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Post by Floraelia Devinian on Mar 17, 2014 17:38:27 GMT -5
To say that Floraelia had forgotten there was a meal in front of her was an understatement. Her day had been long, what with the Council meeting regarding the national status of a certain deposed Empress and the more private discussion with her father afterward. Seeing Aeorex for what seemed like too short a time had done much to help her to unwind, but the conversation with Viers had her keyed up again. Certainly the Mithrian woman could function quite well without sleep, but her fatigue wasn't necessarily physical: too much had happened in the short time since she'd returned to the Frozen City and she needed time to decompress. Those rich, jewel-toned eyes glanced down at greens of the same hue regretfully, accepting that she really just wasn't that hungry. The timbre of his voice distracted her from her internal debate on how she should make her exit gracefully. It wasn't that Viers couldn't hold her attention any longer, it was that she'd hit her limit for the day and now she wanted to sort through what she'd learned and construct a plan of action. It wasn't the first time she'd wonder whether she should be looking for a personal assistant to handle anything that didn't require her touch and it wasn't the first time she'd instantly reject the idea: things were always made better when guided by her hand.
”Third shipment it should be, then. I'll trust you to make the arrangements on that,” her assent was murmured as one elbow braced against the edge of the table so that her chin might rest against the palm of her hand.
It was the direction his response went after that incited the flash in her eyes and the nearly imperceptible stiffening to her relaxed posture. She was well aware of what she was supposed to consider what a man like Aeorex could expect from her if she mixed her professional interest with her personal interest in him even once. It wasn't even that she thought Aeorex to be unscrupulous or even exploitative— past a certain degree at any rate— but that she was supposed to. Viers' cautionary tone hit a nerve because there was a very real part of her that wanted to cross those lines with Aeorex and not just to see what would happen or what he could really want from her as a result. It was an unrefined desire and a completely new experience at that — not to mention the man had given her more than one reason to believe that he was more than his persona.
She'd been commanded directly to reject his specific grip, both literal and figurative, by Euthyphyro. She'd been discouraged by her father much less directly and not specifically in regards to the CEO, but the influence was there. Now she was being lectured, however gently, on the dangers of mixing business transactions and personal expectations in the company of a powerful man like Aeorex.
Why did everyone feel the need to police how she conducted herself? She devoted a great majority of her time to looking for ways to improve the quality of life in Vascxious Sigma. She genuinely cared about the Second District and she took pride in helping to make decisions that shaped the largest economic center on the continent. She did not take her position of power for granted and always retained the nobility and dignity that Mithria herself couldn't find fault in. Floraelia thoroughly engrossed herself in the needs of the people and put off furthering her own interests regularly. Why, then was everyone so damnably concerned that she not give Aeorex any leverage on her when she'd proven time and again that she was quite adept at handling herself and very delicate interests? Would it really compromise her that much? It wasn't as if he'd be fitting a collar to her neck or chains to her wrists. She'd prefer it, really if she didn't even have to think of it in those terms: was there any real reason she had to treat Aeorex like he was only a political ally in one context while in another he was the Wolf that stole her breath and colored her cheeks? Therein lied the truth of it regardless of her rebellious temperament: she wanted to think of her relationship with him in terms of how she wanted to connect with him, but there was the political aspect she couldn't ignore. As much as she wanted to believe that Aeorex could be trusted not to undermine her interests she simply would not take the chance, not after being on Aidan's table.
Did it hit a nerve because it made Floraelia want to rebel against being so practical or did it actually bother her that a man who didn't fully understand the political climate she was immersed in considered himself knowledgeable and familiar enough to offer her negotiation advice? He was a civilian. No matter how charming he was or how interesting he had proven to be Viers was still an outsider and he'd overstepped. Fortunately the Mithrian was not one ruled solely by her emotions: she could recognize when someone spoke to her in earnest and with her best interests in mind. It wasn't as if Viers was aware that there was an unreasonable amount of objection from peripheral interests at her involvement with the CEO. . .
The Mithrian was quick to look up at him and offer a small smile untouched by the strain she felt at forcing the expression to appear genuine. His warning elicited a dip of her chin to show she heard him and considered his words carefully. She'd grant him a pass on overstepping this once because he said he cared about her— which she believed— and she could chalk up his concern to how intimidating Aeorex could come across in an initial impression. It would be tucked away, however, so that she might watch for a pattern.
”Perfect. The Magistrate has recalled the Council to the Tower, so I'll be there most of tomorrow. If I have a chance, I'll contact Miss Diriete to set up for something early next week. Just keep me updated on the constraints of your timeline and if the meeting needs to be adjusted I'll handle it. I'll have the terms of the arrangement drafted and the founding and declaration of your new organization settled by then. We'll look at suitable sites in Second District for exhibition some time in the next month, with an option to display a sister exhibit in Third District as well. Perhaps even in O. Holdings. . .” She was beginning to ramble a bit, but whether it was a true result of exhaustion rather than a calculated gesture was unclear. ”I've already spoken with Tower Nine's staff and instructed them to give you full access to my residence.” She looked down at her still-full plate and slid off her chair. ”I'm sorry, Viers. I'm much more tired than I realized.” She offered up an apologetic smile as she cleared away her utensils and put away the uneaten portion of salad for later.
When he expressed his pleasure at working with her the Mithrian offered a much warmer smile, one that thawed the cold that had set in those emerald eyes. ”I'm glad you feel that way, Viers. I'm truly grateful for having stumbled across you in that Outpost. I have a good feeling that we'll dig up some interesting discoveries for ourselves. . .” At his suggestion of a celebratory drink her eyes narrowed slightly. ”I think I'd prefer to share a drink when we've got Aeorex's signature on our contract. That will certainly be something to celebrate. . .” Green met violet before sliding away carefully, avoiding the line of his shoulders she'd decided was quite attractive. ”I'm going to try to sleep for a few hours. I'll need to be at the Tower early to prepare for the meeting. Good night, Viers.” The Mithrian dipped her chin once more before moving to return to her bedroom. There was no chance she'd sleep: there was too much to think about.
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Mar 23, 2014 11:49:03 GMT -5
Viers watched the woman carefully, gauging her reactions to his words with an analytical air, his interest disguised carefully as moderate interest and excitement. There were too many unknowns about both the woman and the situation around her for Viers to consider himself 'comfortable' where he was, but the man felt that his situation had drastically improved, if oh over that past few hours. Floraelia had committed her resources to his designs, and he had manage to cement his safehouse, a place that was safe primarily due to the fact that it lay in the beast's shadow: the Tower wouldn't be looking for him there, surely. With the basis of his infrastructure safely in place, it became time to move on to the next phase of his designs, namely getting his weapon into Ouroboros and getting it repaired, an act that now required him to pull from the rest of his stash to disguise it. The things he had recovered, which were primarily of sentimental value, were located in the steam tunnels, coincidentally not far from where he had encountered Floraelia originally. He would head back there in the morning, or perhaps sooner, depending on just how long his hostess kept him 'up.'
