It was with great hesitation that the warmonger pressed against untried boundaries meant to keep him well secluded. Unfortunately, it had been quite some time since he’d convinced himself to explore anything outside of the gnawing melancholia roiling deep in his gut. Whether it was an omen or premonition he didn’t know or even particularly care to indulge. Instead, that sense of stagnancy and foreboding had only served to contain and isolate him against any further progress consorting with his new Night Court peers. In truth, he still knew so little about their pursuits that it made no difference to him if he was included or not. Perhaps that particular ruin was simply something he’d fostered of his own accord, but stubborn pridefulness kept him from shedding the incivility. There would be more time for it in this long life ahead. There would simply always be time.
Over the previous months Boleyn had taken to a very strict routine of patrolling the outer corners of Denocte. He wasn’t in the habit of seeking or obliging conversation and often found himself shirking well-traveled routes in favor of avoiding any source of companionship. Shortly after his arrival in Novus, the nightmares he’d been tentatively freed of had returned in force. However, in Boleyn fashion, the warmonger sought self-deprecating resolutions in order to spare his newly acquired entourage the burning weight of his sleepless glare. They often took root quite late in the night and when they dissipated at dawn, Boleyn was left feeling angry and bereft. The visions seemed to persist into his mornings whereupon he would begin another fruitless circle around the sun, so to speak. Hence, the routine and the monotony until he could fully come to accept and embrace another restive night.
However, when the sun grazed the distant horizon on another day meant to expire like all the ones before it, Boleyn found himself tracing an entirely new pattern. He wasn’t certain the cause of the change or what tempted him to the frosty waterfront of Vitreous Lake, but the buzzing tremors of restlessness had grown only more insistent (especially with the sleep deprivation he’d suffered of late). The past had always threatened to haunt his future, more questions than answers leaving a bloodied wake, but they’d been manageable for the last few years. Until they weren’t, he supposed. Perhaps that was the problem with Boleyn. Perhaps he couldn’t convince himself to settle and face the ominous truths that reared up during his quiet moments of complacency. Maybe he was destined to keep avoiding them at length, so long as he remained in the dark about the things he was too fearsome to face.
What would have happened if his father hadn’t been killed?
Would Bolyen stand a King if he hadn’t?
Why was that something that had ever crossed his mind?
Power was a funny thing in the grand scheme of life. It wasn’t that Bolyen had ever had designs on leadership or the consequent admiration, but it was the fact that his father sought it so desperately for himself and his son that made the idea so alluring. It was also the fact that such power had also come at the price of so much blood seen and unseen. That was what kept Bolyen awake at night, plagued by dreams of violence and killing without vice. It was like the past couldn’t let him leave without knowing why the power his father so loved had been the thing that ended him and left no answers on the whereabouts of his mother. Even as he watched the soft trails of frosty vapors curl away from his flared nostrils, he simply couldn’t focus on the beauty unfolding before him.
At the height of winter, Vitreous Lake appeared an almost barren land made of glass. The silence that stretched across the snow-covered banks seemed to embrace even his own thoughts, muting them until all that remained was a blanket of indecision. The warmonger had come this far with no real intent or reason but found himself pressing toward the shoreline anyways, his messy twist of mahogany locks trailing behind him like blood in the snow. Were he a picture he might appear battle-worn, but Boleyn knew better… He couldn’t slay the demons that plagued his mind so well as the ones that walked beside him. Perhaps that was why he preferred that he simply walked alone.
welcome to the end of eras
ice has melted back to life
done my time and served my sentence
dress me up and watch me die
The air was cold, a bite in the wind.
As a being of Summer, she had never enjoyed the winter. Still, now, as she grew older, as she grew into her majority, the gifts she was slowly being given passed through her bloodlines. Each winter grew more complicated, and each winter chilled her further. It closed in on her, stealing her breath, tugging at her long moon-kissed locks. It wrapped her in a freezing embrace as if unwilling to ever let her go. It stole her strength, dimmed her light, and as a result, she kept closer to her shop during these months, only venturing out when her supplies would run low, or she needed to visit someone. It's odd how often one could find themselves closed off for superficial reasons. But, she didn't mind these months of quiet, of peaceful times where she could work in her shop, spending her time enjoying these moments of solitude.
