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Post by Keretheriel on Mar 23, 2015 15:32:26 GMT -5
Keretheriel did not have a mind to continue asking questions just then, to be fair. The Siren was pefectly content to let her newly-appointed Aide to escort her to their destination. Though it might seem uncharacteristic the vixen was perfectly capable of existing in silence─ and rather comfortably it should be noted. In fact, the former Guardian was taking the time to watch the urban landscape shift as they moved down street after street, inexorably toward Seventh District and what could quite possibly be hers in the forseeable future. Every now and again the midnight-tressed Siren would look over at the petite woman, but wouldn't make any move to engage her in conversation. Not here, not yet. When the vehicle finally pulled to a stop, Keretheriel eyed the handle mechanism with a somewhat bemused expression before carefully placing a hand on it and turning to push the door open. There was a slight pause as she lost a fraction of a second trying to figure out where to direct the right amount of force needed to allow her to exit. The technology in Vascxious Sigma was surprisingly intuitive despite that she'd never really seen anything like it. Knowing it was mundane to the citizens made her slightly more determined not to call attention to her ignorance: it was the price she paid for retreating from the world and not taking any part in its progression. . .
The Siren slid out of the vehicle, the dainty stiletto arching an even more delicate foot making a pointed click against the surface of the street. She stood in one liquid motion, pausing only for Dorya to catch up and lead the way: Keretheriel had no idea where they were having dinner.
Dark cherry lips curved slightly when her presence even there on the street began to draw curious glances. . .
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Mar 25, 2015 11:02:27 GMT -5
The Operative followed Kereth’s lead when it came to silence – their transport from the Tower to Tower 67 in Seventh District was moderately uneventful, and it undoubtedly served the Siren’s confusion as to the city’s layout more than it gave her a scenic trip. As the car took numerous turns and back-alleys that only a native could hope to pick out, Dorya calmly looked out the window to keep track of their progress, only occasionally flicking her eyes in the quiet Keretheriel’s direction. When they finally arrived, the Variance exited second to Kereth, but quickly took the lead and stepped briskly up the the glass doors of Tower 67, holding them open so that Kereth could enter and head directly for the lifts situated at the lobby’s rear. Dorya would follow a step behind, seemingly ignorning any and all attention that the Siren was getting from passers-by, and would touch the control and admit them to the lift, step inside, and then select the 100th floor before stepping to the back-left corner of the cubic space and waiting for Kereth to enter and the doors to close behind her. Once the two of them were in the quiet lift, Dorya made the choice to break the silence with a bit of needed exposition and explain where they were and why it was significant.
“This is Tower 67 in Seventh District – all the towers in the city have numerical designations, though some have been named by the locals. This tower is a hotel that caters to trade executives who have business at the Air-dock, which is only a few blocks north of here. The top floor of this tower is an exclusive restaurant called the 100th Balcony, named so due to its enclosed outdoor eating area that overlooks the Air-dock. Generally, reservations have to be made months in advance, due to the view and the exclusivity of the restaurant, but the Tower has a special arrangement with the Balcony – we’ll be seated in the Loft area, which is exclusive.”
Dorya’s dark eyes would remain locked on Keretheriel the entire time she was speaking, carefully collecting information on the woman’s reactions. The Operative had caught Kereth’s tiny fumble with the transport door, and earlier had noticed her unfamiliarity with Dorya’s use of the communikay: the Variance quickly decided it was her job to make sure she volunteered needed information to her new overseer before Kereth knew it was important to ask. The city would be an unfamiliar place to someone not accustomed to its level of technology, a fact that generated a great degree of tourism business and advantageous technological export dealings – Kereth, in her capacity, would have to become familiar with certain key fundamentals of city life quickly, which naturally meant it was Dorya’s job to provide needed context on a nearly continual basis.
“Usually, the Loft is reserved for high-level trade talks, but it should be unoccupied tonight – the restaurant is very exclusive, and draws its menu directly from food imports that come through the Air-dock. Since this will be your district, I thought you might like to see its most important feature – this location gives you the view without the hassle of a tour.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Apr 20, 2015 21:01:57 GMT -5
Were the Siren more introspective she might be reviewing the past few weeks of her life as well as the chain of events that led her to bed down for a few hundred years. She might reflect on how the world had moved on, sweeping past her as it does everyone― though in all fairness, the vast majority of people do not live long enough to see how easily the world keeps turning without them in it. Perhaps Keretheriel would marvel at the Sigma City Metropolis time and human ingenuity had created. Truthfully, on some level that was precisely the case. The heart of Azaleth Proper had never reached the proportions that Vascxious Sigma had― not in the space of her first lifetime. Were she to be stripped bare of all careful veneers surely it would be awe that tinged her features instead of the knowing smirk that curled the delicious set of her lips. Was it ironic then, in that light, that for her true thoughts on anything to be seen she must be exposed when the nature of her current― and very public― attire was exactly that?
Blind, or else indifferent, to the long stares and craning necks that closely tracked her every step the petite Siren followed Dorya with a surprisingly long, smooth stride, especially considering the specific restrictions a dress made entirely of delicate chains should present.
As soon as Keretheriel stepped into yet another lift there was only enough time to shift weight from one audaciously curved hip to the other before her Aide began to speak, offering much-needed exposition that certainly sparked the Siren's interest. Those eyes, reminiscent of pale smoke on a dark night and burning embers turned to ash in winter's thrall wandered the make of the lift's interior in such a way before settling on Dorya that the Aide might be inclined to wonder whether her Ward deigned to listen to her. That startling gaze dropped to the lines of Dorya's mouth slowly, unabashedly as the more diminutive of the two women edged closer with a grace that was not unlike the prowl of a predator.
