G A R E T H
She was driving him absolutely mad. Noor had been on the brink of skewering him with the nearest sharp object by the time the two of them had left for the inaugural celebration held in Delumine. Gareth had carefully tried to maintain their distance, the respectful boundary between medic and patient, trying desperately not to blur the lines. They were in place, after all, to protect her. In effect, the gentle giant had saved her life, had healed her wound and nursed her back to health. Her affections could have been an attempt to repay him, or even a shadowy cousin to stockholms. He didn’t like the idea that her advances were a product of some need to pacify him for services rendered.
They had agreed that first night in the cave, an evening that seemed so very far away now, to allow her to heal completely before seeing if the sparks that passed between them could kindle a real flame. The medicine man could not take advantage of her, would never have forgiven himself if one day she came to her senses and realized that her feelings were fleeting and a bid to protect herself from the dangerous unknown elements of a strange land.
The facade was crumbling, though. Pangaea was as stubborn as he was, perhaps even more so. She was relentless in her pursuit. It was clear the saurian woman knew what she wanted, and had every intent to obtain his returned affections. He had mirrored her glancing blows on their travels, had pulled her just a bit closer each night as they made their way across Denocte (careful to avoid that love nest of a cave, as Gareth had been convinced they would never make it to the festival if they did) and the neutral lands to the Dawn Court.
She had left him largely to his own devices this first day, milling about the vendor tents while he had set up his own stall. The woman always gravitated back towards him, though, like an asteroid caught up in the pull of another celestial body. Thankfully, there seemed to be very little mending he needed to do for those in attendance. A scrape here, a cut there, the occasional burn. It was still only the first day of many, and as Pangaea rotated back to his tent once more with the distinct tang of wine mingling with her own heady scent, he was reminded that the night was young and that alcohol had a way of dulling the senses as well as inhibitions. He sent up a silent prayer to Caligo, and Oriens for good measure, that this evening, just this one, would be devoid of any major medical excitement.
As if in response, the full moon shone just a little brighter, and it felt as though the goddess of night was giving him permission for this one night of freedom and revelry. The tingle of the warrior’s soft muzzle against his skin stirred the sleeping beast in his gut. It turned over lazily as she nibbled on his mane, a gesture that he had become far too familiar with, and one that he had been dreaming of returning more times than he cared to admit. Like a flash she’s gone, though, and the stallion took a steadying breath, moving about the tent to close it for the moonlit dance.
The meditative work lulled the beast in his belly back into a quiet slumber, and it allowed him to consider for the first time unhindered by outside influences his own feelings. Though Noor no longer spoke ill of Pangaea, he clearly disapproved of the state of affairs, echoing the medic’s own fears that the woman was not speaking from clarity of mind. Her advances had been steady, like the pounding of the sea upon the shore, and it had quickly become something that the stallion was accustomed to. Surely if she only meant to repay some debt owed she would not go through all the trouble. Would have taken the gift for what it was and left them long ago. They both knew that she had been steady on her feet before the first real thaw, but made excuses to stretch their time together anyways.
Though he could not rightfully say what he felt was an attraction, an affection (oh gods how in denial he was about that) the giant knew that he wanted to get to know her. To know who Pangaea was when she was not focused on healing, on mending tenuous bonds with housemates -packmates- or protecting those same people. He wanted to know more of the Pangaea who had been giddy to discover fruit preserves, who spoke of valiant tales with the kin of her homeland, whose laugh burned a hole in his chest and lit him on fire from the inside.
It took the medic longer than he anticipated to make his way towards the bonfire, following the trickle of court members and the faint melody of the bards tasked with providing music for the evening. He passed a stall filled with colourful silks and jewels, a bright pony exclaiming that the items were for borrow or sale for moonlight dance purposes. Several mares had gathered, tittering and trying on different combinations in a quest to find the best match to woo their selected dance mate. Gareth wondered briefly, only briefly, if Pangaea would have woven scarves in her hair and donned fair shawls, if only to appeal to the more fashionable attendees.
He heard the chatter before he saw for himself the spectacle that constituted the bonfire. Rarely did the stallion draw himself to his full height, always mindful of his girth and the level of inherent intimidation that came with it. At this though, he straightened, able to lift his head above the crowd that had begun to gather. A familiar figure in not so familiar adornments -so she had decided to wear some after all- twirled around the light of the fire, alternating a standard quadrupedal stance and transitioning smoothly into bipedal one, orbiting the dance centerpiece as gracefully as any dancer, sparks trailing behind her and accenting her foot work.
It was absolutely mesmerizing to watch. Gareth stood with mouth agape for several long moments. As she turned again and again, the warrior woman’s talons clacked against stone, showering sparks in a rhythm that caught his heart in his throat. Pirouetting on her back legs, tail a cascading plume, her features framed with golden silk, lit by the fierce crackling glow of the bonfire, as sparks shimmered at her feet and reflected in the swirl of her hazel pools, he caught her eye.
