Ride on the shining night [Az, please]

[Corwynn]

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING

The Mug woman hovered. She'd taken offense at his profession, at his choices. It seemed personal, as if something about who the older galdor really was as a Bad Brother was entirely against her existence. Had she had a run-in with his ilk before? Did she resent the King of the Underworld for something? Here Aziza was, in Old Rose Harbor, and so it was simply impossible to avoid finding oneself entangled in something Silas had his long fingers involved in eventually. Wasn't it?

The witch stood, wavering, confused, unable to make that decision to walk away but unable to commit to staying in his vicinity. Her glamour was weighed down with the emotions that visibly contorted her features, and the noise of uncomfortable sadness that escaped her was only a prelude to the waterworks that threatened to spill—

Oh, gods, no, the young woman was crying, and all Corwynn could do was sip his chan and glance over the Widow Walk's outdoor railing, the sun nearly set now. Tears were not his wheelhouse, even though he was not opposed to other people having emotions of any kind, whether they concerned himself or not.

He just wasn't much of a comforter, at least not in the soft sort of way.

If the blond gunman was going to assuage anyone's hurts, it generally involved drinking, sex, or shooting the ersehat who caused the problem. Preferably more than one of those things.

At this moment? Well, he was drinking, at least.

Crystalline blue eyes glanced back up again with a well-hidden reluctance, reminded of the Mugrobi witch's youth simply by the depth of unprompted grief and angst sobbed at no one in particular. Her words made her sound like a far better child than she obviously felt like, considering she actually suffered over her decisions in light of a parent or parents. Her concern was far deeper than Corwynn was used to, an only child in his forties with no spouse or no legal heir. He didn't open his mouth to interrupt, but instead chose to shift in his seat so that he could hook a boot around the chair she'd so hastily fled from and drag it toward the edge of the table until he bumped it purposefully against Aziza's side, wordlessly prompting her to sit should she notice.

He didn't pat her hand or offer a patronizing there, there or even attempt to shush her, perhaps far too deep into his second mug of chan to really be offended by the outburst that was, deep down, not even about himself at all. Corwynn had invited her to sit and calm down instead of shooing her away, his more experienced and well-traveled age perhaps suddenly far more obvious by his less excitable, calm decisions,

"I'm not going to make any comments about familial relationships, save one: eventually, you will have to be your own person, regardless of cultural expectations between parent and child. Just because someone expects you to be good, doesn't mean you have to define yourself by them. Trust me on that one." He sipped the steaming, intoxicating tea and sighed, relaxing into his seat despite the emotional outburst that had washed over his sea-weathered self like some late Roalis storm,

"I'll choose to leave morality out of the conversation for both our sakes, Az. I've made my peace with my decisions well over a decade or two ago, and the rest is philosophical discussion I need more of this chan for to have." He winked with a mischievousness that creased its way into his tanned, well-aged features, "Being afraid of the Bad Brothers is highly recommended, at least, if you're on the wrong side. Here in the Harbor, it's a little difficult to avoid touching things my King owns, but, regardless, he's a pretty 'you do you' kind of wick for the most part so long as there's a bit of coin exchanged either way. Do you fear the Seventen in Vienda now that they've revoked writs for non-tsats? Do you worry about how my more civilized kind may judge you even traveling the open road? What's the difference?"

He wasn't looking for an answer so much as providing his examples: did galdorkind work with any superior morality to the Underworld when it came to the treatment of others? Sure, they weren't armed with the firepower at his hip, but Corwynn wielded magic with just as much proficiency as his peers. Well, at least, with some form of proficiency as he would have admitted he was hardly a sorcerer.

"I'm not exactly the good sort, either, to be fair."

His grin was wicked and unapologetic once again while he shrugged, comfortably settled and leaning back in his chair, one arm shifting to drape over the back while he crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, swirling his chan and letting his gaze drift from the rich darkness of the Mugrobi woman's skin to the floating grit left undissolved in his warm, intoxicating drink, "I'm used to filling the desema role, so it's going to take a lot more than that to offend the likes of me."