"My Doh-ry-ah is quite clever then, to suggest such a place that could offer so much in one night."
The wintry accent was heavy and thick, every word weighted like the slow drip of molasses. Perhaps the same weight was what prevented pale eyes from returning to dark: it seemed a genuine struggle for the Siren to meet the Aide's gaze.
Were Keretheriel the type to question her intensely id-driven compulsions even she might wonder at the underlying causes that made her terminally-erratic behavior even more questionable― were such a thing possible.
The truth was that the Siren felt untouchable. Dissecting why had no place in her suddenly manic stream of consciousness.
Hyper-aware that her lips were a mere millimeter from meeting those of the woman she might have propositioned sexually― implicitly or explicitly, neither mattered― Keretheriel leaned in until every lusciously swollen curve of her body melted against the hard lines of the more utilitarian dress of her prey.
Her gaze dropped again, following the lead of one hand as it found the narrowest point of the other woman's waist and pressed lightly, a bend to the wrist that allowed the tips of delicate fingers to trace the bottom-most curve of the other's woman breast, if she did not move to deny it.
"I do enjoy that I can already trust your tactics," she breathed every word as a tease against the other woman's mouth.
Behind her, the lift doors slid open silently and Keretheriel met her gaze then, the smirk widening across her features attractively. Unless her Aide moved to prolong the moment, the Siren straightened and turned to exit.
To say that the energy changed within the confines of the Hundredth Balcony was a gross misstatement of the reality: the volume within quieted quite suddenly and all eyes within range moved toward what could be seen of the entryway to the Sigma City's most exclusive eatery.
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Apr 22, 2015 20:37:24 GMT -5
Dorya watched the Siren’s motions as carefully as a chemist observes an unknown reaction. The Operative had a feeling that she could begin predicting Keretheriel’s actions if she paid close enough attention, but at the moment, unpredictability seemed to be the woman’s most demonstrated trait, and therefore Dorya kept a careful eye on her, looking for any clues she might use to predict Kereth’s behavior. So far, the Operative was about zero for ten in successes on that front, but Dorya didn’t let that fact discourage her: she would do her job and not react to Keretheriel’s actions unless necessitated in the parameters of her mission . . . at least while they were in public spaces. Things were liable to get a touch more unpredictable on both fronts when the two women were outside the public eye, but those conditions didn’t matter in their current location – they were only unseen for a matter of moments.
That short nature of their private time seemed to actually encourage the Siren to keep pushing Dorya’s boundaries, however, and as her slinky form sidled up to press against the Operative, Dorya kept entirely relaxed. Keretheriel’s motions didn’t encounter any resistance from her target, but Dorya wasn’t exactly pliable either – the Unmade’s hard body didn’t yield to the woman’s closeness in any real way, though certain parts the Siren deemed it necessary to touch were not as static as others. Even with their lips so precariously close to one another’s Dorya spoke in the same tone and volume as if her ward had still been across the elevator from her, responding to the woman’s assertions analytically, if a bit smugly as well.
“It’s my job to be efficient, though you’ll also quickly notice that being ‘clever’ is a survival necessity in this city. I survive here far better than most – hopefully, you will too.”
Strangely, as Dorya spoke her first few words, the Operative’s hand reached out to press her splayed, leather-bound fingers against the broadest area of Keretheriel’s narrow waist. The touch wasn’t especially firm, nor was it used to keep the woman back or push her away, and yet neither was it particularly suggestive in any easily-decipherable manner. The woman’s intention could readily be interpreted either as resistance or taking a liberty of her own, but nothing in her demeanor would make it easier to pick which direction to assume when it came to Dorya’s intentions. The touch would linger, its meaning unknown, until the lift doors open and Kereth stepped away, at which time the Operative would wait for her charge to step out of the lift, at which time she would follow, ignoring the amount of attention they were receiving from patrons, to step to the Hostess’ side and confirm her hastily-made reservation.
The front attendant, a petite, perfectly-groomed brunette woman, smiled pleasantly as Dorya approached, obviously recognizing the Operative, though her dark eyes seemingly couldn’t help but flit consistently back to Keretheriel, no matter what else was attempting to captivate her attention. Dorya stepped close to the hostess, putting her body between Kereth and the young woman, and spoke softly to her before turning back to the Siren. The hostess scribbled something in the ledger on the podium in front of her, and gestured with a smile to her right, pointing the way to the main restaurant floor and, further in, the roped-off stairway leading to the loft.
Dorya made sure to catch Keretheriel’s attention before gesturing towards their intended destination in-kind. The Operative would take the lead, weaving their path through the widely-spaced tables filled with impeccably-dressed patrons sipping wine over pristine, white tablecloths until they reached the bottom of the loft stairs, where their path was obstructed by a thin line of red rope. A nod and a smile of acknowledgement came from the especially broad-shouldered man in the tuxedo standing to the rope’s left, who carefully unhooked the lead and stepped across the opening in order to allow the two women to pass.
Dorya would lead the way up the multi-tiered stair and to the loft’s rightmost corner, where she would take a seat at a medium-sized table at which all of the chairs faced towards the open ‘balcony’ area of the restaurant. Their chosen table was set right against the riser that made up the outer edge of the loft structure, and looking over it drew the eye directly to the very view that made the 100th Balcony so exclusive: looking past the table would display a broad sweep of the city’s edge from high above, bearing out the giant expanse of the intricate, bustling airdock below and, in the distance behind it, the craggy edjes of the Jiv’Undus mountain range. The sun’s light had just began to yellow, casting a gleaming brilliance over the behemoths of the cargo airships as they hovered, rose and fell over the industrial expanse, each bearing some great part of the city’s trade infrastructure in its belly. Only two ships were in the air at current, each lumbering through the sky as though they were giant, slow sea creatures.
