[AW] feral, fatal, felicity

[Fever]

rip and smash through the hornet's nest

do you understand I deserve the best?

but you'll do what I want, do what i please

and do it again til I get what I Need

Memorable was an understatement, for the viper had already begun to paint a picture of Juniper’s likeness. Surely, the dove knew how much of a doll she was – green eyes smudged like mascara, framed with fluttering lashes, a softness to her expression that reminded Fever of silk against her skin. She was doused in a veil of virility, her perfume an air of mystery.  The way she would shamelessly accept Fever’s advancement, and then continue to dance with her would make Fever a bit weak in the knees. The mottled skin Juniper would touch would quiver with anticipation. 

At the mention of an instructor, a curious crook formed in her brow, dangerous amusement teasing her facial features. Sure, if there were teachers to credit, Fever would feel inclined to thank them for instilling upon her the weapons of entrapment. 

But everything Fever had learned was through her own destiny, her own choices. 

Whatever masters there might have been? Well – 

They were dead.

“Pleased greatly?” She grins, her posture elongating as she revels in the flattery – a cat arching its back and begging to be pet. A sultry giggle laces her words like a ribbon of chocolate. “I am pleased at your review, though I think it’s premature. You have yet to see all my tricks.”

Fever listens with her full attention, considers her words and then tilts her head, musing quietly. “No, perhaps not a lamb.” She would agree with the pale woman, bending down to tuck a whisper into the bed of her ear. 

“I don’t know any lamb who is eager for slaughter. Are you lost?” 

As Juniper spoke of religion, Fever was careful to keep her expression unmarred by dissatisfaction. She was not one to pray, and if not somehow seen as tributary, she would have burned down Solaris’s temples the moment she had returned home to Day Court. Instead, she focused on the saccharine purr of Juniper’s voice, curious to know where a creature like her had crawled out of – it was blaringly obvious she was not a child of the Sun. There was no grit in her voice, as if she didn’t know what it was like to go without water in these deserts. She smelled like wet earth; sweet, refreshing, an answered prayer for rain.

“You will not find me bending my knees for religion. I’ve been bent at the knee too many times to ever willingly put myself in that position.”

There was a bitterness in her heart for Solaris – how many times had her mother, Temper, spent her nights in a desolate corner, weeping for enlightenment, begging for deliverance, desperately trying to convince their patron God to take pity on her and her daughter and guide them out of this evil? 

Yet, she held just a sliver of solace for Solaris; a sort of morbid understanding that if the Gods could still be praised despite the heinous lives they lived -

Then so could Fever. 

The Gods blatant disregard of mortal life and its complicated web of cause and effect would inspire the spotted minx. If they did not have to listen to the rules, why should she? At any time, Solaris could have extended His hand and carried her and Temper away from the misery and shame of a servant’s life. And yet, He didn’t. 

If Solaris were an actual higher being, bedding in the clouds, joyous and gluttonous as he moves his pawns, playing his games with his people, then so be it. He would be held responsible for the gifts he had bestowed Fever: passion and wrath. 
And Fever would not feel any guilt for using those gifts.

If He wanted Fever to be a mess, then by God, she would make a fucking mess.

Her touch was hot, yet somehow gentle as she delicately plays with a strand of Juniper’s lush hair. Imagine a cattleman speaking sweetly to his calf as he hides the branding iron. “But you –“ she croons in gentle admiration and complete dismissal of the warring emotions inside of her, “You look like you’re devout, you seem eager to worship.” 

Fever was certainly a figure worthy of worship.

“I have no salvation for you.” Her words were dead in the air – honest, for once, as she pulled herself away from Juniper. The heat of their skins lingers. Fever stares for some time, her gaze hungry yet patient, a feline calculating when it would be appropriate to pounce – if appropriate at all. Though her body snaked and curved away from smaller one, allowing her the chance to disappear into the night if she chose to, Fever’s eyes would naturally be a beckon, a beguiling invitation. 

Typically, Fever knows no hesitation – every action and behavior were premeditated risks, well thought of and almost always benefitting herself. And even though she might seem meek, Fever knew that Juniper was not a victim, she was too brash and bold, and while Fever was fire, Juniper was smoke – seemingly less dangerous, but just as able to suffocate you. Perhaps her feigned frailty made her even more of a predator than Fever. 

A wolf in lambskin.

Nevertheless, Fever could not resist the temptation of sharing an evening with her. Despite their religious stances, the viper was certain they could find many things in common: certainly, they were similar in the way they could love? Certainly, two savage women could share their knowledge of their crafts, they could compare the scars on their skins, they could just for a night pretend they were madly in love with each other. Fever was willing to share her passions with an unspoken understanding that come morning, like all beautiful things, their violently brief affair would die. 

“I cannot promise you deliverance. But I can offer you a drink?”

Perhaps Juniper was the real deliverer, and Fever the forsaken.

OOC: @Juniper sorry for taking forever and sorry its a goddamn book lol

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