Blood and Fire
In the old testament of the soldier's life, Emersyn has only ever known two moods. Anxious and Manic. There, between the two extremes, lies a bouquet of unexplored emotions to the young woman. This feeling in her gut, in her blood, in her teeth, can only be described as heat - similar to the tangible color of Bexley's skin. Her blood runs hotter, her heart stronger, adrenaline fills every pore until it is crystallizing across her own flesh like a shield. She can not possibly let this girl get away, no - no.
Emersyn leans into the corrosive atmosphere of Bexley, "I am the one you have been waiting for. I'll show you." She feels the burn. She feels something akin to tasting lightning and battery acid too. Lust, it is so much stronger than any elixir on the top shelf here. Her silver skin melts in the sheer heat of the summer girl.
"We might have some trouble here, Miss Bexley."
Her husky voice warns a bit playfully, unafraid, amused. It is still gentle if not haunting, but she has to lean into a soft neck to speak her words - close enough that she could try and steal a kiss from Bexley if she so desired to. She doesn't, however, because if she did - it would be like walking through a spring wire trap.
Eyes watch them.
Bad moods crawl steadily upward.
Gossip, gossip, gossip.
Darkness spreads.
Magic simmers quietly all around them.
Moral sinks deep below the floorboards with inky fatigue.
The outsider gives Bexley a leopard's grin and finishes another shot. Emersyn may be too forward, then, to call another round for the two of them. Where the money comes from is no issue but it doesn't go unnoticed by the eyes and ears in the tavern. She will keep the well flowing for as long as it takes her to convince a woman from Solterra, to have a dance with her on the backs of these men.
"How many pig heads do you think we will have to kick in to leave this bar, together?"
Someone in the corner thinks he knows Bexley. He has his opinions about her too while the comrade across from him at the table just laughs and laughs. Discussions over 'who does she think she is' bubble like overflowing streams in a dry brook. About the stranger. About the Solterran. Someone else just thinks it's unfair that two pretty young ladies can deny the world their beauty while they sit and talk together.
And then there is always the one who decides he just doesn't like outsiders, the isolationist.
Some how having a conversation at the tavern doesn't seem possible, and Emersyn would rather heat her coal with kerosene and matches than use kindling. The soldier takes her shot quickly, plumes of silver and black curl around her dramatic neck like a lion's mane. The bourbon warms her, it soothes her, it brazens the pathway. In mere seconds, she is as courageous as a lion.
The room swelters with scandal, distrusting patrons are already talking. Emersyn is already rising to her full height, hair swooshing past shoulder as she finally looks away from Bexley for the first time since .. she lost track of when she saw her .. and black fills her eyes when she gazes into the dark room. Until now, the unwashed and surly crowd has been behind her and therefore no challenge, but now she faces them, and their clamoring is unacceptable to her.
"I'm Emersyn, I'm from out of town." To Bexley, she says.
A shotglass flies across the room and the tall woman ducks her head in time for it to shatter behind her. Pieces of cheap crystal spray like sea mist behind the bar. A table overturns in the far left, a fight opens up between the two men over a discovery of one cheating at cards. What misery, what luck. She watches the targets, paces them with tactfulness, shuts down the first fool by simply shoving the drunkard over at the right moment. When he stays down, she tosses the sway of silver back out of her eyes and continues.
"I'm out of commission now, apparently Delumine doesn't have much need for a soldier. So I thought I'd travel a bit. How about you?"
Emersyn leans into the corrosive atmosphere of Bexley, "I am the one you have been waiting for. I'll show you." She feels the burn. She feels something akin to tasting lightning and battery acid too. Lust, it is so much stronger than any elixir on the top shelf here. Her silver skin melts in the sheer heat of the summer girl.
"We might have some trouble here, Miss Bexley."
Her husky voice warns a bit playfully, unafraid, amused. It is still gentle if not haunting, but she has to lean into a soft neck to speak her words - close enough that she could try and steal a kiss from Bexley if she so desired to. She doesn't, however, because if she did - it would be like walking through a spring wire trap.
Eyes watch them.
Bad moods crawl steadily upward.
Gossip, gossip, gossip.
Darkness spreads.
Magic simmers quietly all around them.
Moral sinks deep below the floorboards with inky fatigue.
The outsider gives Bexley a leopard's grin and finishes another shot. Emersyn may be too forward, then, to call another round for the two of them. Where the money comes from is no issue but it doesn't go unnoticed by the eyes and ears in the tavern. She will keep the well flowing for as long as it takes her to convince a woman from Solterra, to have a dance with her on the backs of these men.
"How many pig heads do you think we will have to kick in to leave this bar, together?"
Someone in the corner thinks he knows Bexley. He has his opinions about her too while the comrade across from him at the table just laughs and laughs. Discussions over 'who does she think she is' bubble like overflowing streams in a dry brook. About the stranger. About the Solterran. Someone else just thinks it's unfair that two pretty young ladies can deny the world their beauty while they sit and talk together.
And then there is always the one who decides he just doesn't like outsiders, the isolationist.
Some how having a conversation at the tavern doesn't seem possible, and Emersyn would rather heat her coal with kerosene and matches than use kindling. The soldier takes her shot quickly, plumes of silver and black curl around her dramatic neck like a lion's mane. The bourbon warms her, it soothes her, it brazens the pathway. In mere seconds, she is as courageous as a lion.
The room swelters with scandal, distrusting patrons are already talking. Emersyn is already rising to her full height, hair swooshing past shoulder as she finally looks away from Bexley for the first time since .. she lost track of when she saw her .. and black fills her eyes when she gazes into the dark room. Until now, the unwashed and surly crowd has been behind her and therefore no challenge, but now she faces them, and their clamoring is unacceptable to her.
"I'm Emersyn, I'm from out of town." To Bexley, she says.
A shotglass flies across the room and the tall woman ducks her head in time for it to shatter behind her. Pieces of cheap crystal spray like sea mist behind the bar. A table overturns in the far left, a fight opens up between the two men over a discovery of one cheating at cards. What misery, what luck. She watches the targets, paces them with tactfulness, shuts down the first fool by simply shoving the drunkard over at the right moment. When he stays down, she tosses the sway of silver back out of her eyes and continues.
"I'm out of commission now, apparently Delumine doesn't have much need for a soldier. So I thought I'd travel a bit. How about you?"
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