It was a sight that was amazing to behold, and the view was blissfully uninterrupted by the normal haze that covered the city like a grey blanket – the special glass surrounding the outer ‘wall’ of the 100th Balcony somehow removed the fog from its patron’s views, though whether magic or just clever technology was the cause would not be readily apparent.
Dorya didn’t pay much attention to the view: she’d seen it plenty of times before. What the Operative watched instead was Kereth as the woman set down – wherever the Siren’s eyes chose to look, she could be assured that the dark eyes of the Unmade would be solely on her. Without removing her eyes from the woman, Dorya gestured to the man standing behind the bar lit by soft, neon blue light panels, the glow matching the runners edging the loft’s waist-high boundaries, and indicated that he should happen by to take their drink orders.
Dorya smiled cryptically at her charge, judging the Siren’s reactions to what was around her carefully.
“A lot of trade deals take place in these seats: it seems the grandeur of the city’s infrastructure does wonders to open the wallets of investors.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Apr 27, 2015 15:47:31 GMT -5
Keretheriel, for her part, silently lingered and lightly held her smirk as her Aide approached another woman― this particular dark-haired beauty already showing herself to be far more impressionable than Dorya herself. The Siren couldn't help but catch the attendant's eyes, holding her gaze for as long she cast a glance in Keretheriel's direction. Her amusement grew every time the other woman visibly remembered that it was Dorya she should be minding. To be fair, the attendant had likely never encountered a creature like the Siren: it wasn't quite fair to describe her as weak or malleable: it was simply how the majority of humans reacted in Keretheriel's presence― something the former Guardian had quickly intuited when she'd first begun testing the extent of Alpha's gift. Almost without exception humans were inexplicably drawn to the petite vixen. With a little less restraint on her part, Altered followed suit. A dash of reckless abandon to tighten her grip and an Akrathi would stop dead, mid-charge for her, consequences be damned.
The truth was that even without her particular brand of allure Keretheriel was certainly the kind of woman that could slow time for any onlooker with the force of her stare alone. The game was just so much more fun when she could shift the landscape at the speed of thought. . .
So no, it wasn't entirely accurate to assume the lovely attendant was without agency: Keretheriel was simply slightly more attention-grabbing than a woman wearing practically nothing in a public space might be. And really, even the most stoic finding themselves uncharacteristically affected by her presence would still be able to chalk up their interest to unusually attractive features and a hip to waist ratio that was almost obscene. . .
Dorya drew Keretheriel's focus easily enough and, with a parting wink and oh-so-intimate smile offered to the attendant, the petite vixen moved to follow her Aide with a swing to her hips that was even more enticing because of its lack of affectation.
Ethereally-pale eyes swept the room as full lips parted easily in amusement― though the expression more likely translated into awe and appreciation. The Siren seemed at once oblivious to her effect on those sharply-dressed patrons, but also aware that the hushed tones and curious glances following her every step were not normal fare. The easy grace to her movements charmed those watching eyes, assuring them that she-who-captivated them knew nothing of her allure and made it that much easier for them to openly admire her. It was a delicate balance, to draw the 'public' eye in such a manner without polarizing the room into chaos. Would they even remember the explicit nature of that dress and would it cause them to reconsider their impressions of the midnight-haired woman? When the loft stairs as well as the wide-shouldered man guarding them came into view, Keretheriel slowed her pace, taking the time to meet the man's eyes and offer him a smile that was solely for him and not to be mistaken for any generally polite expression. The smile widened when he stepped to the side to allow them passage and the Siren paused for the space of a moment to let her gaze linger before dropping her chin in silent acknowledgment and continuing to follow Dorya. The smile shifted to a smirk the moment no one was in a position to watch the change. A few centuries of disuse had not caused her to lose her touch. She still had it.
When Dorya finally led them to their table, Keretheriel visibly paused when her gaze fell on the beginnings of a breathtaking sunset. It might difficult to tell, but it wasn't the view of the City that slightly lessened the satisfaction in her smirk, or drained the amusement from her eyes. For an extremely brief moment, the Siren forgot about Vascxious Sigma and the Jiv'Undus range, though it was those very jagged peaks her eyes traced. It was a remembered sunset behind a different mountain frame in another lifetime that jarred enough to sober her features. Her stare dropped away as her body smoothly bent onto a seat directly across from Dorya, pale rising to meet dark with a trace of that incorrigible smirk hovering on her mouth as the other woman began to speak.
Keretheriel returned the enigmatic smile with one that was no less vague.
"I have no doubt in the truth of your words. It is difficult to be reserved and guarded with such a fantastic sight to stir the emotion. It creates a mood that can be difficult to deny."
The Siren's attention shifted to man swiftly approaching their table, presumably on Dorya's gesture. After an unabashed, but quick survey of Keretheriel the man swept a bow and introduced himself, following up quickly with a thorough listing of the featured mixed drinks and their enticing but short descriptions before asking after their preferences for the evening. The Siren listened carefully before ordering something called a Grey Temptress, before glancing at Dorya and continuing.
"My lovely friend here will have the same, I think. Don't you think a bit of tempting could brighten her night?" Keretheriel's accent thickened, catching on the words before she laughed lightly at the implication.
The barkeep grinned as he looked over Keretheriel before finally turning his attention to the other woman, his expression becoming slightly more solemn. He seemed to pause, waiting for Dorya to confirm or deny before turning back to Keretheriel and proffering another short bow and proceeding to take his leave to fulfill her order.
"Interesting name for a drink. I don't think I've heard of that one before. . ." Keretheriel watched Dorya intently, perhaps measuring the woman across from her.