[Aziza]

Dentis 20, 2718

Aziza felt better about the fact that the Bad Brother didn't try to comfort her. While a gentle touch or a soothing word wouldn't exactly have been unwelcome, the fact that he simply let her cry herself out, providing a more practical care by offering her a chair and practical words. It was good to just be allowed to sob, even if it did make her feel a little foolish, the young woman glad for the chance to let the excess emotion out. There were very few emotions that the witch ever bottled up, largely incapable of doing so - she was a very emotional person - but when it came to Nazia, there was a certain rancour within her that bred ill-emotion at a staggering speed and while she tried to divert such feelings, her outlets were hardly appropriate; sometimes you just needed to cry and scream and vent. When she could speak, she was definitely better but even then there was something bitter beneath the surface, an unusual emotion for the bright and personable girl to reveal. She'd let so much of her emotions out already in what she'd said but now, she found herself adding more.

"Oes, I know I ent gonna be wrapped in me daoa's skirts forever, Hulali be praised but righ' now she needs me. She ent ever gotten rid o' th' same ill tha' killed me da. She needs me, we ent got n'body else ne more. Jus' th' two of us. Ne tribe ner nowt. An' I... I-I-I hate her," Aziza admitted, hands tightening their grip on the mug of chan that she held. The young woman held it so hard that she wondered if it would break, the hard material roasting against her palms and fingers. A large gulp sent welcome warmth through her, especially as she felt colder now than she had as if the emotions she'd shed had been providing insulation.

She shrugged, self-conscious about the matter. She played with the various rings in her ears, unwinding strands of hair that had escaped her braids and tangled themselves in her jewellery.

"Truth be told, I dint know enough 'bout the Bad Brothers. I was close t' someone who.... was on the wrong side o' the King. A dealer who weren't- Ent important wha' he was doing but he 'ad reason to be scared o' th' Bad Brothers. 'Tween him and me daoa... well, I 'spose they decided it for me. Wha' I think of the Bad Brothers, I mean," she pointed out with a laugh and an awkward shrug. It felt strange to talk about Benton after all this time and while they had parted ways under somewhat messy circumstances, she didn't want to fling him under the kint wheels. He probably already had the BBs nipping at his heels and if not, he didn't need her setting them on him.

Regardless, she really couldn't judge given that she had carried out a relationship and then some with a drug dealer who was a rival of Silas Hawke and his associates. She really, really couldn't judge. Benton was someone who could be classed as desema and she had certainly had no qualms with getting involved with him. Admittedly she had been very new to Anaxas at the time, new to Old Rose and its particular social order. Mistakes had been made but she didn't necessarily regret them.

"I'm supposed t' have an issue wi' desema but... tha' ent how it's worked out in the past so... I ent like to be put off by tha'. If ye dint flash that gun 'round as much as tha' grin o' yers then I'd appreciate it but other than tha'..." she explained with a shrug and a sly grin, brown eyes briefly downcast into the clouded liquid. She could feel the chan and the alcohol diffusing through her bloodstream, creeping their way through her brain and giving a pleasant fog to her senses. It helped her relax, especially now that her various frustrations and ill emotions had been vented.

"I know it ent... related exactly, not t'me a'least 'cos I ent ever been keen on the place an' the chance o' me gettin' a writ before... I ent been near the place for months and months. I've heard tha' the riot in Vienda was ne benny an' after it was... Have ye been t' Vienda since it happened? Is it... is it very bad? For the tekaa?" she asked, her demeanour more serious now, troubled not on her own account but for others.

"I was there during the last riot a few maw back an'... I ent got much love for any brigk but they ent all bad. I know what they're like with a tekaa though. Think we're all a danger, dint understand tha' some o' us ent like our fami. Ye help 'em an' they look at ye like... yer a kenser jus' stood up on its back legs an' started talkin'. Ent jus' Seventen, I've had many a jent look at me like tha'. Like they thought all tekaa were like to cott 'em and like we ent mung but... lower. It weren't this bad in Mug, ye chen?"

Warm brown eyes rose to peer at him earnestly, as if seeking confirmation that she wasn't imagining it. As if she wanted to hear Cor say that he didn't view her that way.

The young woman tried to laugh it off, making a dismissive hand gesture as if he shouldn't mind her before she sank the rest of the dirty chan down her throat.

