Raw Log: DS 5/15

Melinoë : -:- It wasn't long before the petite seer crossed paths again with the Deathstalker, Wrath. For the forseeable future, their paths would run side-by-side. The warrior prince played a critical role in the fulfillment of her life's goal-- though not much was visible past that. It wasn't that she *couldn't* see past that, it came at a cost. The long, sterling silvery hair that laid down her back, the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and the occasional -c

Melinoë : pain in her joints were all testaments to the cost of using her "talent." It wasn't a natural-born gift, it was something she'd bargained for far too early to understand the consequences of the deal. The Fates weren't to be trifled with, and in her youth Melinoe was far from clever enough to understand their convoluted contract. Here she was, poking the bear with a large, thorny stick. Older, wiser, and armed with clairvoyance-- she'd try her hand at winning -c

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : The moment Ephra reached for Carrick, he fought against her. “LET ME GO! You’re LYING! All of our fucking family is LYING! I don’t want to be a tool!” His indignant, exasperated tone continued, “I don’t want to be under uncle Waryk’s and your whim! YOU’RE FULL OF SHIT!!” His voice thundered, and objects about the room began to stir. All it took was a single utter of an incantation and things began to fly off the shelves, portraits tilting from side to side underneath the Wraith’s sway. [c]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : Having never been held this way by another family member save for his cousin Ophelia, the mercurial mage let out another strained cry … this time softer. He raised his fist toward her but failed to commit an act of violence; body becoming rigid against the ancient one brimming with his family’s bloodline. “I…” he said in a minuscule voice, “...hate you.” Ephra’s arms cradled his head to her chest and he fought the inclination to push her away. Instead, he listened to the sound of her heartbeat against his ear [c]

Melinoë : some time back-- if only to suffer longer. Wrath would help her, she already knew. He wasn't aware of exactly *what* it was he was up against, but that's where Melinoe came in. She ought to have been radiant and youthful, but the contrasting signs of age gave a strange impression. Her eyes were weary, a liquid blue-green worn from years of sight. Her facial structure hinted at youth-- early twenties, expressed in her brow and the pointedness of her -c

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : and his own breathing eased by the weight of her form against his. “...I fell into that darkness.” Carrick muttered, chewing his lip as Ephra kissed his temple and drew the male toward the nearby sofa. His mien instantly showing disdain when the nephilim spoke softly of her father. “If I remind you so much of uncle Waryk, burn me where I sit right now.” He endeavored to hold himself back from nausea and let his eyes meet with hers once again. He didn’t understand by what she meant  of ‘I could have…’ and his brows knit. [c]

Melinoë : nose, lending a fae-like spin on her appearance. Her mannerisms were spritely, despite signs of age. Her body was strong, waifish, and dextere. She walked with authority, as if she'd been on these paths since she was crawling. Melinoe walked most paths like that-- anticipating the ruts and falling into familiar step without so much as thirty seconds' experience in the area. Where Wrath and his familars were gathered at a fireside, the wispy seer appeared. Her -c

Melinoë : appearance was quiet and without announcement or interruption. She waited, because the conversation would eventually make its rounds and the warrior's circle would thin out after too long-- and then she'd speak with Wrath. -:-

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : What had him riled again was when she spoke of him walking a long path, and that he would rise to the occasion. “You … you aren’t… going …. to help me?” He felt the color drain from his face and he looked down at his hands. A dryness filled his mouth and his lips curved into a pale, thin line of displeasure. Feeling affronted, he immediately shot back at her, face raising with unhinged emotion. “I can NEVER find solace in that! You mock me. I know you do.” Suddenly, he stood up and kicked at the sofa he [c]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : One sec.]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : If I remind you so much of your father, then help me." He endeavored to hold himself back and let his eyes meet with hers once again.**]

Felice has left the conversation.

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : recently occupied. “If you can’t help me then there is NO ONE who can and I’ll be forced to live this way for the rest of my existence. And I’ll keep sinning. Because if I am already damned -- then there’s no other god or man who can end me until the god who has given me this curse decides I’ve lived out my supposed repentance.” He became grim, "Go away." [e]

Felice has joined the conversation.