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Apr 29, 2015 10:35:10 GMT -5
Dorya watched the Siren’s reaction with a careful eye. The Operative knew almost nothing about the woman opposite her with regards to history, save that it was somehow intertwined with Alpha’s own, and while Keretheriel definitely presented herself as someone unfamiliar with the wonder that was modern Vascxious Sigma, her reaction to seeing the view might tell Dorya a bit about how experienced Kereth was with industrialized civilization in general. For most who came to Vascxious Sigma from smaller, more rural areas, which encompassed the majority of the continent, a view like this would be staggering. However, those who had spent any time in Azaleth city, or was old enough to have visited old Risis or Faedras, would be substantially less impressed, though still likely awed in a gentle way by what they were seeing. The Siren’s reaction, or lack thereof, might tell Dorya something about where the woman was from – or at least her level of familiarity with impressive cityscapes.
Alas, the Operative would be disappointed: Kereth’s features didn’t reveal anything that the woman could hope to decipher, which was quickly becoming a running theme. Dorya didn’t let her disappointment show, however, and instead smoothly moved on to responding to the Siren’s spoken words, rather than searching for meaning in her unspoken expressions.
“The grandeur of the sight also tends to inspire a great deal of confidence in Vascxious Sigma’s infrastructure and business potential: it’s easy to imagine all of the money one can make through trade with such a clear view of leaving and arriving airships.”
The fact that the Loft was popular for business deals was, of course, no accident: perception had a large influence on success, and those in charge of the City ensured that the right perceptions were always maintained with business partners and potential investors, even those of the political variety.
Dorya smirked as the bartender approached and began his normal presentation, albeit with a touch more flair than he usually injected in his words an actions, undoubtedly due to the peculiar attractive force Keretheriel seemed to wield everywhere she went. When the man turned to the Operative after the Siren’s assertion as to her drink order, Dorya dismissively waved him away, affirming her dinner partner’s choice without complaint. DOryadidn’t usually drink anything, and it was unlikely she would actually imbibe anything that was set in front of her, but she allowed Kereth to have her fun. Besides, as the bartender quickly returned with the drinks, placing the tumblers of silver-tinged liquid in front of each of the women in turn, the drinks allowed Dorya to continue to act as a walking information terminal for the ill-informed Siren, touching the small stirrer in her drink with forefinger and thumb as she spoke again.
“It’s named after a local performer, Grey Haze, who also owns a well-populated lounge in Third District called A Judicial Affair. One of many local concoctions named after Vascxious Sigma celebrities: another popular choice is the Pristine Pearl, a drink made in honor of Floraelia Devinian.”
Dorya smirked wryly at her own words – the beloved status of the Second District Councilwoman was rarely allowed to be forgotten, and while the Operative herself had no direct issue with the Magistrate’s daughter, the level of sycophantic attention the woman received in the city tended to become grating, if only for its pervasiveness. The Unmade stirred her glass absently as she continued on, not bothering to even attempt to pick up and taste the hazy, swirling silver contents within.
“I’m not sure how it is where you are from, but here, with Vascxious Sigma’s unparalleled level of technology and industrialization, we have time and energy to spend diversifying and inventing those things considered luxury elsewhere: for example, it isn’t confirmed, but we estimate that there are more unique restaurants in this city than exist in the entirety of Azaleth combined.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Apr 29, 2015 21:43:03 GMT -5
Keretheriel did spare a moment to glance back over the view of the cityscape, the weight of her stare measuring as it touched the outline of the airdock and then flit back upward to where the two massive airships lumbered along over the skyline.
"I suppose there is logic in that. It's not a far cry to imagine your reach in that case. Perception of power goes quite a way. . ." The low, honeyed tones trailed off dismissively: there were far more interesting things to talk about just now.
Sure, Keretheriel had considered that Dorya might have suggested this specific location and it's view with the intention of provoking the same kind of response in her, but it was Keretheriel who made the choice. She could allow herself to be swept up in the 'grandeur' or not.
Pale eyes honed in on Dorya instead.
When the drinks were settled in front of them the Siren didn't bother to glance down until her Aide began speaking again, telling her about the drink she'd ordered. One delicately shaped brow quirked upward. What didn't the girl know? Of course, the latter of the exposition she offered was even more interesting and provoked a light snicker from the petite vixen.
"Pristine? Your meaning earlier, when you said it was not like her to take lovers― it is true then? They name a drink in honor of her purity?"
The more Keretheriel heard the Magistrate's daughter's name, the more intrigued she became by the picture being painted. Not only could she claim lineage from Alpha, but she shared her bed with men like Viers, and yet it appeared she was celebrated for some impression of virginity. The concept of purity or chasteness in general was silly, but that Floraelia Devinian was placed on such a pedestal, a pedestal she knew Viers would waste no time using as support to bend her body over, amused the Siren to no end. To be fair, the woman's entire apartment was all in white: there wasn't a single true accent color to be found. Perhaps when she finally met this Immaculate Unsullied Daughter of Alpha she would understand the public― and apparently inside― perception of her.
It wouldn't take long for the Siren to move on, just as Dorya did.
"Do you intend to wait for me to offer up more information about myself or do you consider it a better strategy to ask what it is you think is important to know, my Doh-ree-ah. Hm?"
That otherworldly stare did not disengage from the other woman's features.
As a side note, Keretheriel realized she really had chosen the best City to bed down in for a while. If Vascxious Sigma was among the most technologically advanced then she would do well to familiarize herself with what this age had to offer right here: nowhere else would she have access to the same opportunities. . .
