[M] How Old Exactly?

Celebrating Tristaan's birthday in all the best ways.

The capital city of Anaxas and the seat of the government.
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Sarinah Lissden
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: Passively invested
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Thu Oct 04, 2018 10:18 pm

Roalis 29th, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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The Yellow Eye giggled, wavering a little on her feet against the Red Crow as he leaned in to tempt her with a lingering and indulgent kiss, her dark eyes flitting from his lips to his eyes as his words slipped between them.

“Oh, a private show, Mister Greymoore?” She teased quietly as he drew back a bit, her hand resting on the counter as the barkeep took the bottle to open it.

“Sounds manna benny t’me balach.” The brunette hummed, her mildly drunk seductive smile fading slightly as Tristaan seemed lost in thought. It was his next words that gripped Sarinah’s attention, her sobriety almost breaking through the haze of intoxication.

“Ye have a beata? I never...I hadn’t thought t’...” The witch stammered, brow drawing in a small frown, cheeks turning a deeper mauve. Her gaze drifted down to the broken timepiece the scarred man pressed into her hand. Acrobatic calloused fingers moved to reach for the pocket watch, turning it with a slow curiosity, fingertips stroking the delicately engraved design on the front. A small curious smile crept over her features as she discovered the clasp, and the performer raised an eyebrow and glanced up at the man, grinning at his sudden realisation of her sneaky insult.

“Ent nothin’ t’ complain about kov. Old r’not, ye....perform jus’fine.” She giggled, stumbling slightly as the grey eyed man pulled her closer, mahogany eyes focused on the watch with determination. She would open it, once her fingers wanted to work. As they stood in line, Sarinah made a small triumphant sound as she managed to open the clasp, her smile falling as her eyes took in the smashed and destroyed interior of the watch. It was clear someone had taken to the face, purposefully and with anger, and it wasn’t hard to assume that it was Tristaan himself. As they shuffled in the line, the tipsy wick let her gaze roam over the photograph, a finger touching on the unfamiliar smiling child in the corner.

Tristaanian Greymoore, the galdor.

It was impossible to reconcile that thought with the passive that held her so tightly and loved her so fiercely. He looked like his father, uncannily so, with the gentleness of his mother entwined in some way. They looked like nice, decent people, but Sarinah knew better. They were shallow, heartless erseholes that had left their child—their baby!—in the streets when they realised he was magicless. Her brow drew into a scowl, angry for him at the people smiling perfectly in the image.

And his sister, dressed in the galdori school uniform of Brunnhold. Had she missed him? Looked for him? Would she be sympathetic if she found him now, or would she shun him and call the authorities? The witch snapped it shut gently as the dark haired passive pointed at the onna-stick vendors, forcing down the seething rage at his family and his race, offering up a warm smile.

“Arova by moonlight in th’city that never sleeps? Almost sounds like y’tryin’ t’seduce me hama. Private shows, dancin’, yats n’drinks by Alioe’s light? A chip could almost get used t’this.” She winked, handing the timepiece back with a lingering touch on his hand, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Her heart ached for the man, wishing she could turn back the hands of time and stop his parents from abandoning him. But then, if she could and she did, would they have met? Would he be the man he was today?

No, they wouldn’t have. And she would still be in the Queen waiting for the day someone paid just the right price for her.

Watching Tristaan contemplate the bottle, Sarinah stole it from him with a chuckle and took a deep drink of the sweet rich wine, examining the date again with a nod.

“Ninety four t’is then. Happy twenty fourth birthday kov!” She cried suddenly, raising the bottle high in celebration and kissing him exuberantly, tasting the Hanged Man that lingered on his lips with a giddy laugh. The proper folk around them glanced, frowned, and murmured amongst themselves. The brunette took one more look at the line for the food, and waved her hand dismissively.

“Dze, this’macha but it ent worth th’wait. Come on hama, lessgo. I want ye t’enjoy tonight, not be surrounded by jents that wouldn’t know a caoja f’it bit them on th’erse.” Sarinah weaved her free arm around his and tugged, stumbling slightly on her own feet as she dragged the man away from the Court. She had no sense of direction, or any idea where she was going, but the witch grinned as she guided Tristaan away from the stuffy galdori into the night dressed Vienda streets. Shoving the bottle into his free hand after another swig, she let go to run up to the nearest lamp post, swinging around it with a giggle and a coy smirk.

“We could go back to the circus, an’I could show ye a thing or two on the trapeze or th’hoop? Or ye could...show me all th’places two young fools go t’uh...discover each other?” The now definitely drunk witch hummed another giggle, biting her lower lip and hovering just out of reach behind her lamp post shield.

word count: 933

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Tristaanian Greymoore
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Mon Oct 15, 2018 1:26 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
"Oes, I had a fancy golly fami once, but I can't say a better one than what I've got now, ye chen." Alioe only knew how much he missed the comforting friendship he'd once had with his sister. How they looked out for each other, how he longed for her smile and her hand while living on the streets like refuse as a child. How he ached for her conversation and her laughter when crammed like a beast of burden into the factory. How he wondered what she had become without him. Did she wear the uniform like they'd promised? Had he missed her on patrol some night? What would she say to him now? Would she hate what he was?