After all, not many wanted to venture towards her shop either.
She stretched slowly, eyes closing as she basked next to the fire that was lit behind the counter of her shop. It was tended diligently, warming up the entire shop, the large doors out into the terrace over the lake kept shut and closed down during these months. It warmed the whole shop, and in here, with the bright curtains decorating the walls in soft pale blues and yellows, she could pretend it was summer, it was warm, comforting . . . .
She knew the signs that she was approaching the final 'gift.'
How much longer did she have before Summer would claim her as its' host proper. When she would be endowed with the very essence of the season, her father had once told her that Summer couldn't last long without a champion. At the time, Oberon had been her Champion, but he had wanted to make sure his daughter understood, when it was Caelum's time to take the helm, to rule as the Queen of Summer, she knew what would come with it. It felt sickening as every other gift had descended upon her, and her heart hammered in her chest, knowing soon, that last one would settle over her - and when it did; there would be no escaping the truth - that her parents were dead, and she was the last royal left, a Queen to a kingdom in ruins. Ruins she had caused.
Caelum turned bodily away from the main seating of her shop.
For once, she didn't want to see the warm, summer-themed interior. Thankfully, she was nearing a supply run day anyways. Usually, she'd wait for another weak, but maybe some time in the cold would settle her heart, her thoughts . . . She glanced around her shop, quietly making up a list of just what she might need, before grabbing one of the loose white bolts of cloth that she hadn't gotten around to using as chair covers. It wasn't particularly thick, but it should be enough to provide her with enough protection from the cold to keep her from becoming a fae-shaped popsicle along the way to the main markets, knowing the number of bodies there would provide enough heat once she got there.
She breathed softly before stepping out of the front door.
She took to the air after ensuring that the shop was properly locked up. It was even colder out than she expected, her breath leaving her in cloudy puffs. She shivered, and it wasn't long before she gave up the trek through the sky, the wind too cold, soon pulling her into the snow, where she would trudge forward. She made a face in disgust at the ivory mess. It must have snowed more overnight. Looking around, she pauses at a figure in the distance. She tilts her head briefly, noting the fire and ice being looked familiar. She carefully skirts the distance, delicate wings fluttering briefly before folding delicately over the ivory cloth draped over her body like a shawl. As she neared, her steps slowed, recognizing the stallion the closer she got. Her voice carries over the distance, her tone colored by surprise, even as she shivered slightly in the cold temperatures, "Boleyn?" His name spoken as both a question and a greeting, startled to see him.
She'd seen the occasional glimpse of him.
Typically when she was crossing borders to the other lands, visiting or collecting herbs from elsewhere. It had been often enough to note he seemed to stick close to the edges of Denocte, and from how she'd seen him walking them solo, he didn't seem to travel much with company while patrolling. "It has been quite some time since I believe I had last seen you - I believe at Israfel's coordination." She created, her voice carrying with the same gentle but regal quality she was so known for. Always perfect, always put together. But there's a slight smile to her features, remembering their first interaction, how out of character she'd been when he'd sparked the fire in her soul all those months ago. "I am rather surprised not to see you at the borders, do you not spend most of your days patrolling them? Or was that just an excuse to avoid visiting my teashop - you had promised after all? Where you afraid I would try to poison you?" Her words were delivered with perfect poise, her tone lifting with a playful, teasing edge, even as her smile gentled, soft brown eyes looking at him curiously, her tone gentling into something more serious, "Have you been well, Boleyn?"
"Speech" Thoughts
@Boleyn Notes: <3 I missed his character <3 Caelum's just like 'Ah yes, I remember this one.'
if it feels good, tastes good
it must be mine
dynasty decapitated
you just might see a ghost tonight
art by bingo
01-23-2022, 07:39 PM - This post was last modified: 01-23-2022, 07:44 PM by Caelum
Soft plumes of frosted air fluttered gently beyond his flared nostrils as Boleyn stared out across the glassy surface of the lake. Everything had been iced over for weeks after winter left the world to waste like so many seasons before. If this one felt any different, the warmonger couldn’t tell for certain, but it seemed as though each new year around the sun also appeared to steal another sliver of his genteel heart. The sullen quiet that existed in a world made to wait while the snow crept through only served as a bitter reminder of the things that remained unspoken and unresolved. Boleyn scoffed disdainfully to himself at the thought of falling eager prey to such enfeebled nonsense, but quickly bit it off at the crepitation of snow and ice underfoot. When he brought the ruthlessness of his cerulean gaze to reprimand whomever found themselves with the gall enough to approach him without proper warning, a slight crease pinched between his brows.