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on May 9, 2015 10:14:05 GMT -5
Dorya might have snickered at the Siren’s question, had it come from someone else: it was an amusing implication, and the crux of its humor value floated on the folksy “I don’t know what’s going on here” foreigner charm that Kereth was, either intentionally or otherwise, putting on. Dorya wasn’t drawn in by it though: instead, her dark eyes leveled on Kereth, and she responded in a manner that was entirely deadpan, which, coincidentally, made her response emotionally indistinguishable from the majority of other things she had said throughout the evening.
“The name comes more from observations of Ms. Devinian’s chosen wardrobe color scheme. I’m sure you noticed a certain propensity for white while you were enjoying yourself on her bed. But, then again, you might have been too distracted.”
The words might have had the arrangement of a joke, but Dorya didn’t modify her tone of voice or delivery in order to make it sound like one. In most situations, what the Operative had just said would have been considered ‘crossing a line’: Søren or another member of the Council certainly would have struck back ha decisively at Dorya for her ‘insolence,’ but thus far Kereth hadn’t bothered to try and make a clear showing of her positional superiority. Instead, the Council-Elect seemed to be intent on pushing Dorya to assert herself, and the Unmade wasn’t going to shy away from seeing just how far she could push her positional boundaries.
“I would ask if I thought it mattered. The only pieces of information that is relevant to me right now is whether you can solidify your spot in the Council, and whether you are genuine about intending to help me do the same. Everything else is immaterial, or something I can figure out on my own.”
Dorya pressed her drink to the side and leveled her gaze very acutely on Keretheriel’s own. If the Siren had intended to get Dorya to level with her, she had achieved her goal: the Unmade was seemingly ready to drop all pretense and cut down to the bones of the situation they now found themselves a part of.
“But since I know a lot more about this city and the kind of obstacles you are going to have to overcome in it than you do, it’s more prudent to focus on asking what you need to know, since it’s a considerably longer list.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Jun 26, 2015 11:07:14 GMT -5
Keretheriel's lips practically curled into a smirk as she waited for Dorya to complete her thought before injecting honey tones oh-so-smoothly.
"Ah, my Lovely, be careful with the number of references to my recreational activities: I may be led to believe you harbor some bitterness toward me for it."
The Siren's playful expression had some weight to it as she evenly held the other woman in her gaze. No, she had absolutely no intention of curtailing any perceived insolence from Dorya: at least, not for that. Keretheriel hadn't displayed any vulnerability when Dorya had walked in on her stark naked― if that set of circumstances hadn't managed to fluster the vixen, more references to her sexuality certainly wouldn't accomplish any more.
When her Aide moved on Keretheriel was content to do the same.
"Good. If you ask, I will answer."
The Siren nodded, her accent very heavy, as if it were settled.
"I'm confident in my ability to solidify my position anywhere, though I'll admit it's not nearly as interesting just now as your own motivations. Tell me, Doh-ree-ah, what is the draw of becoming a part of Vascxious Sigma's Council?"
Their drinks had been delivered and it should have been past time for the flirtatious young man to grace them with his presence and work to fulfill their orders, but somehow they were left alone. In fact, not only did they remain undisturbed, but none seemed interested in invading the loft. Keretheriel's influence worked for more than just creating thralls, it seemed.
The tip of a slender index finger traced the glass rim idly as the Siren watched the other woman, curiosity visible in her expression.
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Jul 7, 2015 9:51:12 GMT -5
By this point in their interaction, Dorya had made the conscious decision to no longer be surprised by the Siren’s intense interest in the Variance’s own motives: that didn’t mean that the constant questions weren’t still annoying however, though Dorya recognized that some part of her annoyance came from the uncomfortable feeling elicited by the woman’s direct attention. Someone wondering about her thoughts and feelings was a new phenomenon for Dorya to grow accustomed to, and while the attention in and of itself made no real difference to Dorya’s level of comfort, being put in a position where she was, in essence, forced to explain herself honestly made the Variance more than a teensy bit edgy. The Operative didn’t let her discomfort show, however: she knew she would have to get with the program in order for Keretheriel to be satisfied enough to assist her. Human motivations were so strange.
Dorya leaned back in her seat languidly, suddenly aping Keretheriel’s slow, sensual posture cues as though she had been practicing them for years. Stretching one of her arms over the chair back and curling her fingers just-so, Dorya’s smile slid like a serpent into a visual mirror of one of Kereth’s earlier expressions.
“Why the Council? For me, the Council means both power and freedom: the power to influence others and achieve my own goals, and the freedom to dictate my own activities and interests to my own ends, rather than having them dictated to me by someone else.”
Once she delivered her lines with a very convincing hint of the Siren’s own out-of-town accent, the Operative suddenly dropped all pretense and leaned forward, returning to her efficient, deadpan manner of speech and body language, though her dark eyes didn’t part from Kereth’s for even a second.
“Your next question will likely be, ‘but what are your own goals, Dor-ee-ah?’ That answer is irrelevant, but since you won’t accept that as an explanation, the truth is, I’m not sure: I’ll figure that out when I have the power to set my own life course.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Jul 21, 2015 20:28:05 GMT -5
The Siren watched her thusfar impertinent Aide closely, her features becoming more and more predatory by the time the other woman had ceased to speak.
Keretheriel stared into Dorya as if she could see the inner workings of the dark-skinned femme's mind and didn't bother to keep the edges of her lips from curling just enough to show teeth.
It was at the point where the moment would stretch into the kind of awkward that would cause those of inferior make to either scramble to fill the void-deep silence or look away and pray for the divine to intervene that the Betrayer's expression shifted just enough to provoke interest. It was no trick of the light had here: it was unfiltered hunger and predation that lay exposed on beautifully-constructed features. It would be impossible to misinterpret that Keretheriel's demeanor had suddenly shifted to negotiate more dangerous terrain.