Floraelia's mind, and specifically the thoughts that currently lay inside it, were mysterious to Viers, and while he caught a sense of her stiffening at his suggestion of playing it professional with Aeorex, the man had no idea why. Hid suggestion had purely been an analytical one, but he wAs also aware that something about the Ouroboros CEO made the woman react oddly, and therefore Viers decided he would be more careful with the subject in the future: he couldn't afford to risk the infrastructure he had just established over a verbal misstep. He hated playing these kinds of games, but simultaneously Viers understood their necessity in his current position.
The man nodded along when Floraelia cemented their plans and announced that she intended to turn in, rising as she would. "No apology needed. It would be wise for me to do the same. Don't worry, I'll clean up." The am. Would take the time to save the unbeaten food and put the dishes away as Floraelia departed for bed, knowing full well that the staff would have take. Care of it in his stead. The movement have him time to let Floraelia settle in her room, away from him, and slowly let the penthouse lapse into the calm, quiet hum of late night silence, with only the wind whipping past the windows to break the monotony. In that silence, Viers would wait, and when he felt things were sufficiently settled, he would leave the kitchen. Yet, instead of going to his guest room and settling in for the night, Viers would slip out the front door, intending to leave Tower 9 altogether. Like Floraelia, Viers had no real need of sleep, and the night was the perfect time for him to traverse the city and dive beneath its surface, giving him ample time to retrieve his possessions from their hiding place in the tunnels and be back above ground in the morning.
As he rode the elevator towards the ground floor in silence, Viers smiled: it would be great to get moving again. While the dialogue games were necessary, and admittedly of prime importance, Viers had always enjoyed a good action sequence far more. Once he reached the city streets, Viers would take off at a light run, heading for the Mag Station: he would be under the Basilica in no time.
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Post by Floraelia Devinian on Mar 30, 2014 12:10:39 GMT -5
The sound of the door closing released tension she hadn't realized had taken residence between her shoulders. Could it have been considered odd that her guest was venturing out into the streets of Vascxious Sigma so late? Truly it wasn't any more unusual than the Diplomat planning to take the night to think through the last few days, decide how she felt about what, and formulate a plan for the several fronts she needed to operate on. At any rate, she assumed he'd decided, as she had, to immediately begin his work. It was better, then, that Viers had gone: she would think more clearly without the slow burn of a threat the man presented only a handful of doors away. Perhaps calling him a threat was somewhat of an overreaction, but Floraelia couldn't help but feel unbalanced by the violet-eyed man— an ability of his she needed to find a way to mitigate properly and very soon.
Here, in the dimmed light, the ever-luminous Mithrian watched her reflection absently. Her features had fallen into a neutrality that was cold— ruthlessly so— and could have been carved from the fairest marble rather than flesh and bone. Outside, in that City, in that Councilroom, anywhere, really, she was the Light in the room; everything she touched brightened and was better for her care. It was her duty, really: her heritage. She embraced it and it made her feel alive, but there were moments when she realized she felt so incredibly empty and couldn't help but question the why. The answer had always come easily enough before. . .
Floraelia leaned over, waving the diminutive expanse of her palm over the raised, metallic console. Behind her, the soothing sounds of whirling water rushing into the deep recess of a stone basin created a fine mist of steam so quickly that it hazed over her reflection.
A few minutes passed, and when the water slowed Floraelia finally exhaled. The bulk of her long, snow-colored hair was gathered and pinned into a tousled twist; the flutter of silk made a soft sound on the tile before delicate feet stepped into steaming water tentatively.
Priorities. The most pressing was the decree her father had given, though in the kindest way possible. It chafed, if she was truthful. Floraelia never liked her movement restricted, least of all when she was being confined within the gloomy spires of the Trade City. Virianus hadn't phrased it that way, and Floraelia knew she was being petulant. He only wanted to see more of her: her travels and negotiation with outside Nations and Empires already took her from the North fairly consistently. To have her gone for slightly more personal reasons was probably insulting to her father.
Startlingly white teeth bit into a full lower lip as she eased down into the piping hot water, leaning back carefully until her bottom was supported comfortably and the waterline caressed the edges of her collarbones.
She supposed she could look at it as a gentle reminder that she was needed. The Mithrian was an integral part of the Council and she could admit that she'd been mildly neglectful of her duties. . . That was settled: she would try not to harbor resentment toward her father simply for his pragmatism: she was behaving like a child and should be grateful that she hadn't earned his blatant disapproval.
Those gem-colored eyes glazed over. That the water had slowed to a stop escaped her notice: Floraelia only reveled in the heat.
Besides, she was also remarkably pragmatic when she wasn't letting personal details distract her. It was almost certain the reason Virianus wanted her attention refocused onto the City had everything to do with the removal of Esarhaddon— a decision she couldn't say she thought twice about— as well as the vacant Seats for Seventh and Eighth District. Of course, it was the now-vacant seat for Fourth District that was far more important, though she couldn't ignore that it likely earned the ire of the Magistrate that Seventh and Eighth had seen no nominations from anyone. What made the Fourth District Seat so crucial was its adjacency to the Seat of Third District— the realm of Aeorex Khestralicht— and its compatible economic interests. There was no question that Aeorex would look to place an unshakeable ally there: an aim Floraelia didn't have a particular intention to misdirect, per se. She was more than confident in her political capital and felt no looming threat from any powergrab that might come from the CEO. However, it was only judicious that she consider not only who he might nominate for the Seat, but also who she might prefer to deal with when it came to Fourth District's interests and where they might coincide with her own Second District needs. There was no one really, that she could think of out of hand that she would be dissatisfied with that could also be a potential nominee from Aeorex. Very loosely— loose because she would never offer anyone her blind faith, she planned to endorse his candidate if only to publicly offer him support that he might return the favor when and if she needed it. . .