Tristaan's expression came back into focus as Sarinah fumbled with his broken pocket watch, his smile fleeting at her teasing about his mysterious age as well as her coy approval of his performance in their more intimate moments. He would have smiled had the faces of those who'd raised him not stared up at the lovely witch from the spectrograph so coldly, distantly. He swallowed hard, a wave of nausea shuddering through his intoxicated system, drowning his thoughts for several languid moments, making him full of a painful nostalgia.

He felt the shift in his lovely witch's field, the anger that raced through her for a moment, that indignant fury that fueled his entire existence, that hardened him into the muscle and scars he was today. Her smile broke the moment needfully and her lingering touch with the press of his watch grounded him instead of leaving him lost in the sea of his own memories, dragging him back to the shore of her beautiful, fervent existence in his life,

"Boemo. Twenty four 't is! Happy birthday t' me, then." The dark-haired passive laughed at their decision-making process, letting the noise disappear against the press of Sarinah's enticing lips, uncaring about the depths of their kiss in the sight of strangers who wouldn't recognize them as anything but road dust tomorrow anyway.

She was dragging him away and he wanted the bottle after she did, following her example as she slipped from his grasp once they'd walked just far enough away from the poor imitation of a proper party. He grinned from behind his own long swig, grey eyes warming as his difficult memories were washed away by the purposefully alluring motions of the olive-skinned woman he loved far more than he knew he should have,

"If we go back t' th' Circus, y' ent gonna make 't to th' tent for any o' those things. I've watched your act plenty b' now, an' I chen jus' how well y' perform, too, macha. I'll jus' drag y' straight t' bed an' ye know 't." Tristaan all but growled playfully in response, his slow grin full of undisguised desire despite his words, "Y' forget that I weren't allowed off factory property much without riskin' a beatin', nor did I, uh, discover much o' anythin' 'bout m'self 'r anyone else 'til I called tekaa fami as a young man."

He couldn't help it, too intoxicated to be anything but honest, whatever came out of his mouth simply unfiltered from his own mind, oscillating as it was between coy and dour, between what he wanted and who he once was.

"I ent got a clue where young folks go, but this ol' kov 's got half a mind t' find out." Tristaan took another swig of the wine that was definitely delicious, deciding it was a worthwhile date to claim as his own, unaware that it was, in fact, the correct one. Years had blurred as a child without structure, and some important facts had been less important once he'd become a factory slave. His free hand came to rest on Sarinah's, fingers curling over hers around the lamp post, and he allowed her to playfully hover out of reach while he leaned opposite her.

For a quiet moment, his grey gaze traveled over her face and lingered over her lovely body made so enticingly obvious by her dress before he glanced around the quiet, darkened streets. A few other revelers meandered to and from the gathering in the square they'd left behind and music was still quite audible. There'd be taverns open at this house. Restaurants. The Dives had a particularly exciting night bazaar on the nines and tens. There were inns and beds and breakfasts, too. Places to stay for travelers, some of them often willing to overlook a misplaced bit of paperwork for a bit of extra coin.

"We're dressed jus' fancy 'nough that I bet we could convince a nice innkeeper we're proper city folk for a night, ye chen—" The pair had fake writs anyway, just in case, along with their official Circus papers. The dark-haired passive's smile grew mischievous, the heat of his ever-present defiant streak racing with his pulse, "—stay somewhere nice with hot water for th' night. Together."

He stepped away from the lamp post and let his fingers trail down her wrist, reaching for her other hand and teasing her for a moment by leaning almost close enough to kiss, only he kept walking, chuckling, quite confident in his ability to fool anyone he wanted after so much alcohol and wearing such a clocking fine suit,

"C'mon. We'll walk along th' Arova an' pretend we care 'bout th' moon while lookin' a'each other instead, hama." He could lead them along one of the many side streets that bordered the river if she agreed, not in a hurry to make their way toward one of the many main thoroughfares lined with inns and taverns, unconcerned in his currently intoxicated state whether there were Seventen patrols or crowds of confused galdori. He'd stick to the edges of things, just where the Dives blended into Uptown, vaguely aware of the capitol's geography and with a slight idea of where they were going and how much he was willing to slide across the counter for an evening of celebratory fun in a comfortable bed with a heated bath.
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 1101
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Sarinah Lissden
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: Passively invested
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Mon Oct 22, 2018 5:59 pm

Roalis 29th, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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TSarinah giggled ridiculously at the passives wickedly growled response, a thrill of anticipation and desire running prickling her scalp and dancing down her back.

