Casa da Tia, Peso da Régua, to Estrada Nacional 222, Douro Valley, Portugal, Friday

[deathsmajesty]

It would hardly be a birthday trip for Ignis if they hadn't gone somewhere that specialized in wine, and while Liliana doubted that they would take to Portugal in quite the same way they had to Argentina, it certainly wasn't because the Douro River Valley was in any way lacking. (Of course it wasn't, she had researched the place thoroughly before providing Ignis with what she refused to call a presentation, even if the term wouldn't exactly be inaccurate.) Rather than a resort, they were staying in Casa da Tia, a gorgeous apartment complete with a full kitchen and a fridge that Liliana had paid to have stocked with groceries from local shops and markets, including a truly ridiculous amount of Portuguese coffee. Which was immediately joined by Argentine coffee and several flats of Ebony upon their arrival, of course, but Portugal had a rich coffee culture and they could no more ignore that than they could the vineyards and wines that had histories dated back all the way to the Roman occupation.

The past two days had been a whirlwind of shops, cafes, bistros, and wine bars, leaving Liliana laughingly declaring that today they would be doing nothing more than lazing about in their rental, perhaps (perhaps!) bestirring themselves for another riverboat wine tour around dinnertime if they felt truly ambitious.

Whether or not Ignis believed her when they'd gone to bed was unimportant, considering he was getting his first birthday surprise bright and (ugh) early the morning of his birthday, when Liliana stepped outside onto the balcony to join him for his first coffee of the day, cradling a mug in her own hands, wearing only her dressing gown with the Chain Veil in her pocket, too early even for her headdress. In front of them, the sky lightened in a truly glorious sunrise, which easily could have taken place several hours hence, but knowing what she did, she found she could not truly blame him for waking up early and enjoying it.

"Bom dia, meu porto seguro," she said, crossing to him to brush her lips lightly over his. "Feliz aniversário pra você.

[For the birthday boy, por favor. A bit of birthday nsfw in there, too.]

Comments

[deathsmajesty]

"Don't tell," she said, twining their fingers together and then using that grip to tug him in for a kiss. "I'd hate for it to get around that I can occasionally be inspired to be a helper for real." A soft laugh and another kiss. "But, truly, my darling...I don't understand how a man so clear about the value of things can be so unaware of the value in himself."

She blamed Regis. It was one of the many reasons she was going to kill him again.

[chef_chocobro]

"Your secrets," Ignis said, and if Liliana wasn't holding his one hand, they would both be cupped gently on her face as he kissed her back, slow and longing like he just wanted to fall into it and get lost on the same wonderful blur that marked their morning, "are always safe with me. I would certainly not want to be the one to tarnish your mystique."

A soft smile, and he brushed a strand of her hair back, though the breeze was likely to push it right back, and his fingers traced along her jawline a moment, trying to imagine the look on her face, the vibrancy of her eyes.

"But I don't think," he added softly, "it's a matter of being completely unaware of my value, 'Iana. It's much more of a matter of where it's placed, and that has always been best in the service of others."

[deathsmajesty]

Liliana took a moment to try to imagine herself with that outlook and failed. Utterly. Liliana served Liliana; the chance to be any different had died in a sickroom in the Caligo.

"Fortunately, then, you have me to remember that a little healthy selfishness is important," she said crisply, turning her thoughts away from such things. "Which reminds me..."

She regrettably had to let go of him needing to relocate briefly to fetch her mysterious cargo, placing it carefully down in front of him. "It wouldn't be a proper birthday celebration without a cake," she noted, unlatching the top of the sturdy plastic cake carrier. With that removed, the scent of freshly baked cake was free to find its way to his nostrils.

His favorite cake, of course. The chiffon cake from his childhood, just like the one he and Liliana had made a few months ago, when the island had turned him into a child once more.

A cake that he was certain had been baked less than twenty-four hours ago and yet had somehow still found its way here.