The Mithrian knew Virianus would be expecting a candidate from all of them, and that was her next priority: she didn't just need a name to offer; she needed a name that would be useful Devoting further energy to Fourth District didn't appeal to her because there was no immediate candidate that came to mind— no one that could work in the best interests of the technology and medical center of the City. But Seventh and Eighth Districts could be a different story if she considered it. Eighth District and First District were both currently maintained by Ishmaél Mirr— a set of circumstances Floraelia had not thought to exert any influence in changing due to how serious Ishmaél took his responsibility as well as the compatible interests of those Districts: they were both industrial backbones for the City. Somewhere in all of that Floraelia knew the only reason those two Districts were split was to give the Council of Nine its number. A Council of Eight would be far more messy with no tie-breaking vote for the Magistrate. Until now, with Esarhaddon's impeachment, the status quo had been met, even with Ishmaél's dual votes. With three Seats open it was more complicated: the total number of Council members was now six, which placed Virianus in the disadvantageous position of no longer having a deciding vote. Well, certainly that wasn't precisely the case: if Alpha made his position clear and certain members of the Council continued to defy him there would always be consequences. . .
Floraelia scrolled through a mental list of everyone she considered qualified to be placed in the role of Council member. It was a very abbreviated period of time that passed. Truthfully, the Mithrian could think of no one well-suited enough to nominate, much less in relation to the specific interests of each District. There was no shortage of brilliant minds in the City, but brilliance did not indicate an ability to lead or make decisions in a greater context. . .
The water had turned to ice, the Mithrian realized as she lifted her head from where it rested on the raised edge of the basin. It was time to finish up and get dressed now that the night had gone: the Tower would not wait.
{End Scene}
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Apr 16, 2014 12:05:52 GMT -5
{Location: Tower Nine; 65 floor penthouse - Residence of Floraelia Devinian}
The bright morning light shone through the expansive windows of the penthouse, creating columns of blinding brilliance that splayed in geometric patterns across the floors, walls, and objects within the home of Floraelia Devinian. It was those geometric slivers, and the silence that surrounded them, that greeted Viers as he stepped off the penthouse lift. He knew Floraelia would be gone for some time, her mind and body preoccupied with the business of the ruling Council of which she was a member: her absence, naturally, was the only condition under which Viers would risk bringing Kereth within Floraelia’s inner sanctum, for he was certain that the white-haired woman would be none to please to learn that he, not a day after accepting her invitation to stay, had brought another unbidden into her home. The move was a risk, and one that seemed overwhelmingly impulsive and, in many ways, foolish, for a man in Viers’ particular position, and yet the Arc had made the decision nonetheless, seemingly disregarding the potential consequences. Was what he hoped to gain from Kereth so valuable as to be worth the risk? Or did he just have a good enough plan to cover his intentions, should word of his potential indiscretion reach Floraelia’s ear? The smirk that was being so easily maintained on the Arc’s lips told nothing of his intentions, save for the suggestive air it lent all of his words, regardless of whether they truly possessed a hidden meaning.
Once near to the kitchen, Viers would round on Keretheriel, who undoubtedly would not waste time in stepping off the lift at his back. “Do make yourself comfortable. Drink?” The Arc smoothly glided himself to the refrigeration cabinet, confidently opening it and reaching inside for a clear contained that seemed to hold some sort of carbonated juice. Fishing nearby for a glass, Viers’ violet gaze would scan the living room and kitchen combination, as in relearning the sights all over again in a new light. That thought was not far from the truth, considering his experience with Floraelia’s home had been mostly done in the nighttime hours, and the beaming sunlight shining from high above the peaks of the Jiv’Undus mountains in the distance casting the room into a very different configuration that it could be remembered in the dark.
Viers sipped idly at his drink before gesturing with it toward the room they inhabited, acting as a good host by downplaying the grandeur of the space he currently inhabited. “It’s small, but the view is magnificent. Guest room there,” he gestured toward the half-open door that led to the room where he was supposed to be sleeping, being sure to leave that particular bit of information out of the conversation.
”And that is the master bedroom.”
Viers nodded toward Floraelia’s closed door without making a motion to approach it: he would let Keretheriel explore for a moment, and watch the woman’s motions carefully.
The Arc was well aware that the former Guardian had not come to this place to become reacquainted with the particulars of his company: Viers might have a high opinion of himself, or at the very least project one, but he wasn’t a fool. Therefore, as Keretheriel would make her moves to examine the space, the Arc would stand idly in the kitchen, sipping on his drink before, finally, catching the woman’s eye and breaking his lips into a sharp grin.
“I have to say, I’m a little surprised you followed me so readily. Aren’t you worried that I led you here to turn you into the Magistrate in exchange for getting what I want accomplished? That sounds like something I might do, after all.”
Viers chuckled to himself, but clearly made no move to call in reinforcements: he seemingly was just trying to get the obvious out of the way so the two could get down to brass tacks with regards to intentions.
“Of course, I had considered that there might be information you were hoping to find here. About your former boss, perhaps?”
The Arc continued to sip idly on his drink, and should the woman ask, he would produce on for her as well, all without moving from his current spot. Keretheriel represented both a potential problem and a potential solution: while Viers would like to know which category to fit her in to, he was fairly sure she would continue to straddle both for the very near future. Though, perhaps he could manage to have her straddle something else at the same time, if he played his cards right.
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Post by Keretheriel on Apr 16, 2014 22:45:12 GMT -5
Keretheriel stepped from the confines of the elevator not as if she were an intruder, invading the penthouse— even if on invitation— but as if the space was rightfully hers. There was nowhere, it seemed, the Siren experienced discomfort. The petite Betrayer paused for a moment, considering the wide breadth of her Escort's shoulders before raising both hands to the dense fur trim of her hood and pushing it away from her features.
As Viers moved across the remarkably open floorplan to the kitchen, Keretheriel was immediately drawn to the breathtaking view of the Sigma City skyline. Daintily-formed fingers pulled her cloak's clasp apart, guiding the heavy garment to rest over a very inviting chaise.
The Siren created an extremely stark contrast simply by being there: every piece of linen and upholstery was toned in white and cream. The occasional trim of silver and accent of red did little to break up the clean color scheme: Keretheriel's presence made those whites positively glow. The fine, weighted silks of her dress gleamed when the sunlight touched her— if it had not been clear under the gloomy perma-haze in the streets below, the silk was a rich, deep violet. As she moved to look out on that skyline the dark blue reflect in the thick fall of her hair would become obvious; her eyes, surreal in their pale color would fixate on the Tower.
”No. I don't need anything to drink.” Her words were murmured, thick and heavy with that honeyed drawl. She was already quite comfortable, standing before the floor-to-ceiling pane and surveying the City as if it was she who ruled it.