At a distance, he couldn’t mistake the almost incandescent glow of fairy wings shifting from blue to green to yellow beneath the weak midwinter sun. It had been quite some time since the warmonger had first met Caelum some months ago, but he hadn’t sought out her company since. He’d tried to be respectful enough by appearing preoccupied to avoid any resulting small-talk or errant advances, but had always been left feeling as though he carried rocks in his belly shortly therafter. How was he supposed to speak of his weaknesses? Of the monotony? His pedestrian existence? The neverending night… It all plagued him too greatly at the time to bother unpacking it before a female he knew too little about. Even if she did seem to bring him a measure of amusement.
When his name shivered across the glacial breeze, a token of near-affection spoken easily from her lips, his previous hardness seemed to unravel by degrees. He’d already turned to face her fully then, bringing the bulk of his body about with some force, his muscles pulling and relaxing as he watched her intently. Caelum seemed miffed about his showing up to Vitreous Lake and some small part of him bore the guilt of telling her not so long ago that he would seek her out to survey her wares. Despite the tightening in his chest that spoke of the further shame he felt at what she might deduct from his sudden appearance, he proffered a small half-smile. “Nice to see you again flower girl,” he greeted teasingly. She was all soft curves and refined lines, a beautiful composition of muted silvers and deep blues designed to entreat his weary eye. A real treasure for someone worth a little something, he knew. Although, the thought brought on a sudden flare of indignation as though he might actually give a damn.
As she prattled on with her predictable niceties, Boleyn found himself studying her with a softer eye. She hadn’t come to deserve his ire for any reason he could fathom, but there was a buttoned-up quality about Caelum that he so enjoyed heckling when given the chance. It was as if the cool flame he’d kept stoked over the long, cold nights seemed to shift toward something warmer and more recognizable. Enjoyment? And better still, he could see that flame igniting in her as well by the soft tilt of her humored smile. Little nymph. “Correct. On both accounts it appears. You do seem to keep a close eye on my whereabouts, no?” His lips tilted upward again in a bemused smirk at her taunting, the brightness of her eyes drawing his stare like a hunter to prey. “Careful now, I’m starting to think you missed me while I was on patrol. Surely the flower girl herself knows a little bit about commitment?” he soothed with a knowing grin.
Like the cat that got the cream, Boleyn closed the distance between the two with ease as he glanced at the fabric adorning her white-draped shoulder. It appeared to be little more than an ivory cloth made of mid-grade material that may or may not be soft to the touch. As he eyed the cloak, he moved toward her left side to brush his muzzle along her withers, imitating a studious agenda. “Cute.” However, he kept moving toward a structure in the distance that resembled the famous shop Caelum so pridefully spoke of. "I’ve been well enough, I suppose,” he offered without grace toward his welfare. It’s not like he was going to admit to being plagued by restless nights and terrorizing nightmares. “On the subject of poisoning,” he continued as he slowed to allow his little bloom to keep pace, “I’ve come to determine that I am in fact safe from any homicidal fantasies you might have. I do apologize for not stopping in sooner, but time simply wouldn’t allow.” What a lie. “Though, I have a hard time believing I made you that promise in the flesh as I’m certain I only asked for an invitation. Must’ve been something I asserted in your dreams, little flower girl. What other kinds of promises have I made?” He turned then to smile in full, his eyes heated and his lip quirked just so. He hadn’t been this candid or carefree in quite some time. And with beautiful company no less. “Come now, show me this tea shop I have heard so much about. I’m certain it will be just as lovely as its owner.”
His gaze softened then, an inkling of pride and admiration shining through before being shuttered once again behind the cloudless blue of his eyes. It had been a long time since Boleyn had been inspired by anyone or anything. A long time indeed.
welcome to the end of eras
ice has melted back to life
done my time and served my sentence
dress me up and watch me die
She had forgotten about the way he could stop time with his stare.