[Corwynn]

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING

Corinth Wynngate the Third had never been particularly close to his parents, although in truth Anaxi galdori culture didn't encourage close familial relationships considering children were so willingly sent from the home upon coming of age to attend school. He'd been groomed as his father's successor, as the only heir, sure, but beyond that? Love and paternal care were not really part of their later lives as much as perhaps his infancy had required. Not that the blond gunman had complaints—their distance allowed him to make business decisions and move things forward as he saw fit for their family name instead of dwell on the emotional toll of their loss once he'd buried his mother and finally his father.

Did he necessarily have regrets? No, not really. Nor did he ever particularly feel the stirrings of desire for a family of his own, much to the disappointment of his mother. He knew that meant the Wynngate name could very well end with a stray bullet in the Harbor, a knife in the street that cut an artery he couldn't heal. He knew that meant he'd forfeit every secret to a cousin or a distant stranger barely related by blood if his body was dumped overboard somewhere between Anaxas and the Muluku Isles, if he was consumed by the flames of an exploding airship and his ashes spread on the wind.

Oh well.

He'd made those choices.

And he slept with them, too.

Aziza spoke of how she was yoked to the care of her elders, emotionally and traditionally bound to the care of her mother. She'd already lost her father, and in her desire to be a heartfelt witch, she looked after an ill woman with the stirrings of resentment and discomfort. Hatred was a strong word, Corwynn arching a fair-haired eyebrow at the vehemence mixed with apology that seemed to vie for superiority in the young Mug's tone of voice.

The very admission filled her with shame she couldn't hide, and the blond galdor shrugged as if to give her permission to feel as she did, watching her while he finished his second chan, the world outside his immediate attention melting away like the fading colors of the sunset into a comfortable sort of haze. The movements of her hands, the sparkle of her earrings in the phosphor glow on the open porch of the Widow's Walk trailed like fireflies, the hallucinogenic tea having settled with kindness in his bloodstream, intoxicating but not mind-numbing like too much alcohol.

"You're both a bit far from home, aye. It's not easy to be bound to a duty you can only see as punishment." Corwynn spoke as if he knew the feeling. In his own way, he did, though he also knew he'd been guilty of the crime he paid for with a decade at sea. The middle finger of his less whole hand traced over the rim of his still-hot mug, running along the glazed edge while his crystalline gaze held the darker depths of his unexpected companion,

"And, well, there's lots of folks out there who are on the wrong side of Silas Hawke. It's either you are or you aren't or you're clocking clueless, after all. A dealer, though? Of opiates? Working for the Drain, perhaps? Mmm. I'll be polite and not ask their name, Az." The Bad Brother winked, the depths of his voice not hiding his curiosity despite the implication that he was being generous for not pursuing her admission. He smiled anyway, the expression creasing its way into his sea-worn features, "It's understandable their opinion would be, like my own, biased in its own direction."

Corwynn chuckled, settling more into his chair, very tempted to prop his well-cared for, expensive boots on the tabletop but refraining. The Mugrobi witch pointed out his firearm and he tilted his chin downward, sharp blue eyes drifting over the gun at his hip,

"I made that, and I'm known by it 'round here. There's plenty of folks who know I'm a jent and I can't always rely on vroo to get me out of every sticky situation. Here in the Harbor, this pretty piece is just part of the package." His smile broadened into a wicked grin, reaching up to rub a palm over his stubbled cheek and curl fingers into his short, slowly fading blond hair,

"But, point taken. More grins than guns for now. If it makes you feel any better, I'm not really a fan of Vienda, either, and I've got proper credentials. I was born there and everything. My family's factory is there. I fly there often for ... business meetings ... but, gods, if I don't hate that tight-ersed place with a real passion." The older galdor's grin became a wry smirk before he emptied his cup and set it on the tabletop, pale eyes following the well-tailored fabric of his shirt sleeve down over the hints of tattoos at his wrist, over the calloused length of his fingers and onto the worn wood beyond, the journey of a single glance taking far longer than it would have been without all that chan,

"Mugroba's lovely, yes. I won't argue you there." It sounded more like a compliment to her person than a comment about an entire Kingdom, coming from Corwynn's pretty lips, "Anaxas isn't quite sure what to do about everyone else, it's true, but you're chanting to the chorus with that one. Are you a danger? 'Cause I am. Just for being tekaa? Oh, please. Ha—"