It was an interesting residence, indeed. Very cold, sterile. Not gendered at all, despite that she knew it belonged to a woman. Everything, down to the scent of the place was scathingly clean— a blank canvas. The penthouse was located at a level high enough to be free of the grey that was characteristic of Vascxious Sigma and yet the furnishings were not nearly as lavish as she would expect from someone who was not only a member of the Council, but could boast the Magistrate's lineage whether she was truly his daughter or not. The portrait these facts were creating was becoming rather interesting.
As Viers began to give her a verbal tour of the apartment, Keretheriel's icy stare refocused, using the highly reflective glass as a mirror of sorts, watching as he pointed out the sleeping rooms. The corners of her blood-colored mouth pulled into a faint smirk when he indicated the closed door of the master bedroom. She half-turned, pinning the threshold with a weighted gaze before completing her about-face until she could look at him directly— pointed grin, eye contact, and all.
”That doesn't sound like you at all, actually. I distinctly recall your aversion for cooperation. Somehow I didn't think, even after all this time, you were suddenly willing to barter for what you want.” She paused long enough to let the smirk on her lips deepen, her chin dropping so that she might level that otherworldly stare to its greatest effect. ”The danger with you doesn't lie in elaborate setups, not even if the Trade City had the only means that could repair your little toy.”
The Siren crossed the room then, her gaze only breaking once to flicker over the outline of the master bedroom door before returning to searing amethyst.
The truth of it was, though she was loathe to be faced with the Magistrate, she also knew there was very little chance Viers was working with him: if the Magistrate were aware of his presence, he'd not be traveling the tunnels with his hood up in the very early hours. Those sanctioned by the City had better means of transportation, she was certain.
She ignored the stab at her motive behind agreeing to go with him. ”And you?” Her already-heavy accent thickened as the tone dropped— her gaze with it to rest first on his mouth, and then farther down where shadow marked the hollow of his throat before sliding away to study the living area for a moment. ”You invite me to the home of the Magistrate's daughter— a woman you're clearly bedded down with— and what? Threaten me with a betrayal of our would-be partnership?” The light in her eyes made it clear she was amused. ”But there is no betrayal, no Sigma soldiers waiting to bind me and take me away. Just you. Just me.” That gaze dropped to watch as the tips of her fingers brushed against the top of the counter between them in a way that would make lesser men consider the stability of every flat surface in the apartment at waist height. . .
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on Apr 20, 2014 19:39:34 GMT -5
Rosencrance Viers watched his guest take a visual tour of the space while he continued to sip on his drink, decidedly enjoying the feeling of cool liquid on his dry, dusty throat. Keretheriel certainly seemed to react to the penthouse with approximately the amount of awe Viers had been expecting; that amount being none. As Kereth took stock of the sights, the Arc continued to take stock of her, watching her motions and pondering over her reasons for them as she stood at the window and admired the view, both reflected in and outside the windows.
The woman had mocked herself up into quite the elegant figure: Viers wondered if Kereth would even give Floraelia a run for her money when it came to poise while the Mithrian was on her game. Viers could also draw comparisons from the experience of having each of the women in a decidedly more compromising position than they were usually, and through the matching up of that data, even as outdated as the information on Kereth was at the current moment, the Arc knew that the woman in front of him was the much more experienced and composed of the two. Seemingly, Kereth was much more confident now than before, which Viers assumed meant that Keretheriel had come into some greater means to exert her influence on the world around her in the centuries since he had seen her last. What her capability was now, as opposed to then, remained to be seen.
The Arc couldn’t seem to stifle a toothy-grin when Kereth ribbed him as to his plans. Of course he hadn’t been serious: he had nothing to truly gain from turning her in, but the way she shaped her answers revealed more than her words usually did, and Viers took no time in pointing that fact out to the woman opposite him.
“It’s intriguing how much you suddenly seem to recall about me, considering how terribly mundane our time together was for you. Yet, I think what’s even more intriguing is that you trust your recollections of my character not only to have been accurate in the first place, but the assumptions you developed as to my personality have somehow held true, especially after all this time.”
Obviously she had changed, and while Viers hadn’t outwardly shifted much in the time since their last meeting, it would be tactically ignorant for her to assume she had the knowledge upper-hand between the two. The Arc didn’t imagine Kereth to be so overconfident as to think she already had the high ground: they were both playing the same game, seemingly with the same number of hidden cards, and neither knew who had the ace.
“I think your seeming lack of suspicion, considering the few things you do know about me, is quite revelatory. You were confident last time: but not this confident.” Viers took another sip of his beverage contemplatively, seeming to weigh the question he implied even as she crossed the room to come within reach. “I wonder what has changed, besides your leaving the Guardians; something few do by choice.”
Usually Guardians seemed to end up disappearing from view when they decided to retire, which seemingly did fit with Kereth’s absence from the realm of notice for so long. However, few Guardians end up more confident when stripped of their power, which meant the woman had other sources of strength unrelated to the Guardianship. And she was here, in Vascxious Sigma, where proverbial deals with the devil are made daily.
The Arc actually laughed aloud when Keretheriel spoke again, though the sound managed still to echo through the room with a tone more similar to an incredulous chuckle than a full verbal expulsion of genuine amusement. “If you consider my musings as to your intentions threatening, perhaps I should readjust my estimation of your confidence.” The sly grin Viers adopted made it clear he was doing nothing of the sort, but he continued nonetheless. “And, considering that our proposed partnership is, as of the moment, unconsummated, I would hardly consider turning you in a betrayal.”
Smoothly pivoting, Viers would step around the counter and stand next to Kereth, facing her side so that, should she not turn to face him, he could still reach out with his left hand and lightly grasp her chin, turning it toward him to look directly into the woman’s eyes if she did not do so herself.
“You may be a former Guardian of Balance, but you still speak in the same sort of absolutist terms that they do. When you live far, far below the mountain of self-righteousness your comrades claimed with startling regularity, like I do, you’ll find that the world is much more subjective. Especially here, where black and white always fade into gray, and literal monsters live inside the fog.”
Viers’ wouldn’t linger with his touch: he let the arm drop as soon as he was done speaking and would turn away, switching his drink to his left hand from his right and moving back around the counter to reach the refrigeration cabinet and refill his glass. Without turning back toward Keretheriel, he continued speaking casually, a small smirk playing on his lips as he moved them to make quiet sounds.
“I know why you are here, and you know the same for me. So why don’t we make things a bit easier and see about how we can collaborate and accomplish all of our goals.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Apr 21, 2014 22:48:57 GMT -5
”Oh, it wasn't all mundane,” she cut in, her voice smooth as aged spirits. ”There's just really only so much importance I can lend to watching the night sky over the outline of your shoulder while waiting for your climax. I did, however, remember distinctly that, despite your uncooperative nature, you harbored no intent to hurt me.”