She had forgotten a lot in the time it had been since they had first met, since she'd seen him so briefly at Isra's coronation - when she'd spent far too much time watching Vikander, as if hoping the brief exchanging of glances would amount to more than a subtle acknowledgment. And yet, she found herself disappointed in her own memories. How had they not done this being justice? So she greeted him with just his name, and she watched as he turned towards her, his gaze so intent, she could almost feel it needling at her skin. She couldn't deny her disappointment in him only just now showing up around these parts . . . how odd it is to have missed the company of someone she hadn't seen but twice?
But then again, not everyone makes me feel . . . alive again.
The fae lived in her own stagnant world, the little faerie who quietly serves teas, and makes medicines, and smiles for Luvena, and promises things are alright with Syn. Facade, after facade, after fucking facade. Until she feels like a porcelain doll who just keeps paper macheting the cracks over her skin and hoping no one notices . . . Where once she would have wanted to gild those cracks in gold, she now looks in the mirror, disappointed at the weakness, the less than perfect presentation. Sit up taller Caelum, smile brighter Caelum, get over it Caelum. and then with him . . . .
His greeting was enough to remind her just why she enjoyed these interactions.
The nickname was given with a teasing greeting, an acknowledgement of the flowers she produced with each flutter of breath from her lips. The woman in question however merely rolls her eyes playfully. "Flower girl?" She repeats, her voice flavored by the laugh she was trying to hold back at the ridiculous title, "I suppose I've been called worse, and it's rather fitting for a summer fae." She agreed. How odd she would accept such nods towards the abilities she despised when he was the one to tease her about it. If he were to call her a breath of summer, would she be so willing to accept the last gift and wear the mantle her birthright demanded?
She chose to ignore these thoughts, burying her own troubles out of sight.
Out of sight, out of mind. Let her be collected, poised, perfect. And then he smirked, and she felt all that poised perfection go out the window. The last time she'd seen a smirk like that, the stare of a hunter on her . . . . had it really been that long, when Trey would stare her down during one of her indignant little hissy fits. She felt her muzzle go dry, even as she forced herself to maintain her composure. Instead she lifts her head, meeting his gaze with her own, not about to back down from what was potentially a challenge of wills. "Oh, I'm rather certain you would just love it if I did, now wouldn't you?" The words came out in a soft, playful purr, fluttering her eyelashes, "Would it please you, dear Boleyn, to imagine that you've caught my attention in such a way, that I'd know your schedule. I'm afraid I'm not the stalking type however. I merely travel to other nations, and you're red tones stick out fairly well in most settings. It's not too hard to spot the fire among the foilage."
Oh, oh yes, this . . . was why she enjoyed their meet ups.
Because in these rare moments, Caelum could meet the challenge in his eyes, and it gave her the confidence to be herself as well. Not the perfect fae queen, not the studious doctor, not the gentle foal helper. Just . . . just Caelum. She didn't deny herself the smile, "Miss you while you were on patrol?" She echoes, but doesn't answer, instead her grin turns positively wicked, "Oh, I know plenty about commitment . . . " She promised, and then he was moving. He crosses the distance so smoothly, it's like she blinks and he is there, his muzzle touching her skin, brushing along the roaned blue of her pelt, and she's startled to feel a trail of fire in his wake. Her head whips around, brown eyes wide, surprised, as he caught her fully off guard with the brazen action.
Was the cloth cute . . . or was she?
He's already turned to trek towards her shop, and she shakes off the unfamiliar fluttering of butterflies in her belly, the heat to her side from where his breath had puffed against her skin. He speaks of being well enough, but she's still silent for a moment, even as she catches up, walking at his side, her wings settling flat so they won't shed their glittering dust upon his pelt. "I'm glad." She replies, her words honest this time, no joke, no play, even if her gaze on him suggests she might be reading into his 'I suppose.' She did quirk an amused smile, unable to deny that he was probably safe from her attempting to end his life, "Well, I suppose I'll have to consider forgiving you, I cannot fault you for doing your duty to Denocte." She responds casually, even as she glances up at him from the corner of her eyes, peering through the soft grey lashes.
And then the jokes were back.