“M’be I wouldn’t let y’catch me Mister Greymoore? M’be I’m too fast f’ye?” She swung around the post again lazily, eyes a rich dark sable in the soft phosphorus glow of the lamplight. Her ruby lips turned into a small pout as Tristaan reminded her that as fun as her words were, his last experiences in Vienda had been brutally cruel and unkind. As his fingers curled around hers, the witch glanced at him from around the metalwork, searching his face with a less then sober seriousness.

“Let me help y’make a memory o’Vienda that y’can look on fondly. One that ent about hurt or anguish. One of y’and I hama.” The dancer said suddenly, her mouth not quite catching up with her brain regarding internal or external thoughts. As grey eyes roamed without hesitation, Sarinah let her sultry smirk creep back slowly, her free hand tracing softly across the back of his hand.

“See somethin’ y’like kov?” She teased, arching one dark eyebrow with drunken mirth and an appreciative wink, before giggling uselessly again as the scarred man suggested something new and rare for a couple of spokes. A room, a fancy room, with a bath. The brunette blushed, olive cheeks darkening not from the drink, tilting her head slightly as the enticing passive moved closer, eager to kiss his delightfully upturned lips.

Only he slipped right by her with a devious chuckle.

“Hey, ne fair!” The witch protested with a pout, releasing the lamppost to follow the tattooed man, curling her arm in his with a sigh. Her gaze drifted again, admiring just how handsome the passive was in his fancy suit, tailored so perfectly with the lines and planes of his hardened figure. Her mind wandered, and with a self indulgent laugh, she stumbled against him softly as they wandered the golly city. Sarinah was as lost as they came, but Tristaan seemed to know where to go, leading them both through the streets in an unrushed meander. Hands wandered, lips brushed and breath whispered wicked things as they giggled and laughed their way through Vienda, till they found themselves before what appeared to be a modestly middle class establishment. The brunette looked up at the sign, very slowly sounding out the letters.

“The....Osta’s...P..a..w. Paw? The Osta’s Paw?” She looked at Tristaan with a proud grin, entirely and intoxicatedly delighted at her reading, and hoping she got it right. Tugging on the passive, drawing him closer, Sarinah pressed a kiss on his irresistible lips and chuckled.

“Whatcha think hama? Seems t’be a pina sight better than The Black Rickshaw, oes?” Her mouth wandered with a soft sigh, brushing against his cheek and jaw, pressing against the soft skin of his throat.

“Ent sure I want t’be outside any longer, ye chen? S’if this ent good enough...” The dancer left it hanging as she drew away with a smile, pulling the man through the doorway of the inn.

The inside of the entrance was a small tavern, made of warm redwood and dressed with potted plants. The tables were fancy enough to have place settings and candles, but not quite enough for table cloths, and over a low burning fireplace was a gilded framed picture of some galdori magister from times past, looking very regal and proper. Behind the bar, a friendly looking woman with soft grey hair pulled into a gentle bun smiled at the two. Human, no field to detect, she was soft and round, maybe someone’s grandmother. Stairs at the back of the tavern appeared to lead up to the guest rooms.

“Evening sir, ma’am. Dinner is it, pet?” She said to Tristaan warmly, older eyes knowingly looking at Sarinah’s far to giggly and smiling demeanour. The keep knew a couple of drunk lovers when she saw them. Some of her best business in fact.

“Or...just a room for the night, maybe?” Sarinah continued to drag the passive through the nearly empty tavern so they stood before the woman, smiling back at the human cluelessly.

“Evening ro—ma’am. I believe myself and my companion wish to abscond for the night. Something nice, with a bath. Oh, and a bottle of something nice. Maybe a First Light?” She pulled out her most formal Estuan, drawing on the accents she’d picked up in the Rose, slightly slurring even if she didn’t realise it. Scarlett insisted her birds talked properly, and even took the time to have the more schooled ones teach the others. Rich galdori sometimes preferred a learned girl.

And sometimes they just wanted to have a wick.

The dancer looked at Tristaan, drawing her coin purse from its pocket and handing it to him.

“Here you are sir, my contribution to our accomodation.”

word count: 869
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Tristaanian Greymoore
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Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Fri Oct 26, 2018 4:41 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
Tristaan let their walk be a leisurely one, mostly because he wanted to simply pretend things could be normal in their lives, that they were simply another couple out for an evening stroll after some gathering on a day of the week he knew most galdori had off anyway. He wanted to hold Sarinah's hand and laugh with her over stupid, inane conversation instead of worry about what was around the corner in the dark, waiting for them both. He wanted to watch the moonlight dance off the Arova in a city that had done its best to break his stubborn soul, in a city that had broken his scrawny magic-less body too many times, and feel like somehow he was a better man because of it, even if he knew he wasn't.

He knew he could never be, not really.

Gods, Tristaan was desperate not to think of it all, either, not to dwell on the truth of how his homeland was made—broken, just like him.