Keretheriel shrugged against the jet fur framing her shoulders then, the delicate shadows 'neath her collarbones becoming more prominent with the motion.
”Details, trivia, incidentals. These things change. If I've made any assumptions it's that, considering your presence in Vascxious Sigma with no leagues-wide stain of blood to mark your path, you're not here for destruction. The larger truth— that it's not truly your mandate to invest the effort to harm those who have not harmed you — is intact. If I gambled on assumptions I did so very well, no?”
Her lips curled playfully into a smirk as the weight of that pale stare returned to his.
She was remarkably confident, of course, but couldn't help but misdirect— or attempt to misdirect— him on why. The Siren understood deductive reasoning was not extremely common to the masses: that she was capable of it could explain what could otherwise be deemed supernatural. If it wasn't clear already, she had no intention of sharing anything about her separation from the Guardians of Balance or how she'd managed to remain so fresh-faced over the centuries.
When he sidestepped the counter, Keretheriel very deliberately did not look at him. She watched his hand drift into her peripheral vision and, before she could stop herself, reflexively— and with speed that betrayed more than she intended— stopped him only millimeters from touching her with an iron hold on his wrist. The Siren didn't interrupt him, but instead let the moment stretch as he spoke, turning her face slowly, inexorably toward his. The thick sweep of dark lashes rose, revealing icy irises that burned in no way that was human.
”You speak vaguely of consummation and shades of grey and then make reference to monsters that could not be mistaken for anything else. . . How very direct and inflexible of you.”
So close he was now that perhaps he might experience the heavy flow of those words as they poured from her mouth, drenching the burnished bronze of his skin. Certainly he wouldn't miss how the tight grip of her fist relaxed against his wrist, allowing her fingers to spread against the back of his hand languidly— the motion permitting his palm to finally press to her cheek rather than her chin. Her touch was loose then: if he still wished to let his hand drop away she would not be stopping him. That oh-so-penetrating stare remained locked on him as he continued, saying his piece about collaboration and achieving.
Was it only his imagination that the temperature suddenly rose a few degrees? Or that the swell of her breasts, artfully constrained by rich silk, seemed all the more tightly restricted? Had she always smelled of sun-warmed vanilla and, more darkly, of sharp ginger?
”Are you inviting me to consummate our partnership then, with collaboration? I rather like this change in you, Viers. It's always better to let things lead where they will, I find. . .”
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on May 26, 2014 21:26:50 GMT -5
Viers didn’t resist Kereth’s hold on his wrist, a hold which succeeded in its intent to block his fingers from coming in contact with her supple flesh. The Arc hadn’t anticipated meeting no resistance with his movements: instead, they had been designed as yet another analytic tool, a device to test Keretheriel’s changed demeanor and ability. Though she might have felt she gave away more than intended with the strength of her reflex, to Viers, she had demonstrated exactly what he had hoped: fight.
While Viers had noted the changes to Keretheriel vocally, in the same moments he was comparing his own evolutionary state internally to that of the man she had met all those years ago. His own outlook and approach to life too had changed, and while the woman seemingly had grown more confident, assertive, and powerful, Viers had become less driven by the need to assert his own power on those around him. The change was drastic, and was quite possibly a side-effect of being so long removed from the Mage’s influence, but the Arc’s former instinctive need to prove his superiority had almost entirely been driven from his mental space. In its place had grown something quite different: a yearning that so many others of his lifespan seemed to develop over time. One that Viers was only just beginning to understand.
While few others alive had even the slightest conception of what the Arc might be capable of, both physically and mentally, the man himself was acutely aware of his abilities and his limitations, and how they related to those around him. While dominating others with his ability had once been the most attractive course of action in nearly every situation, even when it was done subtly it was no longer nearly as fulfilling a notion as it had been. Viers already knew who could stand against him and who couldn’t, and that acute awareness of his place among the hierarchy of existence left him bereft of any need to prove his own strength.
Instead, somewhere along the line, the Arc had developed a yearning for something or someone who could keep stride with him: a match. His encounter with Fureya, though ultimately disappointing, had confirmed that particular suspicion about himself to Viers. The woman had been someone the Mage had chosen, and therefore she clearly maintained the potential to act as such, though for various reasons Fureya would never fulfill that role for the Arc. Perhaps it was the yearning’s confirmation that had drawn Viers to Vascxious Sigma, and initially Floraelia Devinian’s arms: the Arc knew what she was, and what she was capable of, but something was holding the woman back from her potential, limiting her, as though her arms were always chained behind her back. Again, Viers confirmed his own needs without coming near to fulfilling them.
Yet here before him was a creature with more than just the potential to keep pace with Viers, and that realization drove a spike of excitement into the man’s otherwise ice-cold viens. The Arc’s testing had demonstrated a few hallmark indicators Keretheriel’s ability, and while neither truly understood the other, Viers was becoming increasingly confident that the woman opposite him could in fact stand opposite him and withstand the brunt of whatever he could assault her with, physically or otherwise. While he was sure he would keep pushing her limits as time went on, just to be sure he was not incorrect in his assessment of the creature, for now Kereth had, in a sense, won the man’s respect: something that previously had been an impossible feat.
Viers relaxed into her grip and let his hand be pulled along to her cheek instead of her chin, grinning widely in response to her words. She called him on his word games, and unlike the last time they had met, established her own strength instead of bowing to his. Had this been the Kereth he had met all those years prior, she would already be laid low on the floor, compromised and under the siege of his affections. Instead, the former Guardian was set on enticing him, maintaining her own place as the equal, not the lesser. Viers almost laughed as he responded, driving sharp inflection into the words of his response.
“I never claimed that I was not capable of contradiction.”
The former Guardian’s recognition of the change in Vier’s outlook seemed to act as further evidence that she was, in fact, judging the Arc correctly. Meeting her gaze more intensely than he had allowed himself to until that moment, Viers set his features rather seriously, an ironic smile playing at the corners of what was the most genuine expression he had exhibited since their encounter began.
“After enough time, coercion isn’t appealing anymore. Collaboration, if the collaborators are equal, sounds significantly more enticing to me, though I’ve never before found one worthy of collaborating with. I’m much more attracted to the idea of someone who can take what I can give, and return it in kind, than someone crushed under me. Last time we met, you functioned as the latter. However . . .”
The Arc let his face drift closer to Keretheriel’s, their breath intermingling intimately as he spoke, his gaze piercing into hers like a blade through flesh.