Bathump…
Bathump…
Bathump…
The slumbering beast roared to life and lust coursed through his veins, quick and searing hot. He could not tell if he had muscled past the crowd or if they simply parted before him, but it was of little consequence. All that mattered was that he reach Pangaea and taste her scent and feel the shower of her sparks against his skin as they danced under Caligo’s blessed moon.
They had agreed that first night in the cave, an evening that seemed so very far away now, to allow her to heal completely before seeing if the sparks that passed between them could kindle a real flame. The medicine man could not take advantage of her, would never have forgiven himself if one day she came to her senses and realized that her feelings were fleeting and a bid to protect herself from the dangerous unknown elements of a strange land.
The facade was crumbling, though. Pangaea was as stubborn as he was, perhaps even more so. She was relentless in her pursuit. It was clear the saurian woman knew what she wanted, and had every intent to obtain his returned affections. He had mirrored her glancing blows on their travels, had pulled her just a bit closer each night as they made their way across Denocte (careful to avoid that love nest of a cave, as Gareth had been convinced they would never make it to the festival if they did) and the neutral lands to the Dawn Court.
She had left him largely to his own devices this first day, milling about the vendor tents while he had set up his own stall. The woman always gravitated back towards him, though, like an asteroid caught up in the pull of another celestial body. Thankfully, there seemed to be very little mending he needed to do for those in attendance. A scrape here, a cut there, the occasional burn. It was still only the first day of many, and as Pangaea rotated back to his tent once more with the distinct tang of wine mingling with her own heady scent, he was reminded that the night was young and that alcohol had a way of dulling the senses as well as inhibitions. He sent up a silent prayer to Caligo, and Oriens for good measure, that this evening, just this one, would be devoid of any major medical excitement.
As if in response, the full moon shone just a little brighter, and it felt as though the goddess of night was giving him permission for this one night of freedom and revelry. The tingle of the warrior’s soft muzzle against his skin stirred the sleeping beast in his gut. It turned over lazily as she nibbled on his mane, a gesture that he had become far too familiar with, and one that he had been dreaming of returning more times than he cared to admit. Like a flash she’s gone, though, and the stallion took a steadying breath, moving about the tent to close it for the moonlit dance.
The meditative work lulled the beast in his belly back into a quiet slumber, and it allowed him to consider for the first time unhindered by outside influences his own feelings. Though Noor no longer spoke ill of Pangaea, he clearly disapproved of the state of affairs, echoing the medic’s own fears that the woman was not speaking from clarity of mind. Her advances had been steady, like the pounding of the sea upon the shore, and it had quickly become something that the stallion was accustomed to. Surely if she only meant to repay some debt owed she would not go through all the trouble. Would have taken the gift for what it was and left them long ago. They both knew that she had been steady on her feet before the first real thaw, but made excuses to stretch their time together anyways.
Though he could not rightfully say what he felt was an attraction, an affection (oh gods how in denial he was about that) the giant knew that he wanted to get to know her. To know who Pangaea was when she was not focused on healing, on mending tenuous bonds with housemates -packmates- or protecting those same people. He wanted to know more of the Pangaea who had been giddy to discover fruit preserves, who spoke of valiant tales with the kin of her homeland, whose laugh burned a hole in his chest and lit him on fire from the inside.
It took the medic longer than he anticipated to make his way towards the bonfire, following the trickle of court members and the faint melody of the bards tasked with providing music for the evening. He passed a stall filled with colourful silks and jewels, a bright pony exclaiming that the items were for borrow or sale for moonlight dance purposes. Several mares had gathered, tittering and trying on different combinations in a quest to find the best match to woo their selected dance mate. Gareth wondered briefly, only briefly, if Pangaea would have woven scarves in her hair and donned fair shawls, if only to appeal to the more fashionable attendees.
He heard the chatter before he saw for himself the spectacle that constituted the bonfire. Rarely did the stallion draw himself to his full height, always mindful of his girth and the level of inherent intimidation that came with it. At this though, he straightened, able to lift his head above the crowd that had begun to gather. A familiar figure in not so familiar adornments -so she had decided to wear some after all- twirled around the light of the fire, alternating a standard quadrupedal stance and transitioning smoothly into bipedal one, orbiting the dance centerpiece as gracefully as any dancer, sparks trailing behind her and accenting her foot work.
It was absolutely mesmerizing to watch. Gareth stood with mouth agape for several long moments. As she turned again and again, the warrior woman’s talons clacked against stone, showering sparks in a rhythm that caught his heart in his throat. Pirouetting on her back legs, tail a cascading plume, her features framed with golden silk, lit by the fierce crackling glow of the bonfire, as sparks shimmered at her feet and reflected in the swirl of her hazel pools, he caught her eye.
Bathump…
Bathump…
Bathump…
The slumbering beast roared to life and lust coursed through his veins, quick and searing hot. He could not tell if he had muscled past the crowd or if they simply parted before him, but it was of little consequence. All that mattered was that he reach Pangaea and taste her scent and feel the shower of her sparks against his skin as they danced under Caligo’s blessed moon.
"Speech" | @Pangaea | I wont let him get spicy but there will definitely be sauce