Stolen kisses, intoxicated laughter, and wandering hands were just another perfect gift, and the dark-haired passive savored every moment of the scenic route he so carefully chose through the nicer parts of the Dives, to the very vague border between Uptown and the part of the capitol tossed like a bone to the lower races simply because they had to have somewhere to live, after all. He only knew where he was going because Winslow was the type of man who looked after his own, the old clown well aware the pair deserved a night away and had lined his pockets with all the ging he needed and told him all the right places to stay.

Alioe, bless that human.

Tristaan slowed their walking further and let his grey-eyed gaze wander the signage that lined the little shops and taverns and inns along the strange no-man's land between the obvious divide of the city. Pausing, he grinned as Sarinah followed his glances and read a sign out loud. They'd worked hard on that, in their own way, and hearing her string letters together into words with confidence elicited a chuckle that was quickly drowned in the eager press of the lovely witch's lips. His calloused fingers curled greedily into the smooth red fabric of her dress, uncaring of who else was on the godsbedamned streets while her kisses trailed alluring places over the tanned skin of his neck, "I have 't on good word it's nice, oes."

He purred, cheekily revealing he'd had his own plans, revealing he'd conspired alongside her for his own birthday, her next words making his grin turn devious and his whole body warm with expectation,

"I chen." Letting her tug him along, he followed, making sure to hold the door for her, glancing about the interior with a bit of hushed surprise. It was nice. Far nicer than anywhere he'd been in ... ever? He bit his lip. Winslow's tricks not just the ones he reserved for in front of an audience. He heard his pulse in his ears and felt the suddenly nervous flutter of his scarred heart against his ribs. Perhaps this wasn't the right—

An older human woman smiled at them that knowing smile and he smiled back, shy and chagrined. He opened his mouth to answer her but Sarinah was faster in her intoxication, both of them far from sober but Tristaan weighed down by the drunk ghosts of his own fears. Blinking as the lovely witch pulled out her cleanest Estuan, he inhaled sharply any thoughts that bubbled up against his tongue,

"Yes. Exactly that." He managed, not lamely so much as slowly, tucking the money handed to him into his coat as if to brush her off with a quiet laugh, "We're already well fed on each other's company but have little interest in the long walk home. The next ferry isn't until the morning anyway. Do you have room for us?"

The woman smiled gently at their slurred word with the experienced sort of understanding of someone who operated a nice tavern on the edge of the not so nice part of town, "Plenty of room. A bath and breakfast, then? Done." She didn't ask for papers, she didn't ask to see their writs, she didn't seem to care, aware that they could have been from anywhere. Instead, she turned and reached for a key behind her, the room number carved carefully onto the brass fob that was attached to it with a ring, "I'll have someone send up your First Light as well. That'll be four shills."

Tristaan reluctantly let go of Sarinah's hand long enough to settle their payment and take the key, thanking the woman with a smile before it was his turn to tug the lovely witch behind him, eager to make his way up the stairs and find their room, eager to shut the city away behind a door. Eager to admit he'd seen enough of it all already but that he could never see enough of her.

"Breakfast is from the forth house until the fifth." A voice trailed after them up the stairwell, but it ended in light laughter.

The dark-haired passive might have passed their room once—twice—glancing from the key to the neat little placards in the hall, pausing for a stolen kiss or two, turning them around with more of his body against hers than necessary, giggling about it, "Epaemo," he teased, clearly making a fool of himself for the fun of it now, "I'm jus' a lil' distracted—"

Flustered by the time he'd opened the door to their room and pressed them inside, Tristaan was all devious grin and quick hands, uncaring that they were expecting more to drink that they didn't need once he could close and lock the door, whispering while he trapped Sarinah against it with a shift of his hips and the teasing of calloused hands planted playfully on either side of her, "—we should wait for th' First Light, eh? Here, maybe."

It wouldn't be long, surely, and they could pass the few minutes with impatient kisses, which the dark-haired passive was more than willing to lean closer and invite the olive-skinned dancer to enjoy. Eagerly, he tasted her lips, far thirstier for all of her than he was for more wine, quite content to have saved the best present of his evening—her private company somewhere far nicer than either of them had been in a long time, if ever—for last.
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 1169
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Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 107
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
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: Passively invested
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Fri Oct 26, 2018 7:34 pm

Roalis 29th, 2718
Music
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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"Y’have it on good…Tristaan, this were supposed t’be my surprise, no’yours. Y’toft..olio…macha…” She giggled, forgetting entirely where she was heading with those words as they entered the establishment. Where she had pulled out her best estuan, it was the passives own impressively clear speech that caught the brunette entirely off guard. She blinked, looking over him slowly as the wick suddenly became a broken son of a galdor. It was wrong, unnatural, and so utterly well spoken that the dancer could have been with a total stranger.

Did she dislike it? Maybe once, back in the Rose, back in the warehouse where Tristaan had first revealed himself to be a passive. Maybe if she’d heard him speak like a jent there, then perhaps she would shudder and curl her lip, perhaps she would feel fear pool in her stomach like poison swallowed by the unknowing victim. Here though? After so many months together, learning what made them who they were today, discovering more and more about the man she was so tocking head over heels in love with?

