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Song Sprite

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About Song Sprite

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    Nevertheless, she sang.
  • Birthday July 25

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    The Never-Never

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  1. Whoah, @sheep! Long time no see!
  2. "She's actually much more alone than that. Get away from her." Eluvië only stepped all the closer to her queen, in impetuous defiance of both parts of his statement. Not so long as I'm around, she vowed, and stuck the tip of her bright pink tongue out at "Dumb-kin" as she moved obediently back behind her lady. She gritted her teeth as the man continued to evidence his contempt for the Black Queen, but held her peace in a firm hand. As long as he didn't 'attack' the lovely vampyre again, she would let the situation play out as her lady wished. But she made no move to leave, even as the conversation turned back to matters that were obviously meant to be private. It was clear enough that this male was not a creature to be left alone with.
  3. Are..... Are you River Tam!?!
  4. Beautiful post, Gabi.


    No, you don't have a choice.:kiss:

  6. [post cowritten by @The Hound] ____________________________________ It was an average day at work for Branwen Higgins, which was as much as to say, rather tiresome. Not just one but three of the rooms for let upstairs had been thoroughly soiled by their occupants, and of course it fell to her to get them set to rights. So she was in a properly foul mood by the time she was able to sit in the kitchen for a quick bite of early supper, and then help serve the tavern’s customers their suppers and drinks. Of course, it would never do to work with a scowl on her face. 'Drive away the business and blah blah blah...'. So, she took a minute to compose herself, straightening her hair back into its loose bow and setting her dress straight, before donning a smile and entering the dining area and bar. It was a busy night, with mostly regulars (there wasn’t a lot of traffic in the bad end of town this time of year), and she fell into her usual routine, smiling and playing nice, while careful not to give any of the grabby-handed patrons cause to hope for more. * * * Last Chance. For many people, it was a city… For the incubus, it was often dealt out as a final sentence to those who crossed him. Over the last few years Arkadia Archleone had found himself wandering from city to city, preparing for his return and eventual plan to take over Terrenus. At long last he found himself at Last Chance once more, his favorite city… And he found himself hungering for something that no amount of food or drink could sate. Garbed in simple skin tight button up white shirt and tight leather pants, the incubus’ metallic gray eyes shone as he pushed the tavern’s door open, leaning forward against his matching ivory cane. He took a moment to scan the tavern’s sparse surroundings, filled to the brim with customers and staff. He furrowed his brow as he sauntered toward the bar, every bit the predator, and leaned his elbows against the counter with a crooked smile that seemed to almost promise mischief playing on his lips as he waived two fingers at a waitress in a come-hither motion. She nodded and smiled in greeting as soon as their eyes met, as was only proper, but it was with something of a wary look. It wasn’t often they had such well-dressed young company, and her nose told her he was probably going to be trouble of one kind or another. Oh well. Repeat to self - I need this job. “Right with you,” she called in a pleasant, clear alto voice, and finished unloading her armfuls of dinner platters to the table she was waiting. That done, she wandered over to him. Even in her dress and motion, she didn’t seem the average barmaid. It was almost like watching someone cast in the wrong role. She was all pleasant curves, but put absolutely no effort into rolling them as she walked, moving instead with a brisk, efficient no-nonsense stride. Similarly, she wore a dress and apron that at first glance fit the setting, but upon closer inspection were neither tight enough nor low enough to show her off to advantage. And her large, pretty eyes were distant, distracted as she came over to him, her thoughts anywhere but here. “What’ll it be, Mr…?” The man almost purred as as the female approached him, metallic gray eyes looking her up and down slowly, almost lingering as his smile widened by a couple of molars. Slowly, the man leaned in close enough to her that his slight scent of forestry and pine surrounded them. He offered a small, intimate smile as the air around them seemed to cool, and his eyes seemed to change to an ice-like color. “Arkadia, please. No mister. Master, certainly, but not yet.” He purred at her in his surprisingly deep voice. “What is your oldest scotch, beautiful one?” The smile didn’t surprise her, though admittedly, he had nice teeth. The voice caught her a bit off guard. She had expected something… well, lighter? Younger? Less like dark chocolate? Wait, WHAT? Pull yourself together, Billy. Giving herself a mental slap, she blinked and shook herself free of the mild aura of seduction surrounding the man, taking a step back as she turned towards the rows of bottles on the shelf behind the counter, wrenching her eyes away from the rather alarming stranger. “Very well, Arkadia. We’ve got