“ . . . I am quite intrigued to see how much that fact has changed.”
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Post by Keretheriel on May 28, 2014 21:40:45 GMT -5
Had her flesh warmed since she'd secured her hold on his wrist? So much sensation she could overwhelm him with— did he wonder if she experienced him? How the roughened tips of his fingers felt against silky skin? Or whether looking up into his eyes incited hyper-awareness of their difference in height? Did she feel as delicate as her petite frame looked against the wider build of his form?
Those eyes burned brighter when he spoke, coaxing the corners of full lips into a definitive smirk. It wasn't an expression of triumph, but rather one of amusement. They'd been dancing 'round one another all day, but this was the first her would-be partner had paused and attempted to clear the floor. What they didn't know about each other were the other dancers, obstructions and pitfalls hidden by shadow and, even, perhaps by their focus on not being outmaneuvered. . .
Those stained lips, only a breath darker than freshly spilled blood, parted slowly as his expression shifted.
The last time she'd encountered him, she found him to be boorish and obstinate— apparently unable to multitask once he'd decided what he wanted from her. Until now, she was beginning to believe that hadn't changed at all: it certainly would have been disappointing to find that it was possible for one to remain precisely the same over such a long period of time. Now he spoke of actual collaboration— a coordinated waltz or a tango where instead of dancing around each other they could move in synch, the steps evolving on the cue of the other. It was an entirely enticing concept, if she was completely honest with herself, but not one she'd considered in a very long time. The kind of partnership he proposed was one she'd had before, and one she'd not ever quite recovered from losing. There had been opportunities between then and now, but none that she'd ultimately decided to invest in: the former Guardian had become solitary by choice. It struck her that he risked himself, giving her this information. Though apparently her moniker did not precede her, she was the Betrayer, and it certainly wasn't wise to offer her such an easy in. . .
”That's an interesting proposition to favor someone you've only just brought in from the street.” Her words, seemingly intended to be self-deprecating, somehow highlighted the fact that she— even solely by appearances— was clearly of finer make.
Her much smaller hand guided his open palm down the edge of her jaw, her smallest finger directing the wide pad of his thumb until it brushed lightly against the thick of her lower lip.
”How, then, do you expect to determine who is your equal? I wouldn't think that status could be something you endowed. Equals don't need to be titled as such: they simply are.” Her voice dropped in volume the closer he came, thickening the accent few could recognize.
Her eyes half-closed— the change was subtle considering how her face was upturned to watch him— and her stare dropped to his mouth for a moment as his gaze intensified. When direct eye contact was reestablished it would be clear she wasn't watching his mouth out of any desire to avoid his stare. If his eyes could slice flesh, hers could melt it.
“I will never vie for your approval, Viers.” the low-toned words were scarcely more than breath as their mouths drifted closer and closer together, the heavy silks covering her lower body rumpling against him until her hips touched him. ”I will never concern myself with your expectations nor will I ever strive to be worthy. . .” Her chin dipped then, changing the angle of her face so that her forehead would rest against his and the tip of their noses could meet. Her hold on his hand loosened until only her fingertips touched him, though the weight of them would suddenly increase. It was slow, subtle, but she would coax his palm to glide downward, gripping his wrist so that his own fingers would only offer the lightest touch along the line of her neck before she would release his hand altogether— her own dropping to her side smoothly.
She didn't wait for a response, no pause before her face upturned so that those lips— where before had been only millimeters from touching his— could offer the lightest contact. It wasn't a kiss she pressed to his mouth, precisely, but the light brush was not a mistake.
If he did not stop her, she'd step back slowly, perhaps savoring the heat of him.
”Where did you say the Master Room was. . ?”
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on May 29, 2014 22:16:17 GMT -5
Rosencrance Viers found himself in an increasingly odd position when it came to Keretheriel. Only moments before he had been solely considering what it was he could get from her, whether it be a physical token or act or an assistive favor. The closeness, the motions of her hand, the feel of his thumb across her lips, the press of her hips to his: all of these things had certainly been within the scope of what he was looking for, but now they had taken on a different set of considerations, and while the Arc’s impulse was to dive right back to his normal habits and say exactly the right thing to get what he wanted, Viers decided to fight the instinct instead of bowing to it as he always did. Curiously, this left him free to follow his deeper instincts, the ones that, unlike the learned habits he so often relied on, were not so easily explained by a simple string of logical connections. He wanted what it was Keretheriel’s actions implied, but he also needed not to get it the old fashioned way. It was quickly becoming an uncomfortable conundrum, and the unfamiliarity of the situation left the Arc with the distinct sensation of fumbling around in the dark for the right answer. Interestingly, it wasn’t a sensation that evoked fear, like it might have in the past. On the contrary: Viers was excited at the unpredictable prospect.
As the former Guardian spoke, the tip of her nose making contact with his own, Viers listened carefully, his smile slowly blossoming into something devoid of mocking, yet still filled with mirth due to the irony of the situation.
“You’re right: being equal is something that occurs, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. It’s not a set of metrics or measures as much as a feeling. The truth is, I don’t often follow my instincts: I follow my experience. It has kept me alive this long, and my experience could easily drive me away from considering you an equal. I’m sure I could easily create a rational train of thought to justify it, too.”
Viers laughed under his breath, his hand following the path she had begun for it to trace the edges of his fingertips down her neck to her chest, slowly winding around and past her clavicle with a surprisingly-light touch as he continued to speak, his hips pressing against hers and his left arm sliding around the back of her waist, putting forward pressure on her body to press just a tad more tightly against his own.
“But my instincts tell me you are my equal. And, for once, I am willing to trust them, and you. Foolishly, and despite how dangerous it might be for me.”
Viers fingers continued to trace the lines of her flesh, from her neck and shoulder-line down to the well of her chest. The brush of her lips against his was allowed, without any further push from him for more, and when she sought to step back, Viers let her. He even resisted the urge to step forward, choosing instead to cross his arms over his chest to do something with the tension that had developed throughout his frame. Taking a step back, not letting his eyes wander from hers once his gaze had found hers again, Viers silently moved toward the bedroom, pressing his back against the door before reaching behind his waist and releasing the clasp, letting them walk inside, assuming she followed. Once there though, Viers couldn’t guarantee he would continue to keep his distance.