He winked,

"—no, adame, this kingdom's gotten its panties in quite a twist and no one seems quite organized enough or quite willing enough to just reach under all those skirts and slide 'em right off. You know?" The blond gunman purred, clearly amusing himself with the metaphor, "This year's riot was garbage, really quite the delicious and violent debacle—if you're into that sort of thing, of course. Have I been back? I don't have a choice—when my King says go, I go. I don't have to be afraid like you do, being what I am, but I've spent a lot of time between here and Mugroba, between here and the Muluku Isles. Things are different. Things are harder here, I suppose, but even that Boy Emperor of yours doesn't have everything right."

He sighed, eyelids fluttering heavily, enjoying for a moment the distance his choice of drink had put between himself and reality, his words turning far more carnal than intended in tone by the end, "Experience has taught me to measure someone based on who they are, not what. There's some real dirtbag gollies out there—sometimes I see one in the mirror, honestly—and there's some real backstabbing, spitch-filled wicks. But, gods, if there aren't some fine, decent examples of every race that tickles your fancy out there, too."

[Aziza]

Dentis 20, 2718

As horrible as it was to have spoken about her mother, talked about her as if she was the most horrific circumstance that could ever be thrust upon her, the young woman couldn't deny the relief it brought. She did feel lighter, freer for having said it.

She hated Nazia and it was true. Oh, she was her mother and she did love her but the woman had placed her under a yoke, grinding the witch under her oppressive duties. Aziza was always required to do everything for her, to put her first, to be the best daughter although her mother... well, she'd looked after her, sure but she had never provided her with exactly what she needed, neither of her parents had. But maybe she had been selfish in wanting to move properly again, wanting to have a life on the move rather than a stationary one. In a twisted way, she'd gotten what she'd wished for but also been punished for it in a way, that's how it felt so when Corwynn said 'punishment', she jolted noticeably, biting her lip.

It did feel like punishment. She'd been saddled with the older woman and it felt like it had occurred to punish her for her free-spirited nature. Who was punishing her? Well, it seemed likely it was some member of the circle but she couldn't imagine that it was Hulali - waters didn't have to stick to a set path after all - but perhaps she was wrong. Maybe she was supposed to take something else away from her situation, some wisdom but she was young and impulsive, desperate to spread wings that had been cruelly clipped, a tethered bird as surely as if she had a jess around her foot. Her mother controlled where she went, decided her fate and it wasn't fair. It wasn't bloody fair.

But damn if her mother wasn't highly influential sometimes. The influence certainly wasn't complete - although perhaps the fact that she felt guilty about doing certain things did point to enough of one - but sometimes she managed to turn Aziza's head to her way of thinking. She'd definitely disapproved of the Bad Brothers but she'd also disapproved of Benton. That was less about the drugs though, as it wasn't like they didn' have them and dealers in Mugroba, and more to do with him. It was his deals that Nazia hadn't trusted, his quick closeness to her daughter and the fact that he was competing with the Bad Brothers in what was quite solidly their territory.

Maybe she ought to be able to decide such things for herself.

However, when Corwynn showed interest in Benton, no matter how momentary, the colouring of her face grew cooler and muted, the new pallor courtesy of the panic that welled up within her.

"Ne, please dint ask. I'm Mug, I dint... I dint lie, ye chen? I could just not answer but... oes, I'd 'preciate if ye dint ask. Mujo ma," she whispered from between bloodless lips, a nervous quirk of the corners a brave attempt to smile; it wasn't going well. It wasn't a comfortable subject, Benton or the Bad Brothers or the work that they did and the galdor's gun was an unfortunate reminder of that. It made sense that he'd need it, you couldn't use magic for everything but the thought of it being necessitated for survival was enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck. Sure, the weapon itself wasn't inherently bad, just like the nature of magic depended on who wielded it, but she had a hard time seeing a non-lethal application for a gun. You could probably shoot into the air in warning or intentionally miss for the same reason but it was all too easy for that bullet to go astray and cause injury anyway. Besides, if you shot in warning, you still had to be prepared to use a gun properly, didn't you?