a sixty-three from Old Patia,” she offered, resting her fingers on the dusty bottle in question and sending him a questioning glance over her shoulder. “I’ll have the bottle.” The man purred at her, outwardly charming but slightly alarmed at the fact she had resisted him thus far. He propped himself closer to her. He rested his cane against the bar and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, revealing his perfectly unblemished skin and the outline of perfectly hewn muscles. Slowly, he reached his hand toward the bottle and 'accidentally' brushed his digits against her hand. “Forgive me, where are my manners. What is your name, my pet?” Shrugging at the whims of the young and rich, she plucked the bottle off its shelf and put it down beside him on the polished counter, along with a glass. She bristled just slightly as his hand curved against hers; she’d worked here long enough to see such maneuvers for what they were. A touch was never an accident. Her hand tingled where it had met his astonishingly smooth skin, and her eyes lingered, just for a moment, on the display of his figure before snapping back to his face again. She hesitated, just for a moment, before releasing her name. She always mildly disliked hearing it on the lips of her patrons -- as though they knew her, as though they owned her in some small way -- but it was more than that with this one. There was something undefinably predatory behind his mesmerizing gaze, and giving him her name was another small battle lost. Don’t be a silly Billy. He’s just cute, and asking your name. You’re not in a war here, darling. “...It’s Branwen. Most folks call me Billy.” There was a wariness to her voice, and though she resisted the urge to rub the hand he’d touched against her thigh, it did slip into a pocket and out of sight. “Anything to eat?” The incubus smiled at her, feeling the creature that resided deep within his body stir and rear its head as she placed her hand in her pocket. The air around him seemed to cool yet another degree as he offered her a small, sweet-seeming smile as he reached for the bottle and pulled it to his lips, taking a long, long drag and 'accidentally' allowing some to dribble from his chin and stain his shirt. He looked down at the stain, frowning ever so slightly as he undid yet another pearl-studded button, revealing his flat, well toned stomach. “Mmmm… Billy.” He said her name with the hint of a primal rawness as if he were tasting it, swirling it on his lips as if it were a delightful morsel. He looked into her eyes and tilted his head, extending his hand toward her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear. As for something to eat… We will have to see about it later, won’t we?” he purred coyly. She froze as he offered his hand for shaking. That was something new. You don’t offer to shake hands with the barkeep. Only apparently this one did, and she could think of no polite way to refuse -- nor, in the inexplicable haze that was falling over her senses, could she remember why exactly she wanted to. Again, the only outward show of her resistance to his allure was a slight, uncertain hesitation before she took his hand and shook it. Her hand was warm from working all day, all the more so with how her pulse was inexplicably quickening. Yet she felt a chill at the same time, though the window was shut. What’s happening to me? Am I catching fever? Quicker on the uptake than her mind, her body was already half his; her cheeks aflush, eyes dilated, heart skipping to a quickening rhythm, and her full, pouting lips parting alluringly as she took a breath and licked them nervously. “Yes, well, uh, it’s- it’s a pleasure,” she stammered, not realizing she was still holding his hand. “Alright, well, kitchen closes in an hour,” she warned automatically as he deferred deciding about food. Just as things were getting really muddled in her head, one of her regular customers called her name from across the room, jolting her from her reverie with a start. She pulled her hand back, called, “Coming!” and scurried away, with a nervous backward look over her shoulder at the strange visitor. “The pleasure is all mine… For now, beautiful Billy.” The man said softly enough that she could’ve almost imagined that she hadn't heard him. The beast inside of him stirred once more, taking notice at the change in her pulse and the blush. He ran his hand up her arm gently, trailing the exposed skin before returning to her hand once more. The man offered her yet another winning smile, caressing his fingers against the vein of her wrist as he pulled her hand to his ice cold lips, resting them against her skin for a moment. Subtly, his skin seemed to become lighter as the flecks of blue in his eyes disappeared. He let out a lascivious purr before letting her hand go with a charming smile. His eyes trailed behind her, almost palpably running down her back and focusing on her bottom. “You may go, little doe… But be sure to come back.” He purred at her, his voice carrying easily over the tavern’s busy throng, hanging in the air almost as if they had physical shape. She didn’t turn back around, but her shoulders tightened at the words, as though to ward them off. She took her time serving the other tables, trying to ignore the way that every bit of skin he had touched was buzzing pleasantly, and how she found herself wishing to hear his smooth, deep voice again. What is WRONG with me tonight? Get it together, Billy. He’s just the same as all the others. Just in a nicer wrapping. Or unwrapping. Her cheeks burned again at the memory of his half-naked chest and stomach and smooth, firm muscles...GAH. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and had to ask the customer to repeat their order. Hurrying back to the kitchens, she passed near the bar on the way, but didn’t linger to chat; quite the opposite, she stolidly ignored him and picked up speed, not even letting herself glance towards him, though she knew it was rude. He started it. Hand touching my arm like that… the nerve. Just inside the door of the kitchen, tucked out of sight behind the wall, she leaned against it and tried to calm her flustered breath. Maybe I really am getting sick. She checked her forehead, but it felt the same temperature as her hand. Gaia, what’s wrong with me? Oh, hell. I can do this. Just gotta put up with him for a few more hours. Plastering the smile back on her face only a little worse for wear, she came back around the corner, intending to walk up and ask if he’d decided on dinner yet. That was the plan. It was a good plan. Only, her brain and body short-circuited as soon as she so much as looked at him again, still several feet away. She stopped dead in her tracks, and the blood rushed to her cheeks and flushed them right up to her ears. Oh, hell. This is going to be a loooong night. Forcing herself into motion, she finally approached him again. “Anything to eat before the kitchen closes?” She hugged an empty serving tray to her chest and stood well back out of reach, trying not to look at his statuesque figure. Arkadia had watched her move to and fro, studiously avoiding him as she served her other customers. Outwardly, the incubus looked every inch the relaxed predator as his eyes trailed behind her. Time, he knew, was relative, and in the end he would end up winning their game. However, he could not help but to agree with the creature inside of him: This was turning out to be a trickier hunt than he had previously imagined. With a small, calculating smile, he decided that it was time to take his plan to the next level. With another long pull from the bottle, the incubus finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off, allowing it to fall discarded into the floor. His back, surprisingly wide and giving the appearance of having been sculpted rather than made of flesh and blood, was almost as pale as the shirt he had been wearing. Turning his eyes toward the female as she approached him from what she believed was a safe distance, the incubus allowed the full power of his inner demon to come out. His creamy-colored skin seemed to pale by degrees, becoming almost translucent as his eyes shifted from metallic gray into pure, pupil-less silver. The air in the tavern seemed to cool by degrees as his head turned toward her. His pearly white teeth stretched into a smile as he stood, rolling the muscles of his stomach as he took sauntering, almost dancing steps to close the gap between them. Several heads, male and female, seemed to turn and look at him with what he felt were varied degrees of lust. Ignoring and shutting them all out, the incubus allowed his eyes to roam up and down the waitress’ body. “Why, yes, dearest Branwen…” He said in his impossibly deep voice, almost musical with the push of his inner demon. “I do believe I am in need for a meal… And a bedroom for the night.” He purred at her, closing the gap between them as he stood almost nose to nose with her. “But what I seek will not come from the kitchen... Will you help me?” He whispered seductively, leaning in so that his cold, sweet smelling breath brushed against her ear. She swayed in place as he spoke her name, his voice wrapping around her like the layers of an enchantment. She couldn't think; her most prized asset, her mind, was bound and gagged and tossed in a dustbin. She couldn’t even wonder why on earth he had taken his shirt off when it was so damn cold in here. Or why his eyes were so pale and clearly something more than human. All she could think was that she wanted him to say her name again. She tensed like a rabbit preparing to bolt as he stalked up to her, but she never quite found the wit to do so, and instead, remained quite still and rigid as he invaded her personal space, only twitching away with a little tremour of unease as he whispered his words in her ear. “I...I can help you find a room…” she whispered, utterly confused as to the rebellion of her body: her hands would not push him away, her legs would not flee, and the rest of her...well. Just as well the air was cold. The man took his hand into hers, placing his lips against her skin once more. He grazed his teeth gently against her skin, pushing out his incubic energy and molding it around her. Holding her hand in his, he flashed her a winning smile as the beast inside of him ached to be let loose. Rubbing his thumb against her hand, he began to hum lightly. “Won’t you be ever so kind, Branwen,” he purred demurely, placing emphasis on her name as he waited for her to lead him away. Her pounding heart reached a new speed record the moment his teeth tasted the sensitive skin of her hand. It was right about then that she admitted, in some quiet corner of her soul, that she was in really deep shit. He might as well have been using her True Name, for how much control she had left over herself. Should have claimed a sick day and left out the back of the kitchen while I had the chance. Goodbye, cruel