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Post by Keretheriel on May 30, 2014 9:34:54 GMT -5
It could be said that Keretheriel, former Guardian and titled “Betrayer” was in an unusual position herself. She hadn't been in the most dangerous City on the continent for more than five minutes before Viers had dropped into her lap— a man she'd known from before and who, apparently, was terribly interested in making himself her ally. Whatever his reasons were, Keretheriel was not typically resistant to using those who wished to be used albeit often in a fashion that was unexpected. The Siren was a fickle creature, impulsive and wildly unpredictable— unforgivably so. It would be an extremely rare instance for her to behave precisely as her words or form implied, but it was rarer still that she met someone who was proving to share that quality. It was true that the world had changed while she lay sleeping, but it hadn't changed that much: there were more Cities and more people, less magic and less wars, but who people were hadn't changed at all— they only cycled.
She knew Viers wanted her. She knew it in the way he watched her, in the way he pressed at her with his talk of equals and give and take. She'd known Viers wanted her the first time, when she'd first discovered him ankle-deep in human gore and realized there was no way she could simply remove him for his crimes. No Guardian could have stood against the devastation he intended and lived through it— she'd wondered more than once if Arktouros had chosen to send her because he intended her demise or because he knew she was the only one willing to do what was necessary to stop him and survive, though that was an entirely different conversation reserved for another day. She remembered the way he'd paused, favoring her with the same eyeteeth-baring self-assured grin as he looked her over and decided what he wanted before she'd had any chance to talk about terms and what could persuade him to stop his rampage. He hadn't needed to touch her—though he certainly had— for Keretheriel to know that there was only one thing she could offer, distasteful as it was— and base for someone who wielded such remarkable power. At that time she'd thought of him as being the epitome of what the Guardians looked to eradicate and though she bent for him then she'd, in the same moment, resolved to become a force of nature so that she might never have to consider that option ever again. How naïve she was to believe that was the answer. . .
He was right. Then, the only role she'd served was to agree, however reluctantly, to be crushed under him with only his word that he would abandon his deadly march. Fortunately, he'd not made a fool of her: she knew it was impossible to enforce their deal should he decide to return to his visceral artistry. Really, that was how she knew she could trust him now to do exactly as he said he would: the man could be subversive but he wasn't an outright liar.
So when he restrained himself and allowed her to step away with no visible conflict at the decision Keretheriel was mildly surprised. It wasn't out of fear of detection that he let her go. Surely the residence of a member of the Council was protected from prying eyes through enchantment or otherwise: whatever conflict might happen within these walls would not be apparent from the outside. She'd given every indication that she might want what he wanted and yet he'd not acted on any assumptions: he was waiting for her cue, which was a radical change from before. The Siren distinctly recalled how difficult it had been to maintain any sort of personal boundaries. And now? She couldn't fault him for reaching to touch her when she'd been the one to break that barrier first. The truth of it was that, for some reason, her complete willingness mattered to him. He didn't seem to want to settle for implied invitations or worse, simply act on his desire without care for her consent.
The thought curved the corners of her lips into perhaps the most genuine smile she'd offered thus far. Of course the fine arch of her brow kept the expression more than slightly devious, but his actions provoked a response— not a change in character.
Pale eyes that had become points of cold fire held his stare as he backed away, opening the door to the room she'd asked after. She followed relatively quickly, letting him take only a step or two before engaging in smooth pursuit. The Siren crossed the frame, giving no pause as she passed him though her chin did rise and her face to did turn to keep his gaze as silk brushed against him. The heavy, spiced scent preceded her, already enveloping the very large room.
Keretheriel focused on the contents of the room, pushing the tension between her and Viers aside for a moment. An overly large bed, with the most luscious linens she'd seen in an age, that looked as if it meant to hold several occupants at once dominated the far side of the space. Several other doors captured her interest though she approached none of them yet. There were no windows in this room oddly enough. There was a shelf of remarkably old books and a side table that contained nothing but lighting. By the standards of the rest of the residence this room was almost spartan in furnishings. Thin brows furrowed nearly imperceptibly. Alpha's daughter didn't actually frequent this room, she suspected. . .
”A bed fit for royalty,” the Siren mused as she approached the monolithic centerpiece, not yet turning to face Viers. The tips of her fingers brushed against the textured raw silk, in whites and creams of course, but she made no other move. Yet.
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on May 30, 2014 12:36:52 GMT -5
Rosencrance Viers watched the Keretheriel as she walked past him, entering the room where, only a short time before, he had been in a somewhat-similar position with completely different entity. The difference between then and now didn’t only lie in the fact that both he and the woman in the room were proverbial strangers in a strange land, while before one of the two had been at home. The difference shone though in the tone of the interactions as well.
Viers let the former Guardian keep his gaze as she moved past him in the doorway, and observed carefully as she cast her attention around the room before turning to the lavish bed. Her comment was a sideline, not related to anything going on at the current moment, but the Arc chose to indulge it anyway, despite his impulse to continue pressing a more poignant line of conversation.
“Fitting, considering how highly the Council’s members seem to think of themselves. High towers, great views, and fine decorating must be the preferred use of their taxpayer’s money. Not that I am complaining.”
As he spoke, the man slowly moved from his awkward position within the door frame toward the bed, taking a wide arc past the closet doors to come to rest just a few inches behind Kereth’s back, her body still turned attentively toward the silk-draped sleeper, purposefully so. Yet, while the Arc might have been reaching past a few of her personal space barriers, he didn’t cross any of those resolved for inappropriate touching this time: he stood there, a smirk easily lighting his features, showing those eyeteeth she so often seemed to notice.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t come across a bed as nice as this one anywhere else in the city. It’s a shame it doesn’t get used very often.”
Should Kereth turn towards him at his suggestive comment, she would find the smile on Viers’ face as one of ironic mirth – he knew exactly what he sounded like saying it, and that was exactly the joke.
“It’s not often someone like me gets to enjoy such nice accommodations.”
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Post by Keretheriel on May 30, 2014 20:37:20 GMT -5
Keretheriel eyed him over the curve of her shoulder, her smile shifting to a smirk when he made his dig at how Vascxious Sigma chose to spend its funding.
”I'm not disappointed by it. I'd be tempted to find out what it takes to land a seat on the Council if I weren't more attached to my freedom.”
Thick, heavy lashes lowered, severing eye contact with him before refocusing on the bed. No amount of promised wealth or beautiful views could make up for being chained to a dreary place like the Trade City. It would take days for her to tire of adventuring in the Steam Tunnels and lose her taste for the permanent fog that obscured the sky: the Siren had learned early that she was not one who was able to settle in one location for extended periods of time.