The Siren's chin lifted and her body was already centered over the center of the table, the distance betwixt she and her quarry half gone, supported by open palms and bent knees.
"You do not understand your position. . ."
Keretheriel's voice dropped in volume, scarcely louder than a whisper― her tone had become the kind of caustic that could wear away bone and yet still the scent of honey lingered. Anyone could find themselves utterly eroded in that storm and yet look only to escape after one more taste.
The Siren slid one hand after the other, the smooth paleness of her mostly-exposed flesh gliding across the gilded tabletop until she could look directly down into Dorya's features.
"Allow me to clarify it for you."
If Dorya had moved to back away by this point, she would find herself greeted by a smirk that could only be described as manic. Slowly, steadily she climbed onto the petite femme's lap, barring the possibility that Dorya had vacated the chair― in which case the petite woman would find herself inexorably stalked wherever she happened to move.
"You have been given to me, Doh-ree-ah. Do you understand this word?"
Keretheriel's lips brushed against the line of her jaw before even teeth closed around her earlobe, pinching lightly before she pressed the word to the other woman's ear.
"Given."
A pause. The Siren traced a path across her cheek with the tip of her tongue, leaving no room for misinterpreting her actions: she was tasting the other woman.
"Your status, no matter how useful you prove to be, is that of a doll. Less, even, if you cannot find it in yourself to be agreeable. Nevertheless, a doll. A toy."
The words were punctuated by a soft caress against the side of Dorya's face as Keretheriel strongly encouraged her to keep eye contact, regardless of how indolent the Siren's expression had become― as if she stated truths that were universally known.
"When you are of such status and you desire to become greater, you strive to discover what it is those who can grant it to you desire. Do you believe your Alpha would invite an imposter into the midst of the Tower and idly bestow any asset for her use? Do you believe your Alpha would offer a seat on the very Council you look to assimilate into on a whim? Your insolence would insinuate you think me beneath you, dearest Dorya. Your lack of cooperation provokes a demonstration . . ."
The Siren slid from Dorya's lap and moved into the open space between the nearest tables.
"Remove your clothes, poppet."
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Jul 21, 2015 22:41:12 GMT -5
Dorya’s deadpan expression didn’t change – the Operative had no way of knowing whether Kereth had been expecting or [/i]hoping for[/i] some kind of visible reaction from her charge. If she had, the Siren would undoubtedly be disappointed to be faced with the impassioned expression of exactly what she accused the Variance of being: a Doll.
As the Siren crawled languidly over the table like a stalking predator, the Operative didn’t flinch – in fact, Dorya made sure to push her drink just enough to the side that it wouldn’t impede the woman’s progress as she advanced and, in so doing, ensured the corrosive, alcoholic liquid would not spill and ruin Kereth’s lovely dress, despite the knowledge that it was very likely not ‘real’ in the first place. Dorya ensured that her body was accommodating as the Siren slithered into her lap, and the Variance didn’t bother trying to break eye contact: her dark eyes kept an even stride with the other woman’s, each individual orb giving off the warmth and expression of a of a well-shined gem of coal.
The new Counselor called it insolence, but what Dorya had done through her mocking speech had been tactical in its own way. The Siren had made a big show of being so very willing to ‘help’ Dorya and of being so very interested in the Operatives goals. So had Ghanima, and others – in the end, their interest never amounted to any net gain of position or freedom for Dorya herself. The Operative was always very sharply reminded of her lot in life and re-locked inside her collar eventually, only to wait for the next assignment, and the next passing interest to be taken in her existence. Keretheriel, who spent so much time and energy in their early moments focused on Dorya’s plans and desires, also did not hesitate to reaffirm, the second she was in some way slighted, exactly where Dorya belonged: under her heel. Better to get the truth out early than be unsure: the Operative knew better than to trust the Siren, but she also had to be clear on what the rules and boundaries of their ‘relationship’ really were. Clearly, the woman was not as open to collaboration as she claimed, a fact that surprised Dorya less than a micron’s length.
Kereth would find the woman under her sufficiently pliable – a strong, hard body that nonetheless responded in perfect synchronous nature to her physical requests. Dorya didn’t shirk or look away, nor did she show any sign of discomfort at the Siren’s taken liberties. Her taste, though, would undoubtedly be peculiar to the woman – someone with that level of magic floating about her body would surely feel the slight tingling, electrical pulse from the lines crossing the Operative’s dark skin as they intersected with the Siren’s probing tongue: Dorya tasted like charged metal, a blade honed and powered by an immense amount of contained energy. Underneath her, Kereth would feel the density and rigidity of Dorya’s form – a womanly shape that was devoid, almost entirely, of softness, save in a very few areas. Dorya felt different, though Kereth might have been too intent on her prey’s responses to care about the physicality of the woman under her: perhaps she would think on the strangeness at a later time, when she had less to do.
When the Siren slipped herself away and gave her command, Dorya smoothly stood, expressionlessly reaching for the buttons on the front of her coat.
“As you wish, Mistress.”
Dorya’s words were deadpan in their tone, crafted specifically to be prostrate and pliable, without even a hint of mocking intention – just like a good servant should sound. She quickly unbuttoned her coat and shrugged it back over her shoulders, pulling it from her body with her right hand before quickly folding it in front of her and pivoting slightly to place it on the back of her chair. Underneath the coat was a black bodysuit, edged with a sturdy, dark-blue tactical belt with a silver buckle, gloves, and heavy military boots. The gloves came off next, and they were laid on top of the folded coat, followed by the belt. Dorya turned partly to the side as she bent over to unclasp her boots and step out of them before setting them to the chair’s left side.
