[P] tease a rattlesnake

[Pavetta]

p a v e t t a - - - The strange conversation with the mysterious unicorn in the woods left Pavetta unsettled. Unsettled and restless. You could be unstoppable… The words were branded in her mind, a fire she could not put out. She left the tree line, galloping through the swaying grass, kicking up her heels as she suddenly felt the urge to be surrounded by the hustle of the crowd, to be enveloped by the hum of music and shadows. Mostly she wanted to forget the silver eyed woman and the promises she had whispered. She shook her head, hair flying in the wind, and yet the sting of the black horn on her cheek lingered.  Lies….  The woman in black was just as Pavetta remembered the sorceresses of the mountain: cold, calculating, ethereal—telling Pavetta what she wanted—no—needed to hear. And like a fool, Pavetta believed it and yearned to know more despite the chilling sense of danger, of imminent peril.  She merged with the crowd, slowing her pace to a leisurely walk that was not without purpose. I need a drink. And drink she did, deeply, the fire spreading rapidly through her veins, burning and numbing at the same time. Only when her thoughts were drowned out by the buzz spreading in her head did she wander among the booths and vendors, trying her best not to stumble.   Pavetta stopped at the stage to watch a fire-eater dancing through his routine of flame and smoke. The crowd was a blur of faces but one stood out in particular. A red man, devilish almost. She had watched his performance earlier in the day and had been utterly fascinated by the savage blade on his tail and the intricate details he carved with it. She stared at him blatantly (quite emboldened by the wine), noting the rippling of his muscles, the easy way in which he carried himself. She waited for him to notice her gaze and then promptly decided she was too impatient to wait. “You’re just a regular lumberjack with that thing, aren’t you?” A smirk pulled at her lips, her words laced in venom as she sidled through the crowd to settle at his side. Her blood ran hot, her head felt clouded. She didn’t know what she needed, what she wanted. She could only feel the wine, the hum of the crowd, the heaviness of the air in her lungs “It’s a shame you’d waste such a fine weapon on carving silly toys for children.” She goaded him, flirting with danger—poking a stick at a rattlesnake.  But Pavetta felt like playing with fire and she was bound to get burned.   a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse, creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---

art by the epic odeen

@Raymond

[Raymond]

If only Raymond knew the events that led Pavetta into his orbit, the chance encounter in the wood with the lady of lions. They could have bonded over it: he too had felt a distinct urge to do something after Calliope found him, and with no alcohol to speak of for a thousand miles in any direction (he'd had a hell of a time of it, let me tell you).

Instead, he had immersed himself completely in the glitz and glamour of the festival as a fish takes to water, months of base survivalism doing nothing to blunt his edge. A crown of flowers - incongruous yet somehow so right for one of his bearing - and an enthusiasm for art were sufficient to forgive whatever foreign and heretical mannerisms he might let slip. Now he mingled with the crowd as someone danced with fire. Its crackling, wild light limned his otter-slick frame in a fierce glow, setting the bright copper of his coat ablaze.

Something besides the heat of the flames prickled at his neck and he glanced over his shoulder. A mare he did not recognize - which wasn't saying much, as he had nearly enough hooves to count the horses he recognized here - was staring at every inch of him with shameless abandon and took his eye contact as an invitation.

She was grey as a gathering storm with cascades of rose-tipped hair, with a faint odor of drink on her breath as she greeted him with needles rather than nods and slipped sinuously into his space.

Raymond chuckled at the jab, his eyes flashing brightly in the firelight. Taking his cue from her forwardness, the red stallion leaned in toward her ear so that she could clearly make out his lowered voice over the guttering flames and the dull roar of mingling crowds, each word rimmed with the amusement pulling at his dark lips.

"You know I asked the emcee if I could use a volunteer from the crowd, but for some reason he didn't seem too fond of the idea."

He did not need to act dangerous to be alluring.

But it certainly helped.


Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around

@Pavetta

[Pavetta]

p a v e t t a - - - He leaned in, his breath hot in her ears, his red skin illuminated by firelight. Devil. Sauve, smooth; he was not what Pavetta had initially expected. And yet it made sense that his tongue would be as sharp and clever as the blade on his tail. If not for the many goblets of dazzling drink, perhaps she might have engaged him in more pleasant conversation about the intricacy of his craft and how he had come by such a unique skill. They might have wandered the festival together admiring booths and venders and participating in elegant conversation. He certainly seemed elegant and it almost made her wish she was in more control so that she could keep up with his clever words and suave mannerisms. Instead, Pavetta was the brute and he was the beauty. No wonder she hadn’t made many friends. She found life outside her clan and the Order exhilarating but exhausting. She had been trained for this—social interaction and extravagant balls and festivals—and yet here she was, challenging a gentleman to a duel. She smiled. “I volunteer."   a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse, creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---

art by the epic odeen

@Raymond

[Raymond]

I volunteer.

Were he an outsider looking in, enjoying the interplay with the voyeuristic appreciation of a reader or film-goer, he might have leaned in eagerly. It was the classic setup for a rom-com villain: be charming, be edgy, sweep the quirky female protagonist off her feet in a moment of thoughtless vulnerability, and a whole world of exquisite melodrama may unfurl like a budding rose for the consumption of the hungry masses.

But Raymond was not a rom-com villain, and he had no desire to break the mare's heart. He simply acted however felt right, adapting his mannerisms to draw the most out of his dance partners, and he had done this for so long it was a rare occasion that he noticed himself doing it.

Emboldened by drink, she had drawn close. He had come closer. Now he laughed - not harshly, but because her response was so recklessly direct. One could rightly be concerned for her ability to rationally decide such things, but he loved her spirit and already knew the distance from here to the steppes. She would have plenty of time to reconsider her choice, and Raymond wasn't the sort to follow through without consent.

Combatives and sex have a few things in common, chief among them being this: if one party doesn't agree to participate, the other one is committing a crime.

The red stallion tilted toward her, his tail subtly arced through the space around their legs like a shield to draw her close and push the rest of the world away.

"I'm always game for a demonstration," he replied smoothly, "but the Steppes may be a slightly better venue for swordplay."

Blood on the air in this gathering was likely to start a proper riot.

Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around

@Pavetta - I love her. Sorry this is bad, my brain is melting from a 13 hour drive. I will post a battle starter for us in the morning, but absolutely feel free to continue the thread!