Keretheriel felt rather than heard or saw Viers close most of the distance between them. She let him speak, ethereal eyes narrowing slightly at the implication of his words as the corners of her mouth stretched attractively. She let his voice be the last sound to hang in the air for a long moment before her body very slowly, very deliberately turned and melted into a seated position at the edge of the bed. There was no sunlight filtering through windows here but somehow the very stark contrast between off white silk and deepest violet made the fair tone of her exposed skin glow. The Siren dropped her gaze to Viers' boots and crossed her legs at the ankle, leaning back to put all of her weight onto splayed palms before letting that simmering stare drift steadily upward.
”Should I feel offended that you've sampled so many of the bedrooms in the Trade City but haven't expressed any direct intention to bed me? Should I be relieved or should I feel competitive by the implication that you and Alpha's daughter don't spend your days between her sheets? Or should I suspect your preferences with her don't involve expensive silk and the finest down? Perhaps you opt to bend a woman of her status and lineage against more humbling surfaces. The chaise in the front? The kitchen counter looked lovely. . .”
The Siren's gaze intensified, black-cherry lips parting to allow the tip of her tongue push at the corner of her mouth in a gesture that was both calculating and tempting.
Did the lighting dim? Had the temperature risen? Her words had the tendency to fill the space she was in, changing the density of the very air the way the purest opium could convince the senses one was breathing underwater. The cadence of her speech was steady, thickly spoken and never once did it rise in tone or volume.
”Windows from floor to ceiling offering a view of the City, I could imagine it to be to your taste to press her to the glass, thrilled by the act of stripping away her dignity along with her clothes. . .”
The door to what could logically be the closet drew her focus then.
”Does she wear white as well?” Those bared shoulders shrugged before her eyes did a quick roll to indicate the monochromatic color scheme, all of her fingers digging into the fine cloth beneath her.
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Post by Rosencrance Viers on May 30, 2014 22:31:01 GMT -5
Rosencrance Viers watched Keretheriel with abject enjoyment as she turned and draped herself across the bed. The woman made a spectacular display of herself through each and every movement, word, and subtle shift in atmosphere, and though the talent had been there the last time they had encountered one another, Keretheriel’s presentation skills had sharpened masterfully. She, like Viers himself, was a creature of power who found ways to project that power that were subtle and mysterious to the average onlooker: it left any who would look upon them with a sense of enticed unease where uncertainty as to their true capability was belied by the forceful attraction they created. Viers was attracted to Kereth, definitely, but it was the observations of the game she was playing that made him so, not the spectral shroud of mystery she wrapped herself in. Or, at least, it was the masterful nature of the shroud’s construction that was enticing, rather than the image it happened to display. It had quickly become the Arc’s primary objective to peek behind the curtain and see Keretheriel’s true self: still, Viers wasn’t ready push through the all at once. Trust, while something a new concept he was discovering minute by minute, was not a thing developed in a matter of minutes; at least not if it was meaningful, and not manipulated into existence. While it was time consuming, Viers was still resolved to follow his instincts in this particular case, and those instincts told him that Kereth was worth the time.
Viers laughed as the former Guardian spoke, his grin widening to create a shadow of the grin trademarked by and belonging to the Arc’s older, more violent mentor. Viers knew Kereriel wasn’t hoping to draw him into a detailed recounting of his conquests: this was still about them, and therefore the dark-haired woman and the dark-skinned man opposite her were the only true variables that mattered. Everyone else was just an accessory.
Viers’ grin morphed itself into a clearly-false expression of shock and confusion as he began to speak, playing at the atmosphere she was creating with her imagery.
“If you think I don’t have the utmost desire to bed you, I will make sure to be more obvious in my advances, should that be possible.”
It was unlikely Viers could have been more forward without just removing his pants and exposing himself or creating sock puppets and putting on a show of what exactly he hoped that the two of them would be ding in a few minutes time. The Arc’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer still to the bed, maneuvering himself to stand just beside Kereth’s, long, lithe, lounging upper-body. Reaching slowly, Viers would draw his fingers up and through a few strands of her hair in a circular motion, lightly twisting the strands between his fingers as he continued to speak.
“Intention, though, is very different than desire: the former is something I always achieve, through any and all means necessary, while the latter requires more participation on the part of the desired. So considering that you are currently the only being alive who can lay claim to the latter category, I can’t imagine what twisted caricature of jealousy you could possibly conjure up. Or why you would care to, considering you are well aware that you can have me draping you across every piece of furniture we could find at a word.”
Viers stopped his hand movements suddenly, pulling his fingers away slowly, careful not to catch any of the strands and sharply tug them. Yet as he did so, the Arc leaned closer, stooping over the bed at awkward enough of an angle that his face fell quite near to her own.
“Still . . . if you were to feel particularly competitive, I would very much like to assist you in rising above all other challengers. As I said, there are none, but I can understand if you’d wish to advance your lead.”
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Post by Keretheriel on Jun 1, 2014 14:38:26 GMT -5
If you think I don’t have the utmost desire to bed you, I will make sure to be more obvious in my advances, should that be possible.
There it was.
Keretheriel's mouth tugged at the corners, her eyes narrowing subtly, the thick jet of her lashes creating a sharper contrast to their already-striking color.
He wanted her to want him, and he didn't seem to have any aim to touch her until she made it clear to his satisfaction. It was a complete turnaround from the man she'd met several centuries earlier, as she'd already noted, but there was a nuance that was extremely important: Viers couldn't or wouldn't articulate it. There was no concrete evidence of it, but the Siren sensed there was more behind what he was really saying than even he understood and— whatever that was— stilled him from simply persuading her to want what he wanted.
The rest of his words were meaningless. She wouldn't address his assurances because they were unnecessary: in that moment, his loyalties and ties had no significance. He'd invited her back to the apartment of his current lover. Whatever they shared had no bearing on anything that happened now. . .
She could acknowledge that he was on his best behavior. He made a real effort not to invade her personal space and though he might be becoming more frustrated at the distance, both physical and figurative, she maintained between them he was doing an excellent job of keeping the feeling to himself. The question really was: how far would it go? Would he simply remain well-behaved if she cooled some of the tension between them or would he find himself unable to continue respecting her sovereignty?And really, what did she want?
The line of her mouth lost some of its curve, settling into a slightly more serious expression when he released her hair, and leaned toward her— still feeding the idea that she might be jealous or feel the need to compete.
”You talk too much,” her eyes half-closed as that penetrating gaze fell to his mouth. Those lips parted further as her chin lifted, that warm vanilla scent becoming strong enough to intoxicate.
”Do you mean to stay close enough to kiss me, Viers, in an effort to test my control, or your own?” she breathed the words as her stare drifted back up to the startling violet of his eyes, making no move to shrink from him or meet him halfway.
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