Here, it was devilishly attractive.

Sarinah sucked her full, red stained lower lip between her teeth as she watched the steel eyed man interact with the keep, grinning again as he caught her hand and all but jogged up the stairs. The witch laughed again, hearing the woman call after them but hardly paying any attention as they made their way to their room like two teens sneaking away from the prying eye of watchful adults. They passed their room, twice, much to the olive skinned womans amusement, her laughter silenced by more wonderfully unrestrained kisses in the hallway. They turned together to retrace their way back to the correct door, Sarinah letting her hands brush against the scarred passive in ways that were definitely not appropriate for their current location, reminded suddenly of how well the man could move. As Tristaan fought with the lock and key, she unhelpfully nibbled at his earlobe and traced her fingers over the buttons of his very proper suit.

“Mmm…ent sure why y’d be distracted hama. Mus’be somethin’ in th’ air, oes?” She breathed, a peel of drunken giggling following them through the door when it finally opened. He turned her again, a dizzying movement, and the barefooted dancer found herself trapped against the now closed and locked door, hypnotized by the devilish grin on her lovers face.

“We should definitely wait. ‘Cos, we paid f’it oes? Wouldn’t make any sense t’just—“ Her playful banter faded off as she willingly welcomed his eager mouth against hers, hands curling into the fine fabric of his tailored suit, looking for the fastenings on his vest with deft fingers.

Clock the wine.

Slipping the buttons free from their holes, Sarinah continued to kiss the passives warm, seeking lips as she slipped the vest open and let her hands roam against the soft white shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his torso under the fabric. She tugged on the shirt, freeing it from his pants with a grin against his mouth, allowing her palms to stroke against the scarred and slightly tanned skin beneath. Wickedly, the brunette rolled her hips to press against him whilst she tugged his lower lip between her teeth and hummed with amusement.

“Here is fine, right here.” She purred, reaching for the buckle of his belt when a sudden sharp knock on the door froze the wick in place. Her mahogany eyes opened, and she grinned ridiculously as she stared directly into the passives eyes.

“Evening folks, I’ve got the First Light here for you?” A gentle young male voice called through the wooden door, and Sarinah couldn’t help but stifle a giggle, escaping from Tristaan’s body with a couple more quick kisses, opening the door just enough that she could peek out at the youth holding their wine on the other side.

“Hi, hello. Yes. I’ll take that. Thankyou. Fotamos—er…yes. Goodnight!” Sarinah snatched the bottle from his hands with a dazzling smile, before leaning to close it and turn the lock, dissolving into more laughter as she glanced back at Tristaan.

“Wine? Ohhh…oh hama this is…” Her gaze drifted from the dark haired passive to sweep the room behind him with a breathless sound of wonder, placing the bottle of alcohol on the small dresser by the door as she drifted further into the room. It was larger than she’d ever thought a room could be, built and decorated with the same warm redwood as the tavern. The majority of the room was taken up by a large bed, dressed very perfectly in a thick feather down quilt and about a million pillows, gold and burgundy in design and framed by two large windows. An oversized burgundy armchair sat by one of the thick lace curtained windows that possibly led to a sweeping view of Uptown – the guests on the other side of the building getting the less desirable sweeping view of the Dives. A brass gilded fireplace adorned the left wall, with a large mirror above the mantle. On the right of the room, an archway led to a redwood bathroom. The bath itself was porcelain lined, and built against the far wall made almost entirely of floor to ceiling mirrors. The right of the bathroom contained a sink and a small cupboard to store towels and soaps. Everything was lit with warm phosphorus lighting – a privilege of living in Vienda it seemed.

“Tristaan, look at th’…oh wow.” She gushed, unable to decide what exactly she was wowing at first, throwing herself onto the bed with a giggle and arms spread wide. As she sunk into the down quilt, the dancer struggled to her elbows with a slightly wobbly, mostly sultry smirk.

“Is that a pistol in y’pocket Mister Greymoore, or y’ just happy t’see me?” Sarinah said with a devious chuckle, admiring the view from her place in the bed.

word count: 1061
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Tristaanian Greymoore
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Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor
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: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Mon Oct 29, 2018 2:46 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
Sarinah wasn't wasting any clocking time, her fingers finding buttons even as his tongue made devious promises wordlessly between her delicious lips. Tristaan moved his body in thoughtless obedience to her silent commands, breath hitching raggedly with enthusiasm at the brush of her hands over his skin. Her teeth at his lower lip elicited a growl and he shifted his hips needfully as the lovely witch reached his belt, only to inhale sharply at the knock on the door. Such unnecessary timing, but certainly not a surprise. This was how things went, wasn't it always? He chuckled quietly, grey eyes wrinkling at the edges of his amused, heated expression, moving an arm to allow her to slip away but begging her to stay with lingering kisses.