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : wb]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Steel grey eyes watched the sky as the gruff Prince considered recent events. Currently sat around a campfire alongside his soldiers, the blonde-haired warrior sank his teeth into the leg of roasted boar. Savouring the flavour greedily. A prodigious sword lay on the grass near his feet, the very same he’d wielded in battle at the behest of his father. Per the Emperor’s insistence, Wrath remained in the west a while longer. Though he was the General of the Northern Legion, his recent heroics alongside a warrior monk and a grey-haired clairvoyant, meant that a roaming tribe of marauding orcs had met a violent end, here in the Valley of Horses. The trees in Blackwood Forest looming over the mutilated corpses of their green-skinned foes, who now rotted in the aftermath. Though they hadn’t spoken much since then, the woman Wrath had encountered prior to the battle remained near their camp and he’d caught himself staring at her a few times. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Recalling their impressive kill of Grognak together, word had already spread of Melinoe’s bravery. His self-awareness prompting him to avert his gaze lest she catch him staring. Even now, Wrath was mindful of her presence, though acted like he hadn’t noticed her. The petite seer drawing closer as Wrath felt the glowing heat of the flames near his face. As soldiers rose to their feet and bid the Emperor’s son farewell, the bearded General allowed his gaze to purposefully fall on the clairvoyant. Armour had been discarded some time ago, his breastplate, helm and gauntlets arranged in a neat pile near his tent. His leathers and sleeveless jerkin made his broad physique and muscular arms more visible. Wrath eventually bidding the wispy figure to approach. “Sit me with me,” he called in a bold voice. Reaching towards the roasted boar with his knife, he cut her a piece. Reaching across to share. ::

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : ^“Sit with me,” ]

Melinoë : -:- Glaucous eyes flickered from wavering flames to the surrounding party-- none among them were without fault. Some were on the path to victory, others...destined to stagnate after a handful of glory days already passed, and more than a handful of them would be lost to the pages of history. But not the Tyrant's son. Melinoe grinned, lashes flicking up from their repose as she met his gaze with intentional timing. As he asked, -c

Melinoë : she fell into a light, soundless step between the paths of those taking their leave. The hour was growing late and the crickets were concluding their nightsong. She regarded him with marked interest, aged lines falling away from her features in the dim firelight, masked with the cloak of evening. Her spritely demeanor affected the small area, adding a light-heartedness to the tenor of her company. Openly, she admired his figure, poorly concealed by lightweight leathers -c

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : The elder of the pair let him wage his war against her.  Even when his fist balled and raised, Ephra did not flinch.  She merely stared at Carrick and he faded into a withering state once more.  And that was when she pulled him to her, brushed his hair away, calmly spoke in soothing tones.  But it would not last.  Not when the nephilim told him that he still had his destiny to fulfill.  "What would you have me do, yakiri?"  Full mouth posed when he wrenched away.  "Call down the gods that seek to punish you for the decision you made?  I warned you, Carrick, and you would not listen.  You still will not listen."  She had tried in that garden so long ago when he was young.  He had the choice to heed premonitory words.  Ephra raised from the sofa, drifting toward the mantle where her portrait hung.  Riled, the mage spat his vitriol toward his ancestor.  Her shoulders locked rigidly and she clasped her hands in front of her.  He, like so many of the other Vaskaris, chose the more difficult >

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : path...even in the face of grace, of mercy.  Whispering, Ephra ignored the silent tears that trailed down the contours of her face, "You are the only one who can decide your fate, Carrick.  We are not bound to our sins."  Still, he went one.  The mage stoked the eternal fire that flickered inside the nephilim.  Why did every Vaskaris male believe they held all the answers?  Arrogance was the worst of their sins, there was no question, and it frustrated the elder sorceress.  Spinning slowly on her heels, their eyes locked.  "Silence," her voice cut like a hell-forged blade, white hot with an unspoken threat.  The room dimmed of all light as a forefinger rose, directing attention to the aged painting of her.  In those gleaming eyes held that firelight she'd stolen from the candles.  "Do not be like the man who loved this portrait so.  Do not think that you are enslaved by the actions of your past.  You are the keyholder.  You are the only person who can break the chains that imprison you." >

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : Measured steps were taken to Carrick and fingertips touched his chin, tilting his head so that he would look to Ephra, the second of their ancient line.  "One day, not very long from now, you will find that which you seek.  And you will have a choice once more: to choose your sinful past or to choose forgiveness.  Do not be like my father.  Do not cast away hope for the struggle to garner power, yakiri.  Be better than your forefather."  Brontide and flashes of lightning outside were the ominous alarm that had the nephilim stepping away from Carrick.  She took to staring at the open doors leading into the garden.  A frown formed on her mouth and the candles reignited around them.  "He's coming soon."  (FIN)