This time she couldn't stop the indignant snort, "Oh, I only dreamt of your promise, hmm?" She glances up at him, her gaze playful, teasing, enjoying the banter they had back and forth, "Well, I can't go answering those kind of questions, could I? I am a lady after all, and it would be rather telling for a lady to even admit to such a thing. Only you're merely . . . . projecting? Is this your way of coyly telling me you've been dreaming of me?" She asked, with the self-satisfied smirk of the cat who got the canary, even if she could feel those god awful butterflies returning at the way his eyes bore into her, his lips quirked . . . god, she felt like a teenager again.
Hormones, clearly. Perhaps there is something about the itch to scratch.
And then he has to say something like that, with that soft gaze, with the pride, the admiration in his eyes, briefly there. So briefly. She's caught off guard for a moment, before her own smile softens, brown eyes warming, like a sea of caramel to trap him in, "Of course." She replies, stepping up the stairs, unlocking the door before opening it and motion for him to enter. Her gaze instantly looked over the interior, tables arranged, random chairs tucked beneath some, others cozied up around soft pillow piles for guest to lounge in. Fireflies buzzing in their safe little habits for lighting, that would keep them safe during the winter, and a color scheme that made her heartache for the Summer Court, the eternal Summer. The warmth of fire that heated the shop did help to slow her shivering, the typical response when she was forced outside - a fair weather mare in such an icy climate.
She glances towards him.
Her gaze is vulnerable, waiting for his reaction, to see what he thinks, to hear his opinions, as she shifts from hoof to hoof. She's seen many reactions to the shop, but after waiting for so long to get him inside, she suddenly found herself a little anxious to see his response. What if it didn't live up to expectations. What if he, a soldier not afraid of long patrols, found it to quaint, to girly; what if he chose to never come back, to frequent bars again. What if . . . Stop it, Caely. So she drops her gaze, even as ears perk towards him, busying herself with straightening the already straight counter. If only to give her something to do rather than worry about what-ifs, for an opinion she didn't realize she cared about.
And those damn butterflies were back again.
"Speech" Thoughts
@Boleyn Notes: I forgot how much he gives her butterflies. O.O The entire time I was reading your post I was like DAYUM. and she was like 'yes, hello, stay a while'.
if it feels good, tastes good
it must be mine
dynasty decapitated
you just might see a ghost tonight
Once upon a time, there was a child who valued love and loyalty above all else. He was the son of a Dreamer and a Pragmatist, but his fledgling heart was one wielded with honest consideration. In some ways that innocence was revered by his family and his peers, but in others, it was reviled. Whatever he may have once believed in became transmuted over time until his kindness had been well and truly beaten from its meaning. As he aged, the child was diminished of his once buoyant nature until all that remained in its place was an utterly self-serving variant of charisma. It allowed him to bend ears where he willed and maneuver tongues if he so wished, but he hardly considered it a talent. It was more a necessity borne of his flagging integrity. The world had taken much from him and so it was only natural that he asked much of the world.
However, with Caelum, there existed no desire to take. Sure, Bolelyn wanted to take her time, take her smiles, and take her wisdom when it was imparted with some fervency, but he had never felt selfish in those desires. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking he wasn’t covetous of her wholly equitable nature, but there was still that very small part of himself that venerated the former child. He wanted goodness to triumph in whatever avenues it was allowed and the child that was now a man recognized it in Caelum. Perhaps that was why he smiled when she rolled her eyes his way, honeyed laughter trailing in their wake. Boleyn enjoyed the sound as he would the enchanting softness of a murmuring beck - it transfixed. “Surely we can settle on a proper term of endearment, little flower. It was a little off-the-cuff, but I could understand if you preferred something more personal, like sweetheart or darling?” The jibe was delivered on a smooth tongue that curled behind his teeth as he simpered.
His flattery was shameless and perhaps a bit contrived, but he reveled in the way it bolstered her cocksureness. And what a sight it was when she at last employed that fiery part of herself that appeared latent otherwise. Even as she doled out her particular brand of ribbing, trying her best to off-put him, Caelum had always been a force of nature to be reckoned with. However, it only came on the heels of his goading as far as he’d seen, as in most other aspects she was quite prim and proper. Boleyn was in fact a creature of some integrity, but Caelum’s rectitude was true where his was quite bendable. Thankfully, it allowed him some measure of freedom when it came to indulging his fancies, both personal and professional. And it certainly didn’t hinder him as he imagined a shy little Caelum asking after him and his affairs. Making to look abashed, Boleyn paused in his banter to turn the bulk of his body more toward her, his chest and neck smoothing in closer in mock-seriousness. “Now what if I did?” he questioned sincerely, his gaze passing back and forth between her eyes of burnt cinnamon.