He didn't move very far, leaning against the wall in the threshold with the elevated staccato rhythm of his pulse in his ears, watching Sarinah from behind without a hint of apology for the view before she was shutting the door, locking it, and holding the wine like it was some sort of useless prize. Like he needed anything else to clocking drink, for the lovely witch was intoxicating enough. She laughed. He laughed back, flowing behind her with the kind of intoxicated gracefulness desire seemed to summon from bodies in need. He followed her own gaze about the room, lit by the glow of phosphor and far nicer than even he'd been prepared for, curling behind her with the press of lips to her neck, just above the high neck line of her dress. His hands wandered firmly over the body he knew was hidden beneath the fabric, reaching to undo a few buttons before she slipped away.

That old clown. Alioe bless him.

His attention may have lingered on the tub then snagged for a few seconds too long out out the window, the dazzling view of Uptown reminding him where he was and who he wasn't. It would have slithered back into his thoughts, that sour note, but Sarinah sank softly to the bed with another giggle, her whole self welcoming in her amusement.

The dark-haired passive laughed stupidly at her coy joke, stalking toward the edge of the bed and shedding his coat and vest and shirt without fanfare as he did so, allowing all of the finery to fall from his scarred, lithely muscled body as if he was far too good for such pretending anymore, as if all of Vienda couldn't contain him within the bounds of expectation. Because it couldn't. Because it never had.

"Oh, I'm always armed an' dangerous, ye chen." He returned her purr with his own alluring grin, reaching for her so he could replace her hands where they'd been at his belt buckle, making sure to tease them both by brushing her palms over what was still hidden from view with a hiss, "Why don't y' come here an' disarm me, hama?"

He could mostly wait his turn, Tristaan just as eager to divest Sarinah from her lovely dark burgundy, embroidered dress, just as eager to caress olive skin he'd already memorized the beautiful landscape of by touch. His calloused fingers teased their way down her arms and over her shoulders, pressing closer to begin finding more buttons to undo and more fastens to unfasten despite the distraction of her hands.
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 618
User avatar
Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 107
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
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Tue Oct 30, 2018 4:45 am

Roalis 29th, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
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As the passive moved to press against her, Sarinah hummed with wicked enjoyment, leaning into him with a smile and a breathless sigh. Calloused hands explored the curves of her body over the silky borrowed dress and warm lips tickled her neck, causing the witch to chuckle before escaping with a few less closed buttons on the back of her outfit. They were both stupidly drunk and ridiculously in love, and the thought warmed her from within as she fell back onto the soft bed.

It was, for one gods-be-damned moment, all very clocking perfect.

Watching Tristaan all but stalk towards her, like a wild chrove on the hunt, the brunette bit her lower lip hard between her front teeth and let her dark eyes drift across the exposed scarred expanse of his torso as all his fine garments fell so languidly to the ground. Oh, but it was a good view, his teasing attitude giving Sarinah a thrill that rolled through her field like a summer breeze. The bright, bold tattoo on his arm drew her eyes like a moth to a flame, causing an overwhelming sense of love to almost steal her breath. She giggled as he approached, delighted as he joined in her banter with devious wordplay. Allowing herself to be dragged into a seated position on the edge of the soft bed, the dancer inhaled sharply as the grey eyed man guided her hands across what was very clearly not a pistol of any sort, curling her fingers into the leather of his belt once his hands slipped away across the back of her dress to loosen more clasps and such.

“Ye know, it’s illegal t’hold arms. It’s f’ye own good that I search y’and...disarm any and all firepower. Ye chen?” She said with a smirk, looking up at the passive from her vantage point as her fingers deftly worked to unbuckle the clasp, pressing her lips against the firm tanned skin under his navel. Opening the fastenings of his fancy suit pants, the olive skinned wick wrapped her hand around the warmth of his obvious arousal with a triumphant sound, hardly pausing before she followed the stroking of her hand with ruby lips. She moved with a purposeful, wickedly torturous slow pace, taking her time to explore every tantalising inch of him. Sounds and movements only encouraged the dancer, the intoxication causing her to forget herself for a moment and get lost in the pleasure of knowing that she was doing this to him. That his groans, growls or curses were her doing.

Drawing away, cheeks flushed and dark eyes fixated on his own, Sarinah laughed again, releasing him and rolling away from Tristaans hands to half crawl-half wriggle across the lavish quilt on her stomach. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears and other, warmer places, as she escaped the man to leave him she hoped, wanting more.

“Ne, wait, I wanna do something.” She giggled, getting up on her hands and knees to not-so-elegantly clamber out the other side of the bed and stand up. Looking at the dark haired man as she backed into the bathroom, Sarinah reached for her now loosened dress, pulling the garment away and pushing the bunched fabric over her hips to take whatever undergarments she had left with it and leave them where they landed. Turning, the raven haired witch walked to the taps to the large bathtub, twisting them on and filling the room with the sound of gushing water, steam quickly rising from the torrent. Throwing a handful of what appeared to be scented salts and soap shards into the hot water as she adjusted the temperature, the tall woman looked at Tristaan through the mirror behind the bath.

