlements," Erasmus suggests under his breath. "Just… shift some out there? I could clear my desk for some workspace, or something." He sounds lost, overwhelmed by the daunting task of tending an army of blooms.

Emma's frown fades, her expression turning sympathetic. "If it would likely not offend the sender, I would gladly help you toss them from the battlements. But yes, let us move some into the hall." She reaches to touch his arm, then, adding, "Erasmus, we'll figure this out. I know it seems overwhelming, but we can do this."

Erasmus casts a wary look out the door, where Hounds, some in work clothes, some in uniforms, mill about looking curious, like onlookers at a terrible accident. There seems to be some betting going on in low tones. "Damn well better, or I won't live this one down. Alright, let's go." He sets the lantern down in the main cleared space and begins stooping to get good holds on a vase.

Emma crouches down as well, scooping up a vase of her own. "I feel like we're on display here," she murmurs, shaking her head. The arrangement she lifts is an elaborate one of exotic blooms, and she wrinkles her nose a bit. "Now this one, here, is just showing off. I hope you don't ever expect me to compete with this, because if you do, I'd best just give up right now."

Erasmus laughs, then sneezes, violently, as his face is surrounded. Nothing goes flying or falling, though. "Oh for crying out loud!" he exclaims, sounding irritated and putting the vase down. "You, you, you and you, stop your gawking and get in here!" The elite soldiers outside freeze, and most of them but for the unfortunate four look like they have funerals to go to, immediately. "Time for some delegation of this manual labor task!"

Emma breaks into a wide, satisfied smile as Erasmus begins delegating. She steps into the hall, setting her vase aside, then simply waits. "Excellent. I would hate to strain myself, you know."

Briskly, orders are given, and Erasmus emerges from the room with another powerful sneeze. "Would too," he observes darkly, pulling out his heavy desk chair and arranging it for her to sit close to the table. "I had the idea this might be fun," he admits, resting against the high back of it and watching the Hounds struggling out with bunches of flowers. "Not so much now."

Emma moves to settle into the chair he has pulled out, crossing one leg over the other after she does. She chides, tilting her head to look up at him where he leans, "It will be fun. They'll clear out some room, and we can sit on the floor and …" She breaks off. "Well, maybe 'fun' isn't the right word. Have you got any brandy? That would make it vastly more entertaining."

Erasmus gazes down at her, his expression bemused. "Now that sounds infinitely more interesting." The man doesn't move much, just whistles sharply for attention and makes a small hand signal. A Hound moves off at a jog. "So… do I need to come up with a list of recipients?"

Emma breaks into a grin. "I knew that would help. Well, we could either come up with a list of recipients, or start sorting the flowers and work from there. Maybe I should make you pick some out for me, first, though."

Erasmus gains a funny look that managed to morph into a safe, thoughtful expression. "Of course," he concedes. "Few times in anyone's life will they have such an opportunity as this." He eyes the hallway as it begins looking very elaborate, even for the palace.

Emma leans back from him just a bit with that look, her grin fading. "Well, you certainly don't have to," she says, hastily. She turns her gaze away, determinedly watching the flowers as they're brought out.

Surprised, Erasmus glances back down at her. "Hmmm? No, it's fine, what'd I say?"

"You seemed uncomfortable, when I suggested you pick out flowers for me first," Emma says, plainly. She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No… not upset," Erasmus assures quickly, his face reddening. "Don't mind me, Emma, I was thinking of something else. You can have as many as you like, I'll even have it all delivered."

Emma grows very quiet. "Something else, or someone else?" She moves to rise to her feet, saying brusquely. "Let's get this over with."

Erasmus is even more surprised, and straightens. "No, not someone else," he corrects firmly. "What'd I do or say to make you think that?" Some of the Hounds glance over.

Emma quite clearly checks herself, not dismissing his words, nor arguing with them. "Erasmus, we're surrounded by flowers someone else sent you," she says in a low voice. "I'm a touch paranoid." The words are self-deprecating, her expression quite sheepish. "And I know it's ridiculous, trust me. And just where -is- that brandy?"

"You're jealous, because of the great joy this gesture has caused me?" Erasmus pursues the issue closely, trying to get a grip, perhaps.

"Green with it," Emma says, unable to help a laugh. "I'm sorry. I really am being silly. I admit it freely. I'll keep it in check, I promise."

Erasmus says nothing, thumb hooking absently at his belt and his gaze directed at a side wall of the hallway. The Hound sent away trots back with a tray containing a full bottle of brandy and two crystal glasses, which he sets on the desk.

Emma's laughter fades, and she glances down. "I'm sorry," she says, before moving back into the office to begin her task. She folds her arms over her chest as she goes, cheeks darkening.

"Would be quite swell if people asked me what's on my mind sometime," Erasmus mutters in a tone that may or may not carry. He stalks to one of the lines of vases already brought out, and stares at them hard, as if artistic creative force could be tortured out of the arrangements.

Emma pokes her head back out of the office door. "I said I was sorry, and I'll do that in the future," she says, without rancor or prompting. "Are you bringing the brandy or staying out there?"