It was no wonder that she squirmed in discomfort, even though the Bad Brother seemed more than willing to acquiesce to her wish and not wave around the instrument of death.

The talk of Vienda was almost a welcome distraction, the witch playing idly with her mug despite it being empty, giving her something to do with her hands. It drew a twitch of a smirk because she agreed that the capital was indeed 'tight-ersed' but it was amusing to hear it from a galdor. It wasn't just those who were trampled underfoot who had a negative opinion of the place apparently. Then again Cor hardly seemed like the typical galdor, even though he definitely seemed to have the privileges.

His family had a factory, eh? He was a real jent, wasn't he? Except that he somehow wasn't. Bad Brother rich boy. He definitely had the look of someone who had been born to privilege, it wasn't just a confidence that he oozed, some facade. How did a rich jent end up in this kind of life? Maybe he understood about rebellion after all, what Aziza was going through. Maybe it wasn't just words.

The young woman giggled at his frankly dirty metaphor, delight drawn from her in spite of the ups and downs in her mood this last little while. From what she knew of Anaxas, it sounded quite true although she was no doubt not as familiar with the kingdom's ins and outs, especially politically, as Cor was. The Mug might be resident in the kingdom but she managed to avoid many of its eccentricities by simply running away from them. She skimmed across its surface, never allowing herself to dip beneath into the mucky depths of Anaxas' true nature. It wasn't possible to avoid it entirely and sooner or later, she was probably going to have to deal with it more actively. You couldn't be a foreign tekaa spoke and just assume that you'd always be able to get by without bother. She'd been caught up in riots before, subject to discrimination and even though she hadn't been involved, even tangentially, in the Yaris riots, she could still easily suffer because of it, as all her brethren must.

Did Mugroba have things figured out? No, but she had done her best to avoid most of those matters while she was still in her home kingdom. What occurred there had been of little concern to her. She'd been too young and wrapped up in herself and then she'd continued to be young and wrapped up in herself but with grief and responsibilities suddenly placed on her shoulders.

"It's prob'ly hard everywhere but here is harder for th' likes o' me, harder 'an it was at home. At the time... I thought things were harder than they were. I din't think they were fair. I 'spose they ent changed much," she remarked with a soft laugh, shaking her head, the sombreness persisting. It clung to her, unwilling to move, not readily shaken off. It didn't matter that the chan had seeped into her bloodstream, fogging things so that the edges weren't as sharp because it also meant that the walls weren't as solid as they could have been, the ability to compartmentalise gone like smoke on a breeze. Chan made it difficult to run away from yourself although if you were doing it right, you didn't necessarily mind.

Aziza wasn't doing it quite right and so she did mind, very much. A distraction, that was all she needed, a wonderful distraction so that she didn't have to feel like a terrible daughter or a good-for-nothing witch, a lost little girl or someone without an inkling of what was really going on in the world.

Alcohol would be nice if she could afford it, drugs, all things that she could theoretically beg off others although not in the volumes she needed, not fast enough. There were other ways, better ways that didn't make it necessary to numb herself entirely, to take away all feeling. The witch didn't have an issue with feeling, not if it was the right sort.

The dark-skinned woman rose from her seat, a hand sweep up her braids, tangling the woven strands together for a few moments before she let them drop. She gave Cor a lascivious smile as she moved to his side of the table, perching on its edge, hands splayed on its wooden surface behind her a she leaned back.

"Takes all sorts t'make a world an' there are plen'y o' good sorts," she murmured, stretching out a leg, letting her foot touch off his calf, happy to let it slide up higher if he didn't try to stop her. "Ye're quite righ' o' course. Shouldn't judge 'fore I know someone proper."

She licked her lips, finding herself quite ready to fall into those blue eyes as she considered the galdor, a warmth oozing through her glamour that he was certain to feel bleed into his field. "D'ye oft find summat that tickles yer fancy, Corwynn?" she questioned softly. "I'm sure ye din't have trouble getting anything that takes yer fancy."