“Figured we may as well run this now, whilst we...work on other things.” She said with an arched brow and another laugh, reaching up to remove the pins in her long thick locks, allowing the raven and red tresses to fall in loose curls down the bare plane of her back. There was no shame in her body, not with him and not with the multiple drinks they had consumed pulsing through her veins as she reached to shake out her hair with a groan of satisfaction.

word count: 752
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Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 126
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Passive
: I'm just here for the Sho.
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Writer: Muse
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Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:08 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
His lovely witch wasted no time once he'd dragged her close to him as he stood at the edge of the bed, her hands eager to free him from his pants. Tristaan hardly had time to laugh at her coy threat, her touch eliciting a breathless growl that was quickly cut short by a sharp inhale as Sarinah took advantage of her seated position in front of him. Unprepared, he wavered on his intoxicated feet when her tongue teased over his length and curled fingers into the olive skin of her shoulders while she took all of him into her mouth. He cursed softly in obvious pleasure, swept away by the excruciating slowness she chose to taunt him with, every nerve ending alight with arousal and desire as if she'd lit a match against his spine.

Alioe, she stole his very ability to think. Refusing to close his eyes, the dark-haired passive watched her with half a grin and heavily-lidded gaze, soon reduced to a panting, quickly crumbling mess, convinced she had every intention of dragging him over the blissful edge of his undoing without even giving him a chance to undress one piece of her beautiful finery. She pulled away just as wickedly, sweet torture her only true purpose, leaving him dizzy with madness, laughing at him while he groaned, forced to find his focus again as she made a show of attempting to escap him across the bed.

"Wo chet." Tristaan finally managed words that he could barely hear above the thundering of his own pulse, the heat of excitement crawling beneath his bare, scarred skin and chasing on the tail of all the alcohol that danced to tantalizingly through his veins.

Quickly stepping to trap the witch between the side of the bed and the bathroom, still unsteady on his feet, hands reaching for her as she began to undress, totally unwilling to let her unwrap herself on his clocking birthday without his assistance. His hands roamed as he did so, rough and eager, lips wandering olive skin until she told him to wait, a request that was rewarded with a reluctant whine, the intoxicated passive both curious and eager. Still, she smiled at him and slipped from his grasp to make her tantalizing way toward the bathroom, leaving him to let his grey-eyed gaze linger at her retreating, naked form before he followed after her, leaning against the frame that separated the bedroom from the tiled, mirrored room Sarinah had led them to.

She began to fill the tub—that most glorious of inventions!—sprinkling scented delights into the steamy water and Tristaan couldn't help but flash her a most roguish grin as he met the warm, rich depths of her gaze through the mirror, "Other things, eh?" He sighed, moving to stand behind the lovely witch, first reaching to help her with her hair, calloused fingers holding it to one side while he let warm lips brush her neck before he released the glorious cascade fall gently against her back,

"I'm sure we can find something t' do while we're waitin', Hama." Kissing her shoulder as he purred his words, his arms snaked gently around her, palms cupping her breasts and teasing over sensitive peaks, he lingered, holding her body against his to nibble his way back up her neck and finish his words at her ear. Unwilling to let her turn around just yet, grey eyes glancing to the tub while he dragged his hands downward appreciatively over the olive-skinned dancer's body, drifting as low as the tattoo that matched his own, brushing playfully over the inked reminders of their willingness to become so entangled in each other's lives.

With a shift of his hips just to press their bodies that much closer, he let one hand wander lightly over the curve of her hip and downward, purposefully to journey between her legs and touch her. Parting warm flesh, he knew exactly what he was seeking in the soft folds made slick by excitement and anticipation, his other hand roamed back upward while he hummed against the delicious skin of her neck, "What is 't y' had 'n mind t' do? This, m'haps? Or somethin' else?"
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 762
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Sarinah Lissden
Posts: 107
Joined: Thu Mar 29, 2018 3:42 am
Location: Vienda
Race: Wick
: Passively invested
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Fri Nov 09, 2018 9:07 am