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : Still, he went on.** ))

Melinoë : and the sleeveless jerkin. While he wore age with far more grace than she-- it wasn't without the markings of time. Remnants of steel and iron were visible on the surface of his skin, unkindly reminders of the costs of battle. She found them endearing-- a symbol of his commitment to his family and ultimately, the Empire. Not all experience was marked by flesh wounds, some hid beneath the surface...building the man from the inside out. "Thank you." she -c

Melinoë : chimed without hesitation, long fingers curling around the offered sup. She ate by picking the cooked meat apart with dextrous digits, taking up a seat on the ground beside him with distinct ease. Melinoe exuded the a kind of child-like comfort, a bit too familiar and just bordering friendly proximity. It was obvious that she trusted Wrath, though aside from having not-so-casually murded a clan of orcs together, it wasn't readily apparent why. -:-

Felice has left the conversation.

Takeru_Kuro has joined the conversation.

Takeru_Kuro has left the conversation.

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: The Emperor’s son was a conflicted figure. Weighing up a future that seemed uncertain as he watched the flames, Wrath concluded that his only use to the Empire was his ability to kill. While his father had been opportunistic enough to manoeuvre into politics and engineer royal ascension, Wrath was a very different man. Neither power hungry nor necessarily vain, he could at times be plagued by self-doubt. He wondered sometimes if that made him less of a Deathstalker. Even if it did, he was motivated by his genuine desire to help people: to keep them safe. If that meant vanquishing orcs, the second-generation Nephilim welcomed the challenge and wouldn’t shirk the responsibility. Even so, his men saw other qualities in the General that he himself would never boast of. His well-intentioned heart and charisma as a natural leader foremost amongst them. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> It was for these reasons alongside his battle prowess, that they followed him so resolutely. Less a case of doing their duty, in so much as these warriors in the camp would readily lay down their lives if Wrath asked it of them. The Prince briefly pondered on the fate of his daughter. Himself and Alauneyl obviously had no future, but that didn’t mean he cared for his child any less. He prayed that the gods watched over her kindly. By now Melinoe had heeded his beckoning. The sky having grown darker as the gloom of nightfall took hold made her seem unnatural somehow. Her youthful face and silver-like hair was a contradiction. As if she wasn’t entirely real. It was hard for Wrath to discern what it was about the clairvoyant he found so confounding, though in the end he realised overthinking it was of little use to him. Instead he’d just go for the direct approach and ask. “You intrigue me woman.” Speaking plainly. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “The way you fight…” He began. “As if you’ve already seen them strike at you before they do.” Now watching her separate the meat with her fingers, eating. Only sure that he trusted Melinoe too. ::

Melinoë : -:- "That's something I've always admired about you..." Melinoe added conversationally, "Your attention to detail is remarkable." The withy seer chewed on boar meat, distinctly amused as she watched his expression. "I have." she added casually, "Seen them, I mean." she used the bone of the meat to point to imaginary foes as she spoke, articulating an entire scene with only her mind and hands. "I've seen you." she added, brow quirking as her attention turned back -c

Melinoë : toward him. Her shadow danced behind her in the firelight as she curled her toes inside of the small, soft leather moccasins. She chewed quietly in the pregnant pause, glaucous hues level with the Deathstalker's. "I see why your men follow you and why your people herald you. I see your familial line, your predecessors and your ancestors before you. They all have written history. But the people yet to come?" she asked the rhetorical question with the faintest -c

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : He snipped at her again and again, his childish resentment having no limit UNTIL his kin’s voice sliced through the air. She bade him to be silent and like an unspoken spell cast at him, he followed the whim of her behest. … … for a little awhile. “You say I can change my fate,” he said, voice cracking amid his inner turmoil, “and I say I cannot.” The Wraith didn’t have the power of a God. And claim as Ephra might that he did; he’d never believe her. His mouth shut again, [c]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : feeling the pressure of her aether encircle him. There was warmth, but impatience was tinged about it. Had he edged his ancestor to the precipice with his undulating comportment? Wouldn’t be the first time. Waryk and those of their fucked-up happy little family often slapped him around when he back talked. Although, Carrick was never saddened by it. Those touches to his face were like affection to him. The kind of love he never received until Ophelia. [c]