“What if it pleased me immensely to know that I’d caught your attention after we first met?” His voice seemed to drop to a low rumble at this, his lips turning upward into a soft, dreamy grin. “You know… sometimes the best truths come disguised as a lie. Are you certain you weren’t stalking me, little flower girl? Those are some awfully specific scenarios.” With a tenacious smirk, Boleyn set about righting himself so that she wasn’t bowled over by his abrasiveness. The jesting had returned in full force and he allowed their casual confidence to revert with it. It was often better to keep one guessing until all the facts were laid bare, as it was the only way he knew to protect the useless bit of flesh he called a heart.
But that was the thing about him and Caelum, they could move from sphere to sphere with relative ease. The warmonger had yet to experience such a dynamic with another living creature and why it was so inherent with the medic was anyone’s guess. As she bantered on, making light of his endless trifling, Bolelyn got to imagine what more days like this one would look like. Was it a picture he enjoyed? Was Denocte a place he could settle and thrive in while he consumed relationships such as this? However, the male was thus pulled from his pondering to acknowledge the growing heat of Caelum’s insinuations as she tried her hand at employing his own unique style of warfare. Touché. “Is that a fact?” He returned her gunfire with a grenade of his own as he challenged her assertions about commitment. Boleyn was rather certain she hadn’t meant it in quite the way she’d said it… but the niggling question still remained. Or had she?
Even as the flower girl trailed off toward more tamer grounds of conversation, the warmonger left little to the imagination as they walked shoulder to shoulder to her shop. Her sincerity had returned and he could note with more certainty that she might come back to circle his nonchalant insistence that things had been well and dandy since they last met. However, she seemed to move on easily, succumbing to the numerous traps he’d laid to keep her from asking too many questions about his state of mind. From simply knowing too much about him. He supposed there wasn’t terribly much to actually know... but he preferred privacy anyways. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to get by my dear Caelum. Your dreams are your dreams and even ladies get lonely sometimes. I won’t hold it against you.” He winked at her then, his smile growing tenfold.
It was with that, that they approached the shop entrance to make their way inside. And like the grand unveiling of a newborn child, Caelum welcomed the warmonger into her space. It was strange how endearing it felt to look at the things she’d assembled there. From the glimmer of firefly lanterns to the mix of mismatched appointments, the shop was inviting and warm, not unlike Caelum herself. She seemed to bleed from the very seams of the place, her love and care showing in small garnishings and the thoughtful color palette. Boleyn turned to study her then as she too looked out at the things she’d built and assembled with her dreams in mind. He may not have known of her nervous vulnerability, but he responded in kind with a fervent “Well this is phenomenal Cal - truly.” The praise was uttered with some certainty and he had turned a megawatt smile her way. She had created something special no doubt. “Now… what kind of tea would a connoisseur such as yourself recommend?”
welcome to the end of eras
ice has melted back to life
done my time and served my sentence
dress me up and watch me die
There is a rush she feels with their interactions.
Like he was a drug she couldn't get enough off. Or a fresh spring of water in the middle of the desert. The first rain of spring drizzling away and rejuvenating. When he was near, she felt like she could breath again, smile again, live again. Her laughter comes easier, her fire sparking to life. And memories of her past are fond, not filled with pain. Seb's presence mutes her past. Her pains and heart aches . . . But Boleyn was like the a balm, that healed the old wounds and encouraged her to live again.
It was the pull that drew her out of her shell.
He made the fae shine again. She grins sweetly, batting her eyes up at him, "Oh, Boleyn! I had no idea you wished to get personal with me!" She simpers back, a playful swish of her tai against his side, "Sweetheart, darling even?" She repeats, her smile teasing before she pauses suddenly. Remember the new rendition of a flower nickname, and her head tilts, "Little flower? I am not that much smaller than you . . . But I like it. I think I would rather be your little flower than flower child." she states before realizing just how that phrasing came out, a hint of heat touching her dark features, hidden behind the heavy navy pigment of her face. But she doesn't bother trying to correct it, to curious to see how he'd respond.