​​​​
Roalis 29th, 2718
​​VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
​​
Image
Sarinah giggled again, admiring the view of the passive in the mirror behind her as he leaned against the wooden frame with a wicked grin, letting her hands slip from her hair to reach further back and curl around the nape of his neck as the steel eyed man moved to stand behind her. Letting her head fall to one side, her mahogany eyes drifted shut with a soft sigh, his breath ticking the sensitive olive skin of her neck and sending shivers down her spine. As calloused hands weaved their way across her bared torso, Sarinah let slip a small sound of delight, lifting her head and turning her ear slightly towards his devious lips as his words seared into her very soul.
​​
​​ “Oes…plenty f’other somethings…” She breathed, opening her eyes again and watching as Tristaan skimmed across the lithely muscled plane of her abdomen, her own hands slipping to rest over his as they drifted across her hips. Her ruby lips turned upwards fondly as he brushed the tattoo that stood so starkly against her skin, heart bursting with so many things she wanted to say but couldn’t find the right words. Gods, she was in love with the man, so helplessly infatuated that it was impossible to voice. Her sable gaze caught his own grey steel in the mirror, brow rising with a half gasp, half laugh as the scarred passive shifted to bring them closer together. The dancer pressed herself back against him, her eyes falling to follow the movement of his hand as it drifted lower, breathing shallow through slightly parted lips. One hand followed his own, resting against the back of it as he dragged it back up the curves of her body, her other tracing against the taught skin of his thigh. As knowing fingertips sought the sensitive warmth of her arousal, Sarinah mewled a short groan of pent desire, letting her had fall back against his shoulder as her eyes slip closed.
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​​ “Tristaan…” The witch whined uselessly, any witty remarks or smart innuendos chased from her mind as the skilled Crow teased her, rocking back against him with a unhindered groan. There were no bochi to be quiet for here, no circus folk to avoid waking, the walls of the room decently sufficient to contain any sounds the young inebriated couple might be unable to avoid.
​​
​​Alioe, they were moving to fast. Sarinah had planned for more, she wanted to give the passive a birthday he could remember fondly, not a hazy moment in time that could easily be forgotten.
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​​ “Something like this.” She managed to stammer between gasps and moans, squirming against the intoxicating sensations, caught between wanting to let herself go and holding back to enjoy more of the man that had trapped her against his body. The water in the bath steamed, coming closer to the point of brimming should they make it into the tub at all. Lifting her head, the brunette turned her head, twisting her upper body slightly so she could seek Tristaans lips with her own to draw him into a passionate kiss. Wrenching away suddenly with a gasp, the dancer laughed breathlessly, leaning forward to rest a hand on the bathtub and grasping for the taps.
​​
​​ “That’s quite enough f’that Mister Grey—oh—Greymoore.” The brunette protested, gripping the porcelain edge and gritting her teeth against the too close edge that threatened to creep up on her.
​​
​​ “Gods, don’t stop Tristaan.” She keened in a strained voice, unable to decide whether she wanted him to stop or keep going, but drowning in the pleasure. Her field curled tightly against them both, a coil tightening with each purposeful stroke.
​​
​​

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word count: 650
User avatar
Tristaanian Greymoore
Posts: 126
Joined: Wed Mar 28, 2018 7:02 pm
Location: Old Rose Harbor
Race: Passive
: I'm just here for the Sho.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Post Templates: Post Templates
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
Contact:

Mon Nov 26, 2018 10:45 pm

29th of Roalis, 2718
VIENDA | JUST AFTER DARK
Sarinah responded gloriously to his distractions, her hands moving with his and her body pressing close against his. It was far too alluring to watch reflections of themselves in the mirror that began to fog with steam from the deliciously warm water as it filled the tub, but Tristaan grinned and held the lovely witch's mahogany gaze until her eyes slipped shut and her body thrummed with approval at his touch.

Far from sober, it was equally glorious to pretend the dangers outside disappeared with the steam, washed away by the heat of their bodies together, and would be gone once the sun spilled through nice curtains onto their bare skin, tangled in soft sheets. Even if such things were impossible, it was an acceptable illusion for the evening, a gift in and of itself on his birthday.

She turned to kiss him, lingering at his lips until they both needed to breathe. As the olive-skinned dancer shifted her body to lean toward the taps and attempt to stop the water, the dark-haired passive leaned with her, chuckling coyly as he reached past her to make sure they didn't let the bath overflow before they were able to enjoy it. Sarinah gripped the edge of the tub and he teased her further, leading her toward the edge with slow, purposeful touches even as he slipped between her thighs and pressed closer still,

"Enough? Y' sure?"

Impatiently patient, he only continued to taunt her while she begged him to continue, a gentle rocking of his hips making promises of so much more while adding to the growing pressure her field allowed him to feel he was carefully building within her,

"Don't stop—" Tristaan mocked being confused with a growl, "—make up your mind, hama. Or don't. We've got all night here t' ourselves, so we ent gotta worry 'bout anythin' other than takin' our time."

Eager to bring her the pleasure of release just so he could do it again, he grinned and let his free hand drag upward over olive skin to support her, shallow thrusts not meant to bring him along anywhere with her so much as add to they enjoyable madness as his touch focused with exquisite purpose. The dark-haired passive groaned eagerly at the tensing of her body, eyes fluttering heavily in both admiration and anticipation, biting his bottom lip once his lovely witch unraveled so deliciously against him.

Aware that he'd usurped her plans, he could only grin with an inebriated mockery of accomplishment, intoxicated now much more by their physical enjoyment than all they'd already had to drink. With, gentle lips against bare skin, Tristaan reluctantly relinquished his lovely witch to allow her to reveal her own somethings she'd hinted at just moments before.
"Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open."
Passive Proverb
word count: 518
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