The Operative moved in an efficient, though smooth and unhurried manner, only ever taking her eyes off of Keretheriel’s own for the few seconds it took to turn and place an item of clothing at the chair behind her when she was finished removing it. Reaching carefully to the middle of her back, the Operative quickly unzipped her black compression bodysuit and began sliding it off her arms and her shoulders, revealing the intricate grey lines of the tattoos that covered not only her face and neck, but the remainder of her body as well, snaking down her arms in sharp, perfect lines that only terminated at the tips of her fingers. Puling the bodysuit over her chest revealed a brassiere designed to keep her breasts efficiently compressed – better for tactical movement- which was also black in color, and finally, as the suit was pulled down past the Operative’s wide hips, her last piece of clothing, a deep blue pair of modest underwear was revealed. The Variance carefully pulled the bodysuit down her legs and finally off her short, yet thickly-designed frame, quickly folded it, and set it down on the chair behind her with the other pieces.
That gone, Dorya didn’t hesitate to take off the rest – first the brassiere, which was unclasped carefully due to its specific design: when the fasteners at the back were undone they created an immediate release in tension, allowing one of the only soft parts of Dorya’s body to stretch and hang more naturally – and for her purposes, more inefficiently. That piece of covering set with the others Dorya made sure to keep her eyes locked with the Siren’s as she slid her bottoms carefully down her thick, muscular legs, revealing two potential surprises to the woman opposite her. The first was that Dorya’s skin-markings did indeed cover every inch of her body in some way, with no particular area spared of decoration, making it fairly clear that the sigils, whatever there meaning, were not likely aftermarket additions to the woman’s external physiology. The second ‘surprise’ was likely the more significant, however: where Keretheriel had undoubtedly expected traditional female reproductive equipment she would find a rather dramatic example of the opposite, despite how at odds the large, prominently displayed organ was in comparison to the Operative’s very feminine shape.
The Operative clasped her hands carefully behind her back, seemingly unaware, insofar as her external demeanor showed, that she had just entirely disrobed in a very, very public place. Tipping her chin downward just enough to indicate the requisite level of subservience, despite her unblinking stare, Dorya spoke evenly, though certainly not at as much length as Kereth might have hoped for, given her lecture.
“I understand my position, Mistress Keretheriel. It is well beneath yours.”
Carefully, Dorya sank to her knees.
“Since I have been given to you, use me as you see fit.”
You aren’t the first. You won’t be the last.
I don’t need any of you.
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Post by Keretheriel on Jul 22, 2015 7:52:37 GMT -5
Keretheriel's gaze cooled the instant Dorya acquiesced, her expression becoming difficult to interpret as each item of clothing was stripped indifferently from the other woman.
It was a lesson in frustration, with this one, and so far the Siren hadn't found one boundary. She might have found a sore spot in calling dear Dorya a doll, but the other woman's politicking face was impenetrable. To be fair, Keretheriel hadn't expected Dorya to respond to the command so easily. She suspected that she'd never know the truth of how closely Dorya was compelled to follow her direction because she was never in a position to watch her behave with Alpha. All that she knew for sure now was that if she couldn't trust Dorya with something sensitive she must outline her commands very, very carefully. After all, the woman wanted power. The most complex, airtight command seals in the world couldn't stop a woman with ambition.
The edge of her mouth twitched.
She'd wondered how expansive the markings on Dorya were. Now she had an answer. Though once that last garment was removed Keretheriel openly stared for a moment, unable to keep one delicate brow from arching just the slightest.
Well. That was an interesting development.
When Dorya spoke again, subsequently sinking to her knees, the Siren's expression showed a hint of teeth once more, though it was a very different sort of provocation that fueled the change. Keretheriel stared down at her, letting a few seconds tick by before responding quietly.
"Do you believe your position is truly beneath mine? Would you tell me anything less than what you think I want to hear?"
Keretheriel eyed her reproachfully, perhaps offering an unexpected response.
"I will not use you this way, Doh-ree-ah." The heavy implication that she'd intended to sexually violate her was rescinded fairly quickly: there would be no enjoyment had with a participant that was less than completely eager.
"At least, not until you desire me to." Those pale eyes watched the dark-skinned femme carefully, her expression even.
"It would be a mistake for me to use you in any way you did not prefer when you have made it clear you seek freedom and power over yourself, no?"
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Post by Tahliya Carystian on Jul 30, 2015 19:28:15 GMT -5
Dorya stared up at the Siren impassively, watching the woman ‘oh, just kidding’ on her implications as if she wasn’t thrown off by the Operative’s sudden change in demeanor. As far as Dorya was concerned, Keretheriel’s high opinion of herself was already beginning to become a handicap, and though at first, the Siren was able to project enough of an understanding of How Dorya functioned, it had now become clear that the woman didn’t understand the Operative she was staring down on from on high in the slightest. Keretheriel kept going on about wants and desires as if everything she encountered prompted Dorya to create a new like, dislike or opinion: perhaps most humans operated that way, through some strange evolutionary drive, but the Unmade, with limited exceptions, only grouped things into two categories: useful or irrelevant
“If you are waiting for me to beg for it, Counselor-Elect, I’m afraid you are going to waste whatever undoubtedly-considerable lifespan you possess doing so. Unless, that is, you order me to.”
Considering that Kereth had, thus far, done nothing further to demand Dorya’s show of subservience, the Unmade smoothly rose back to her feet, though she made no attempt to turn away from the Siren and reclaim any of her clothing from the chair behind her. Unabashedly, Dorya kept her dark eyes locked on Kereth’s.