[Corwynn]

20th of Dentis, 2718
THE WIDOW'S WALK | EARLY EVENING

The Taxman smirked—a strangely warmer, more knowing expression than his previous of the same slant—when Aziza asked him not to press the issue of her contacts in the Harbor any further. Mugrobi as the witch was, she didn't want to cross the line between truth into untruth to protect someone—or someones—who she appeared to care about, not in the presence of a Bad Brother who would have taken the information and gladly caused as much harm with it as possible. Her people valued honesty, and so, raising his sea-worn hands almost defensively, he agreed without a word to give her the space she requested, no matter how much the desire—the relentless, King-fed need—to know more lingered in the back of his mind.

He chuckled instead, Corwynn shifting in his chair a little, leaning more comfortably into it with the delicious, calming warmth of chan meandering through his senses. No, Anaxas didn't have anything right, not really, but sometimes the Harbor at least pretended not to care. Mugroba had its own political issues, but ones which the galdor was more than content to not be a part of. He navigated enough of those shark-infested waters at Hawke's request, a pretty face in Vienda who knew far too many names and far too many legislative procedures as it was.

Not expecting a shift in conversation, nor a shift so swift, a fair eyebrow rose in question as the young witch stood and moved, choosing to make for herself a closer seat on the table in front of him, hands busy in the colorful strands of her braids. Blue eyes followed the flowing motions of dark skin, the particular tilt of a just-so sort of smile, and while it all seemed out of place considering the direction of Aziza's previous conversation, Corwynn was nothing if not adaptable when the situation called for it.

He smiled back, curious and coy, "I'm not a good sort. You judged correctly the first time." The rich depths of his voice weren't as mischievous as his expression, for he could be honest, too. He meant it, obviously, and even as his crystalline gaze traveled over the young woman before him to trail downward toward the foot that had come to rest against his calf.

There'd been a bit of curiosity. A bit of caution. A bit of tears. And this? Had they come full circle back to flirting again?

This was fine.

Corwynn hadn't objected before and he wasn't about to object now, something about Aziza's particular Kingdom's people that he found far more irresistibly attractive than he cared to admit. Scarlett knew this. All of the Mad Queen knew this.

He did nothing to stop the motion of her body against his, glance lingering as if granting her all the permission she wanted before he looked back up and into the richer, darker depths of her eyes, "Some would accuse me of having such low standards that just about anything tickles my fancy, but those that really know me are aware that such hearsay is terribly untrue." His smile was devious now, fingertips of his five-fingered whole hand reaching to trace idle patterns over the knees before him, over a thigh within reach, more than willing to play along with a slow inhale,

"I can't help that I'm more curious than most." The not so subtle invitation that weighed in the warmth of her field was not at all unnoticed, Corwynn's own far heavier as he willingly mingled and merged, warmth giving way to an almost tangible sort of heat, invisible, sentient particles lingering in what could only be described as an exploratory fashion, "As for getting my hands on things I want, no, I usually do. Eventually."

Thumb of his less whole hand traced over his lips as if in thought and yet also as if teasing with the gesture, "Are you asking if I fancy more of your company than a meal and some tears, Az?"

So long as there was less judgment and far less tears, the blond gunman wasn't opposed to taking much of anyone who was equally willing, really. Sure, he had a few standards—lack of emotional attachment being one of them, among far more superficial ones but this volatile witch was definitely well within the range of appearances the voracious creature found attractive. Had he considered the young Mugrobi would turn the tide in this sort of fashion?

No, honestly. He hadn't.

This sort of flirtation—the unexpected kind—was definitely the most delicious and perhaps it showed in the way he smiled or perhaps even more so in the way his meandering hand came to rest with a firm weight on her thigh, fingers curling gently,

"I'm certain we could tickle something together, ea." Especially now that two mugs of chan had settled so very nicely into his entire existence, thrumming through his system to the rhythm of his pulse, "But not here."

Leaning up, leaning forward regardless of where her feet were or could have been, he let both his hands come to rest on here knees to stand with a languid, feline sort of slowness, hovering between her legs as she perched on the table with an air of hatcher-may-care sort of grace in his lack of care about propriety or forwardness.

Distraction was something he was well-studied in.

Among other things.

"Plenty of folks would argue I take what I want, being the King's Taxman and all, but if I'm going to enjoy something, I'd rather extend an invitation first. Unless you're not interested in anything fancy, adame?"