world. “Of...of course. Right...this way.” There was a second or two of silence, one last futile writhing of her soul for freedom, and then she capitulated and swayed into motion, leading him by the hand to the upstairs rooms that were prepared for guests, and moving with a sultry, almost drunken sway in each step that had been absent before. The man nodded, satisfied as she seemed to have finally succumbed to his charms. Gently, he thumbed her hand, watching as her hips swayed to and fro as they headed up the stairs. Upon reaching the top, the man stepped up to the side of her, pressing his body against hers as his free hand came to rest on her hips, gently pulling her against his body. “Which room, Branwen...” He whispered against her ear, brushing his lips against the nape of her neck. Her head tilted to offer him more of her neck, another shiver running through her body and echoed with a sigh. But her eyes… Her eyes were still not his. They were more distant than ever, and as she pointed a trembling hand towards the second door on the left, tears suddenly welled in them. The man looked at her, tilting his head as he watched the tears pool in her eyes. A part of him did not care, and yet… The man moved himself away from the female, breaking physical contact as he began to head toward the door. Looking back at her, he offered a toothy smile and winked, heading toward the door and opening it. “You’ve a choice. Come in if you wish, my little Billy.” He said her name as if it were a lover’s caress, and entered the room, leaving the door open. The hallway was very, very quiet once the strange guest had entered his room. Billy shook herself once, twice, trying in vain to clear her thoughts. She had about as much luck as a horse trying to shake free of a bridle. Her hand rubbed a few tears from her face, but it was an automatic, thoughtless motion. She didn’t remember why she had been crying. She barely remembered why she was hesitating at all. The silence was eating at her; every moment without his voice was like a painful, ugly noise. She whimpered, a soft little whisper of a sound, and her fists clenched at her sides as she fought an opponent she could not see, could not hear, could not touch. A lone soldier fighting demons in the fog on a godless night. There was never any hope, but still she fought. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. Each one a bewildering, hurtful agony of wondering why she was still stuck. Less than a minute later, she walked into the room. * * * Physically spent, psychically sated, and sexually satisfied, the incubus’ mind still somehow managed to keep him from sleeping. He looked at the petite female, recently fallen asleep, and something inside of him that was entirely unrelated to the demon stirred. Furrowing his brow, the man hesitantly placed a hand atop of her head and closed his eyes, focusing on her. The energy he had taken from her, with enough time and rest, would recuperate. And yet… He knew what his bestial nature could cause in those whom he broke. The way he saw it, a few different things could happen with this girl whom he had corrupted: She could recover, thinking it had been just a night of fun in which she allowed herself to let loose. She could have a radical personality shift, causing her personality to change entirely. She could live as a fractured individual, with several psychological issues, and not know a good night’s sleep again… Or… She would end herself after the ordeal. Involuntarily, he felt the part of him that still retained some aspects of humanity shudder. He did not know what it was about her, but there was something that made him actually mind the possible outcomes for the first time in… Years. Shaking his head, Arkadia closed his eyes and attempted to force himself to sleep. When morning came… He would be very busy. * * * For one, blissful moment, as Branwen's eyes opened and she looked at the sunrise in the window, she remembered nothing. But then she sat up, and looked at him, and remembered everything. She froze, paralyzed, and the world crashed around her burning ears. Gaia, no… Slipping off the bed as quietly as possible, she scooped up her pile of clothes from the floor and started backing away towards the door. She’d rather be naked in the hallway than spend one more second in the room with this monster. Sleeping fitfully, the Incubus turned to rest on his side in an attempt to get himself comfortable. For a moment, the Incubus almost fell back asleep… and then his demon overtook him, howling in outrage inside of his head. Our prey has escaped! it shrieked, causing his eyes to snap open. Not minding his own nudity, the incubus sprinted toward the door, pulling it open so hard that he nearly tore it off its hinges. He spotted his plaything in the hall, and instinctively the air around them dropped by degrees. “Now now, little doe.” He purred at her, his voice as dark as the night sky and as hot as lava. “Let us return to our room. We have to clean you up.” He said in mock sweetness. She turned around with a smile at the sound of his voice, though her eyes were glassy with tears. “Of course, master,” she answered sweetly, and followed him back into the room. Sighing to himself, the incubus herded her back to the room, keeping his body peeled to the back of hers. Closing the door behind them both, Arkadia guided her toward the bath. “I’ll wash you, pet.” He said, a twinge of lust lending a raspy tone to his voice. “Thank