“My position is beneath yours, and that will remain the case until Alpha assigns me elsewhere or I rise to the Council and sit across from you. I don’t make speculations on what I think you want to hear: if you are more comfortable with my acting as a toy or plaything than an advisor, then so be it: I will fulfil my mission, and my objectives, given by you and otherwise, regardless of what role you feel most comfortable with me filling. I’m here to take care of your needs and ensure a smooth transition for you: if that means spending eight hours a day servicing you sexually from under the table and the remaining sixteen cleaning up your diplomatic messes, then that is the role I will play. You can use me as furniture or lock me in a closet, but I will still manage my duties completely, the same as if I am let loose at all times to handle things on my own. Your mistake is to think that I have preferences one way or the other.”
Dorya clasped her hands loosely behind her bare bottom, taking on the same at-ease position she had during the two women’s time together earlier in the Tower, regardless of her state of dress.
“If you define freedom and power over oneself as their ability to say ‘no’ to any given request, you might then think that assent to things you consider demeaning or beneath you is to demonstrate a lack of both, but it can be easy to mistake larger goals or a lack of preference in a particular area for a subservient lack of will.”
Dorya smoothly stepped forward and unhesitatingly pressed the front of her body directly against Kereth’s, letting their chests and hips meet and the Operative’s hands rest lightly on either side of the Siren’s pelvis.
“I want to fulfil my given mission, and my given mission entails serving you in whatever way you see fit. Therefore if you desire to use me in a particular way, you can assume I desire the same. In that way, my desires mimic yours; there’s no reason to make it more complicated.”
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Post by Nebuchadnezzar on Aug 2, 2015 18:12:41 GMT -5
She stood there, staring back and, at first; without a hint of recognition. As if staring into the eyes of a stranger— a terrifying one at that. The moment lasted longer than comfort allowed; the nude effigy in the mirror only stirring once the King found herself jolted by the arctic wind and snow beating against the window.
Discomfort didn’t begin to describe it. All had been a little off track since she’d been bereaved of Isaak, still not understanding to this day if he were simply gone from the world, dispatched by death or had gotten bored. Those times were long past….but they had to have something to do with the problems, didn’t they?
Was she grieving or was it hatred? And was she only thinking of Isaak or had the effigy containing the persona of Xanatos Uriel Wolfe intruded upon her psyche as well? Pride was a funny thing— it told her there was no reason to waste time trying to figure it out.
Three days since she’d arrived in the Seventh District. The beautiful city and air-dock was something to behold— more advanced than what she had seen within the Black Sun empire and not quite so technologically pretentious as the sky city, Lu`Rae, that her twin sister held authority by marriage over.
Though the King could have used her talents, she had elected to arrive in the polite and dignified manner: announced through any proper channels, by aero-vehicle and complete with attaches, licences and any other required documentation meant to put the bureaucracy of lesser beings who’s job was to see to paperwork at ease— even if the better part of it was a constructed farce.
Nebuchadnezzar existed, officially, nowhere at all. And she was no longer content to walk and wander through life pining away. She wanted to run.
Back to the mirror where she knew recently and again in thanks to the Djinn and his abandonment been asking where exactly was she not enough— but that had past. It was time to understand how little control she had over whimsy. He’d been a creature of it; unable to dedicate himself to her anywhere near as close as he could to his brethren and their nation-building. And perhaps as usual she had been too cold and remote to retain his fascination? Yet, still, she was enough. With a tilt she saw herself again, finally- not a stranger in the mirror. A King. The Demiurge in the truest sense of the word and especially compared to her brethren-hive; all of which whom wielded power a fraction as intimidating as her own.
A glass of red wine was brought momentarily to her lips. Malbec; her favorite. Heady to a point it was nearly spicy; leaving a pleasant burn to trail down her sternum while she turned all of that pale, perfect flesh away from the mirror and padded to a small anteroom in her suite. It must have doubled in the past as a waiting room rather than one meant for dressing— but the building; could it have been so old as to warrant a redesign from the classic origins to the modern? Another of many unsettling factors of the city. Even her eyes couldn’t see the age of the structures so easily.
Something was off, but she paid it no mind. Nebuchadnezzar’s auxiliary, a young and cherubic blond who had wandered onto her property some months earlier had preceded her arrival in the seventh district; populating the dressing room rods and shelves with anything the King needed from an extensive wardrobe. All of it was bought new— the King hadn’t packed a thing and in the spirit of her admittedly pretentious sense of luxury as a constant she’d had the garb she’d arrived in immediately sent down for cleaning after one wear.
While she had no need to prepare for the extreme weather there was still, at least; a want for comfort in her garb. Sorting through the hanged garments; she chose a short hooded mutton-fur coat, soft brown leather legwear and short boots with heels any other woman may have seen as an unnecessary danger when facing ice and snow.
Never the King of course.
Some time later she was in a lift somewhere inside of Tower 67; traveling past one hundred floors. Her skin was dappled with moisture— the melting of frost that had formed on her bare skin on the way from the hotel to the Tower. The King expressed no discomfort, though her flesh was a seamless imitation of the “real thing” formed out of smart matter it did display some faint redness.
Unlike her twin she was unfamiliar to the city and had no especially important credentials that may warrant a trip into The Loft. However, she’d been able through the mentioned Auxiliary to pay her way onto the balcony and next to the window where the overcast, heavily snowing sky beat down upon the resilient city.
A gentleman in servant’s garb took the mutton fur coat and pulled the King’s chair out and waited for her to lower herself before he left her with a smile, a bow and a menu for the food, wines and deserts. It was a perfect moment, really— Nebuchadnezzar enjoyed her solitude more and more until something caught her breath—
Below, where normal human eyes would see nothing she had easily spotted someone uncomfortably familiar. A bowler hat, a somewhat goofy and dated suit more suited to vagabonds a century older. Loafers and no socks. Her breath caught and then she understood he was only a lookalike.
The Praetor had not followed her here. There was no reason to be alarmed...
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