Perhaps it would have felt like a sudden shift to anyone else other than Corwynn, the pirate used to chasing the wind, used to shifting buoyancy in an airship to adjust for fickle instruments. Improvisation was part of his survival skills, and, truth be told, he was always up for something unexpected if it promised to be fun.

[Aziza]

Dentis 20, 2718 | Early Evening

The young woman gave a snort, lips twisting into a sardonic smile.

"I cannae tell a lie so I know good an' bad ent simple things. Ent anybody pure good or bad, not me, not you. To speak true, I can lie an' I 'ave so... I cannae judge," she remarked softly as her foot found his calf and travelled slowly upwards. Her gaze moved down to her foot as it slid slowly up to his knee before brown eyes rose, finding his own blue ones. Her smile wasn't devious like his but bright and amused, especially given his comment, curious as to what it might mean. People thought that he wasn't picky but... was he saying that he was? Well, he wasn't saying that she wasn't his type. She was watching him, could see how he looked at her and he definitely wasn't giving off signs of disinterest. In that case, it didn't really matter what it meant but he wasn't the only one who was curious.

Their fields mingled, monic auras so very different in texture, the witch investigating his own slowly, cautiously. The young woman had explored a number of things during her life in both Mugroba and Anaxas but she'd never actually had the opportunity to have any sort of amorous relations with a galdor. This particular brand of monic union was new to her, the more organised nature of his field and the strength so different than what she was used to but the difference definitely wasn't bad. Aziza had been with other wicks but she was certain that it had never been quite this intense before, quite this... heated.

The spoke wasn't complaining.

"Eventually? D'ye normally have t'work fer what ye want?" the Mug sniggered. The idea of playing hard to get wasn't something that the witch saw the point in doing. If someone wanted you and you reciprocated their interest then what was the point in playing games? There were plenty of other ways to have fun after all.

The questing foot had reached a point on his thigh, the young woman contemplating whether to let it go further, especially as they were in public. It was less about decorum and more about getting carried away. There were things that she would regret doing in full view of the public that was for sure although... after the fact; she might be a bit too distracted to notice during the fact.

"By Hulali's Will! I should hope I can be better comp'ny 'an tha'," the spoke laughed, shaking her head. "But I ent gonna play coy, Cor. I am askin' if ye'd be int'rested, ea."

The grin was broader now, the youth clearly pleased at this admittance. "I ten' t'be direct. Lot of folks ent used to tha', not all o' them complain," she added with a wink, shoving braids out of her face once more. Should she just tie them up more? She pondered the notion for a moment before using one of the braids as a hair tie, bundling the tops of the braids into a bun high on her head, tying it off but letting the rest of their lengths hang down free. A bit more order had been established without taming her hair utterly; now it would be less of a distraction.

Cor was certainly distraction enough, and a bloody good one, the warmth in his field, his gaze and the hand that had come to rest on her thigh all positive indicators of what was to come. Tickling indeed! She snorted at that one, grin so broad and permanent that the young woman's cheeks were beginning to ache a bit.

"Ea, ne here. I ent sure that folks coming fer dinner want tha' kind o' show, There are places fer tha', ea but this ent one o' them. Not tha' I wanna go to one o' those places, ye chen?"Aziza added, the smile faltering briefly as worry marred her features. She really wasn't that sort and she felt that it was important to make that clear. It saved misunderstandings because for some reason, she just seemed to give off some sort of vibe that gave entirely the wrong message about free her sexuality was.

Why that was the case was a total mystery to her.

He stood, the hands on her knees and his position making her wonder if he was going to take her here and now in spite of his words. Her breath caught, brown eyes turned up towards him, huge and full of anticipation while her heart pounded in her chest. Her feelings in this moment were quite easy to read, even without the sense of giddiness in her glamour.

The giggle that escaped her was higher, an airy whisper to it as if the girl hardly had the breath to make it. "I'm spoke, Cor. I ent used to fancy, I dint need it, ye chen? Ye dint have t'take wha's given an' ye can have tha'. Although if ne here, I dint have anywhere t'go but you..." she left the sentence hanging in the air, an unspoken question but one that hardly needed to be voiced.

This would be on his terms.