you, master,” she chirped happily, smiling up at him as she wandered over to the tub. Her clothes fell from her arms to the floor, forgotten. Bending over the tub, she twisted the knob to fill it with hot water. “You spoil me so much…” For a moment, Arkadia felt the stirrings of guilt within him gnawing at the dregs of his soul, simultaneously annoying and surprising him, Surprisingly tenderly, the incubus wet a washcloth and rubbed it gently against her face, wiping away the dried filth before focusing on other parts of her body. His eyes began to glow, changing from their usual metallic tones into silver as he offered her a smile. “When you wake up again, you will think you got drunk yesterday and passed out here after some particularly jerky customer started harassing you and grabbing you,” he said in a honeyed tone, laying down layers of suggestion and sincerity into his voice. “You won’t remember me until we see each other again, Branwen. You’ll only remember flirting with some man. And now, you’ll finish bathing as if I were never here and helping you.” He leaned forward and for the first time, kissed her on his lips. “You will remain the sweet, albeit guarded girl I met… And you’ll have happy dreams if you can, Billy. Do this for me.” Billy arched up into the kiss, sighing with delight. Her heart ached with fondness, that her Master would indulge her so. She knew she was unworthy of such tender affections. “Yes, master,” she breathed against his lips. “Thank you. I will... I will. I… I’ll miss you, even so,” she confessed, and pouted as she looked up at her departing lover. “Promise me it won’t be long, before I see you again?”
  7. The girl sank down into her seat as the Outsider approached, glancing wistfully towards the door. But she could hardly just scurry away, now that she’d been spotted. “Aye, your Majesty,” she responded cautiously. “Eluvië. Eluvië Meda-Orn. Folk calls me Elië.” Unlike the way the cook had done, she pronounced the shorter form with three syllables: ‘el-ee-ay’. She watched him with a wary stillness to her body, in spite of his genteel manner. “Of- of course,” she responded to his invitation to walk with her in the garden. There was a shadow of reluctance in her tone, but she could not very well refuse such a ‘polite request’ from the master of this realm. She stood herself up, slipping one last cookie into her pocket, and waited for him to lead the way, staying well out of tail’s reach and watching him the way a rabbit watches a fox.
  8. “I can’t promise that you will be safe. That’s the risk you take by coming with me. That’s the game you’ll play if you join my side and betray the devil. I need you to know that. To understand it.” A more thoughtful look entered Eluvië's eyes at the queen's words, and in the silence that fell over the room in the wake of her sudden absence, she sighed. She was young and foolish, but she didn't want to die, particularly speaking. It was a suddenly more sobering thought, that even her queen, with all her might, felt herself unable to offer any promise of protection to her friends. But I can't abandon her now. Her decision was still the same. "How about you, short, sweet and sexy? What's your secret identity? Wait, let me guess; you're actually a Peacekeeper. Am I close?" Janessa giggled. The fae's usual grin returned at that, and she giggled in reply. "Who's short?" she retorted, and reached over and ruffled the other woman's soft hair. Janessa/Kit only had about an inch on her, after all, though the boots made it more. Sweet and sexy was more'n obviously just a bit of silliness; Eluvië was a skinny, ugly, freaky-odd sort of brat, no loveliness or sugar (in her own opinion). "I'm still meself. Let's be off." At the sight of their bodyguard of Unnaturals, she very nearly changed her mind. Now that was freaky-odd. She shrank away from them, baring her teeth, and pressed herself close to the queen, muttering deprecations under her breath in Tesshric. Even as they boarded the ship, she never strayed more than a few inches from the lovely woman, and when Gabriela sank down on the ground, Eluvië crouched beside her, concerned. "Ehh, it be alright, m'lady, you'll see. 'Twon't fall. 'Tis just the wind that bears us aloft." "This is the best possible circumstance for us. We stay out of the way, let them fight, then when the winner is knocked around, bloody, and celebrating his hard-won victory, I'll slit his throat and we now own our very own airship, in which we can go wherever we please." "Well that would hardly be polite," came a mild, warm voice from around the corner, with a velvety smoothness known only to Elfkind. The owner of the voice appeared a moment later, an Elf of short white hair and unusually bulky muscles (for his kind). He looked from Kit, to Eir, to Eluvië, and finally to Gabriela, and his eyes softened at her fright. Putting down the crate he had been carrying, he offered her a steadying hand. "I'm Winter. Ship's medic. And I can assure you we're not falling. Will you let me bring you to the mess?" he offered. "You can sit somewhere a bit more comfortable, and I can see about some wine or meadowbalm for those nerves. If you think it would help a bit," he added as an afterthought, deferring to her own opinion as her aura was plainly unlike those of his usual patients. "I also have some extract of copperwort." The last was a sharper guess; copperwort was mildly toxic to humans, but a heady aphrodisiac and sedative to vampires.