Erasmus says nothing still, though directs a steely look at a Hound nearby. It is an older soldier, one of the lieutenants, and the men exchange looks. Then the Hound lifts a hand and makes some sign, numbers of fingers, perhaps, looking ironic. The Commander's lips purse and he glances away. "Did you want a glass?" he asks.

Emma's brows lift. She'd have to be blind to miss at least part of that exchange. "Please, if you would be so kind," she says. Her gaze fixes on the lieutenant, his face one she'll not likely forget any time soon.

The lieutenant watches his Commander looking oddly sad, though it's an expression that is corrected as he finds he's being watched. Turning, the older soldier resumes his work, as Erasmus nods and moves to the desk to pour one glass.

Emma's brows draw together, though she slips back into the office wordlessly. Troubled, she settles onto the floor, trying to take stock of what's left inside.

Erasmus takes the glass and steps just inside the office, bending to set the glass near her. "I'll be outside, delegating," he says quietly, straightening.

Emma lifts her gaze. "Erasmus, please," she says. "Stay in here and tell me what is on your mind." Her alto is soft, and though she doesn't plead, she adds, "I hoped we could do this together."

Erasmus composes thoughts a moment, before noting, "I was thinking of you with nothing on but all the rose petals in this room. Not really something I should be saying in polite company, even if asked. I'm sorry you assumed the worst of my hesitance." He looks to her, expression inward. "I need to tend to something. Do feel you need to finish this, one of the men will help you if you want to go."

Emma blinks up at him, taking a deep breath with his words. "Hold a moment, Commander. Will you close the door, that I might speak my mind without your men overhearing? Just another moment of your time is all I ask."

Erasmus gazes down at her a moment before taking a step to the door and reaching to pull it shut. "There you go, Lady Emma," he states, as flower petals blow past his boots.

Emma pulls herself to her feet, and says, "Have some mercy on me, Erasmus. I care for you, and that terrifies me." She steps over to him, putting herself in rather intimate proximity, if he permits it. "I'm not used to feeling this way, and it puts me off balance. And I think I would like to kiss you, now."

The stony expression melts a little, and Erasmus considers that in something less of a brickwall-mode. Then, "I won't get wordy about it, Emma, because I'm not sure if it'll help anything. But I'll have mercy, and a kiss."

Emma lifts a hand, as if to rest her palm on his cheek. Her brow furrows, as she says, "Please don't discard me for being human." She takes a deep breath, before leaning in to press her lips to his, eyes slipping closed.

The kiss is merciful, despite the admission of the thought of before, and Erasmus is ever the gentleman. Whatever hurt the humanness caused seems relaxed from him by the end of it. "Speaking of merciful," he breathes against her lips, some glimmer of humor returning. "Thanks for not slapping me for that little admission."

Emma's own kiss is a tender thing, and though she does not seek to deepen it, she's in no hurry to pull away. Her eyes flutter open as he speaks, and she laughs, very softly, with his expression of gratitude. "Well, at least now I know how I can surprise you, some day," she teases. She leaves her hand on his cheek, thumb stroking lightly there, once. "I'll try to be less of an idiot in the future, my dear." A pause, and she adds, smile turning lopsided. "My dear Commander, that is."

Erasmus smiles, leaning just faintly into the touch. The slip of address brings a low chuckle up, but he notes quietly, "Perhaps we should both remember we're human, and have been hurt in the past." His gaze searches her eyes, as if clues on how to do this without losing sanity could be found there. "A little more mercy before it needs to be begged would help both of us."

Emma's smile warms once again, and she leans in to touch her forehead to his. "Let us give one another the benefit of the doubt, then, and mercy. Erasmus, I swear I'll not cast you aside for a single misspoken word." Her eyes meet his, and she pulls back that she might actually focus. "Just like these thrice-damned flowers, we'll get through this."

A hand finds her slender one, and Erasmus pulls gentle fingers to his lips for another brief kiss. "I'm sure it will be tricky enough without single words, but… thank you." He smiles, the last of whatever emotion seized him evaporating. Giving the hand a gentle squeeze, he lets go. "Let's tame some flowers."

"Just be patient with me, hm? I'm not used to actually caring what a man thinks about me." She gives him a sheepish smile. "I hope we're back on the same page again." That said, she takes a breath, and steps back. "You still need to pick which flowers you want to give me. Saving, of course, the petals you'll save for some indeterminate day in the future — if you're lucky."

Erasmus lets out a breath as she moves off, and also looks sheepish. If more odd thoughts occurred, he has retained the grace not to voice them again. "I think… the Princesses should have one vase each, tastefully done, and then I will order up a picnic lunch with wine, and we can throw them over the walls to Kolvir together."

Emma considers that for a moment, her cheek dimpling briefly with her smile. "I think that is a perfect solution, Erasmus. Let me find the nicest vases, then, and I'll start arranging. And maybe one for Taleyn, to remind her that her cousin is thinking of her." She straightens her leather bodice, then looks to the door. "We'd best open that, before they think either I've killed you or you've got me in here with petals."

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