Curious on if she'd get a glimpse of the stallion behind the smiles.
The back and forth continued, her bravado increasing as the familiar dynamic settled between them. Still he never fails to prod back, his words usually sculped to get her reactions. His act is flawless, bashful, turning towards her muscles rippling beneath his fire and ice pelt, but the sincerity in his voice, the way his gaze meets hers, and she's suddenly not sure if it's an act. His voice drops to a low rumble that hummed like energy the tingled against her. Would it really please him to have caught her attention. The smile is soft, dreamy even. So not what she is used to from him. So she chooses to respond by playing into his hand. She steps closer, her muzzle brushing through the current of ruby against his neck from where it hangs from the plants. Her breath ghosts against his skin, "Oh, dear Boleyn, do not tell me you've fallen for my charms already, eagerly hoping I would remember you." Her muzzle trails up to his ear, "That I'd be enamored. She brushes her muzzle against his cheek, her lips brushing his flesh as she added in lower tone, "Do you yearn to see me caught up in your being, darling? Eager for just one more meeting, one more conversation. One more touch that would never be enough?" there's a slow shift in her speech patterns, more evident of her comfort with him then the arrival of her fiery responses.
The formal, proper speech is slowly being forgotten.
She pulls away from his flesh, gaze playful now, "Sorry, darling, but I'm not one to stalk. I find patiently lying in wait for my prey to come to me a better reward than being a bimbo stalking his every move." She teases back, eyes flashing playfully. But there's a subtleness to her words, testing the air to see if it really was all a jest to him.a game to play with a mare who had the wits to keep up. Whatever it was, these conversations between them was what she enjoyed. The ease of the conversations, and the way she could be herself in a way she wasn't with anyone else. So she went for his style of playby, amusement as he quickly returned fire, challenging her, and in that moment, she let the inner imp from its cage, her smile sensual, eyes half-lidded as she eyes him from the side, "Guess you'll just have to hope to find out for yourself won't you? Darling.." Why did if feel like she was playing with fire.
She pulled her hands from the embers before she risked burning herself.
The conversations to smooth. Letting him lead the conversation, seeing where he didn't want her trailing. She had her own secrets so she could understand him keeping his cards to himself. For now. She'd broach the topic again later, when she had some leverage. She laughed at the playful wink, promising to not hold it against her if she was lonely. She sees a shot and takes it, words playful, light as she serves the ball back into his court, "Oh, and if I said I was lonely, would you come over to hold me through the night?" She teases, returning his smile with a too-sweet one of her own.
Its proof of her comfort as she takes to the flirting back-and-forth.
But it's soon put on hold as they arrive at her shop. She is watching from the corner of her eye as she watches his reactions. Her gaze however quickly dances away when he turns to study her, feeling his gaze as it licked deliciously at her pelt. Did he really have no idea what he did to her. His praise draws her gaze back to him, and she smiles in delight, eyes brightening to a shade of soft sienna, "Thank you." She says with sincere warmth, before smiling at his request. "Find a place to relax, and i'll bring us out something." she replies, motioning for him to claim them a table as she trots behind the counter, small wildflowers growing in her wake.
She's not out of sight though, humming as she works.
The Faerie queen gathers a tray, a small pot of her favorite lemongrass, mint and honeysuckle mixture, not overly sweet, but memorable, as well as a plate of an assortment of treats, "My favorite tea, well my favorite of the ones I can serve, I'm not so cruel as to feed you one of my personal blends. But this is lemongrass, mint and honeysuckle. It's not as floral, or sweet as some of the other teas, but it has a lovely balance." She settles down among the pillows, long ivory hair fanning over a few before she turns her gaze to him, "Let's play a game, darling." She offers, a faint smile, "we take turns asking each other one question, but we must answer them honestly." her gaze was on him.and she was certain it wouldn't take him long to figure out this was how she planned to really see how he had been. But she offered a boon to encourage his participation, "I'll even be so kind to allow you to ask me first. No, I'll let you ask me two questions, and promise to answer them honestly." Her gaze stared him down, a touch of a challenge in her gaze, "Won't you play with me?"
"Speech" Thoughts
@Boleyn Notes: so baby girl is feeling brave
if it feels good, tastes good
it must be mine
dynasty decapitated
you just might see a ghost tonight