  9. He was in luck; one of Gabriela's assigned companions was already there, though she presented a sight rather unlike the demure, retiring little flower one usually associated with the position of lady-in-waiting. The skinny halfbreed fae was perched atop one of the stone shelves with her hand in the cookie jar, kicking her long-toed bare feet back and forth as she sang a cheerful tune in Tesshric, the weird, otherworldly tongue of the Wyld Fae. For all the attention the kitchen staff paid her, she could have been a canary in a cage; clearly, this was not her first opera. When she reached the end of the verse and drew her breath for a second, one of the cooks interjected with, "Pass the marysthyme, Ely, there's a good girl." "What, and nary a twig o' cinderleaf to mettle it with?" she scolded cheerfully. Twisting up with gravity-defying dexterity and clinging to the shelf with one toe and a ceiling-hook with one hand, she grabbed two bunches of herbs that were hanging from the drying rack at the edge of her reach, and tossed them down to the waiting cook, who shook his head a little at her antics while she resettled herself on her perch. "Meddler, you are, Ely. Just as well you don't work down here any more," he rebuked gently. "Aye, that I be," she agreed unrepentantly, flashing him a devilish grin. She was about to start in on another song that the cinderleaf had 'minded her of, when she caught sight of the Outsider wandering into the kitchen like he owned the place. Her demeanour instantly changed, as a mouse's might when it smells a tomcat. There was a flash of bared teeth that was more like a defiant scowl than anything else, and every drop of noise from her ceased. She gathered up her feet beneath her and hopped lightly down the considerable distance to the stone floor, landing in a crouch with no apparent discomfort, and no sound that could be heard above the clatter of the cooks at work. Keeping her profile low, she scurried around the corner into another part of the kitchen and out of sight, just as the rest of the staff began bowing and murmuring their greetings to the powerful devil.
  10. closed

    The Ballad of Molly of the Red Tits was rudely interrupted mid-hum by a large claw snagging her shoulder. "Hnngh!" she squawked in protest to the pain, but it was a quiet sound, little more than a whimper. She had no desire to attract any more attention than she already had. Steered rather ruthlessly by a set of fingers that felt more like daggers with each passing moment, she perforce approached her mark again. Uh oh. "Ow, ow, ow, ow," she breathed with every step, in the tone of someone making comments about the weather. From the first words out of the brute's mouth, she knew she'd get no sympathy with him, and offered him only the briefest narrow-eyed glare over her shoulder as they wove through the tables. Her mark was another story; the woman looked to be the sort who was still in possession of her soul, which was as much as to say: manipulable. Jen's eyes grew larger and more innocent-looking by the step, and by the time they reached the woman at the table, they were brimming with tears, and her lower lip was trembling. "He's hurting me," she implored, twisting uncomfortably beneath the man's grip and wincing in very real pain. There was a deliberately babyish curve to her words, and she seemed to shrink in upon herself in fear as they studied her. She looked and sounded not a day older than twelve, though of course in reality she was a mite older. With any luck, this Emery would tell her dog "off" and let the poor urchin girl scamper away.
  11. Elië may have been a fool on any number of levels, and very little of the 'lady' part of the lady-in-waiting, but she was woman enough to recognize it when one of her own sex was suffering unwanted attentions - that devilish plague that showed little regard for station or race. Even as her queen hurried free of the stranger's arms and turned away from both of them distraught, the brave little halfbreed was hurrying forward with all the loyalty of a wolf to its pack-mother. "It's Eluvië," she hissed rather waspishly to the trespasser's question. "And the pleasure be all yours, I fear." She superimposed her slight presence quite deliberately between the distraught queen and her would-be paramour, and shot an icy glare over her shoulder at the "man", baring her teeth in a brief but feral silent snarl of defiance. She knew he was more than human of course, though not how much more; no mere mortal could have put her beloved queen to such discomfort without having his ugly, brazen head removed from his shoulders. In the same motion, she wrapped her arms around her distraught friend in a brief, firm hug, chasing away the trembles with instinctive care, one long-fingered hand rubbing the lady's tense shoulders as she clucked and murmured comforting nothings in simple affirmation of her presence. "Shh," she murmured, and added in High Elvish, a beautiful tongue she was fair certain was unknown to the queen (and certainly treasonous to speak in this throneroom), "You're not as alone as you think." "I am alright, I am well." "Ehh, that's right, you're alright now, m'lady," Eluvië soothed, half her gaze still focused warily on the intruder. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a black handkerchief -- a simple, sturdy square of cheap fabric that she saved for such occasions as this. The queen's tears would stain any other. Wordlessly, she offered it to Gabriela. "There, now," she cooed like a mama to a child, as she often had done to little Raspberry when the child was heartsore. "This is my friend Duncan. He came for a visit. No need to trouble the king or his guards with this." "Of course, m'lady, as you wish," the girl agreed softly, still more intent on her queen's mood than the words that she spoke. "Nary a word of't."
  12. "M'lady!" came a shocked voice from rather close at hand. The lady in waiting had been exploring (a bad habit that she could never quite shake, even in a city as grim as Patia). She had found a dusty old servants' tunnel, and was unable to resist seeing where it led. Not until she opened the door at the far end of the tunnel did realize she was nearing a place quite so dangerous as Roen's own throneroom. Luckily, the demon was not at home. Unluckily, the same could not be said of the two creatures perched on his nasty-looking throne. Of course, the predators that they were, her lady and her guest would have heard the skinny half-fae coming long ago; unless they were entirely too intent upon each other. Either way, the cat was out of the bag now. Elië's hands flew too late over her big mouth, and a fierce blush rose to her cheeks at having so rudely interrupted her lady's intimate moment. "I- I'm beggin' your pardon, m'lady, I'll just be..." She paused and frowned, her hands settling on her hips as she realized that the Black Queen did not look to be enjoying herself at all. Her backpedalling ceased, and she dared a few steps foreward, bare feet rustling on bare stone. "Are you alright, m'lady?" she asked, and from the sternness of her tone, if Gabriela did not succeed in convincing her that all was right, she would proceed with the very ill-advised venture of a rescue attempt.
  13. closed

    The foreigner was a perfect mark: half-turned away from the bustle of the cafe, clearly lost in her own world, and constantly shifting as she worked at some kind of notebook, correlating her writing with a map of Crazy Town, as Jen liked to call her adopted city. The urchin smirked, leaning against the blue wall as she scratched her arm thoughtfully, the movement briefly revealing the edge of some inkwork that webbed its scrawling way up her dirty forearm. What could be seen of her beneath the soft, hooded sweater looked like a once-innocent child of perhaps a dozen years, thanks to her stunted growth. It worked to the teenager's advantage, most days. Big, hungry eyes could get her out of most kinds of trouble with the locals. She waited until a group of guests were walking right by the tourist, and drifted past with them, moving as though she were part of the group. Just an obedient little girl trailing along behind her family. But as she moseyed on past the dark-haired human, she ever so subtly brushed against her, relieving a loose pocket of its contents with a practiced motion. Confident that she had not been noticed by any, she followed the group around one more cluster of tables, and then headed back towards the door, keeping her head inconspicuously down. A little smirk blossomed on her babyish lips, and she couldn't help but hum a little tune as she approached the exit. It was a ditty she'd picked up in jail, the words raunchy and rather macabre. But no one could know that, with her only humming it, and it was a cheery enough tune.
  14. Name: Jennifer (Jen) Mattouloise Apparent age: 12 Actual age: 16 Manner: Sarcastic, precocious, manipulative, occasionally rude Hair: Blond Eyes: light brown Height: 4'6" History: she's close-mouthed about it, but one could imply from certain tattoos on her wrist that she's seen the inside of a jail (spoiler: she was born and raised in one) Abilities: Telepath, moderate raw talent with wind and water, slight extra-sensory perception, excellent pickpocket, physically agile Language spoken: Terric, Banjaro, Genesarin, Kharnish, some Veldalamba Life goals: riches, acceptance, power Deepest belief: the world is broken