Melinoë : hint of quizzical tenor-- "I have seen their unwritten history, too." she added, stretching her legs out in front of her, calves tightening as they lengthened. "Our futures are braided, Wrath." her voice dropped, losing its characterstic bouyancy. It was more monotone, sultry and warm-- like a hypnotist. This shift was natural to her, drawing attention to the unusual and paramount. She met his brumous gaze, affirming then that the tenebrous nature of her visions would -c

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : “Chains are what got me here in the first place.” He laughed coldly, and thought of the summoned creature that died because of his arrogance. However, despite the front he was putting up, he felt trepidation. What would she do to him for his backtalk? He gulped, lips pursing as the nephilim encroached his personal space again. She touched his chin and tilted his head toward her. The draw to her was unmistakable. Ephra was brimming with their legacy, and she [c]

Melinoë : clarify under their combined efforts. "I need your help." she concluded, not seeming to mind whether or not anybody overheard their conversation-- nobody would. -:-

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : was magnetic because of that bloodline flowing through her. Averting his gaze, Carrick’s nostrils flared. She’d been right about his foolish choice to summon. Would she be right about his future too? Brontide and flashes of lightning outside signaled a more than familiar presence lingering on the horizon to the warlock, and he tensed. “...that doesn’t mean I will follow this path of mine with a smile on my face. Would could?” He said dourly, brows furrowing. With a tip of his head, [c]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : Who could**]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : his chin rested against Ephra’s palm and his cool celadon looked toward her eyesome face until she drew away from him. “I will make my own path. Go then before he sees you, angelic specter.” [e]

Rylzen has joined the conversation.

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : Welcome.))

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Wrath watched her chew. The way her mouth moved afterwards, when she spoke. Something was out of place somewhere. Equal parts confused and perhaps enamoured. The broad-shouldered General sinking his knife into the roasted boar, cutting another slice of meat for her. Again offering the flat of the blade, sharing a second piece, so that Melinoe could eat with him more. He briefly looked over his shoulder, unsure if the seer was still talking to him. “Admire me?” Tilting his head, leaning forward to listen. It was then that she’d confirmed what he’d already suspected. Alluding to it with her reply. “Then you have a gift. One I could never hope to fathom.” He admitted. “For my way is the sword.” The Prince watched her legs stretch in front of him, tempted by the sight of the woman, as the area around the fire gradually became less occupied, soldiers stumbling off to their weary rest. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “I don’t understand.” He admitted when Melinoe spoke of braided futures. Though if he was honest with himself, he liked the way that sounded. What did he have to lose? Just perhaps, he wondered if he -was- being hypnotised? Maybe charmed by this strange woman, who could say. There were worse fates, he concluded. This time the General of the North reached for his flask, that she might quench her thirst with his wine. “Then you have it,” affirming his help. ::

Melinoë : -:- Melinoe spoke freely at his side. Reluctant and timorous weren't-- and wouldn't ever be-- descriptors for the unimposing waif. The pair couldn't have been more opposite by all appearances, mannerism, and occupation. Taking the meat offered without hesitation, she took up the subtle proposition for more time without missing a beat. "Gift...curse..." she added, shrugging between bites, "It's a matter of perspective." she joked at her own expense, watching him as he mimicked -c

Melinoë : her stretch. Beneath the lightweight linen of her shift, her heart thrummed in response to some primal part of her mind. There were times when she became markedly more human, which was greeted with internal curiosity. Of course, she knew where his thoughts were headed. They weren't there -quite- yet, but they would be fairly quickly. Like a cat, she preened under his gaze to encourage the path of thought. Her back arched gently, features softening with empathy as -c

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : The stroke of fingers was as gentle as any caress every could have been.  With a gaze of white gold set upon the mage's face, Ephra stared for a long while.  There were no words that passed between them now; an unsaid sorrow blanketed her expression.  As she swallowed, the wind howled.  When she blinked, the rain fell harder.  The autumn storm was heralding the incoming monster that she could not share a room with...and the one person she wished to never be parted from.  Despite Carrick's anger and her growing anxiety, Ephra was still softened toward him.  The pad of her thumb brushed under his eye and she whispered, "I wish I could stay with you, yakiri, but..."  No one knew the lengths she had gone to watch them all grow.  The pride that Ephra felt for her descendants was unmatched.  It was her only desire to dwell with them, in close quarters.  But that was a fate that could not come to pass...not for some time, at least.  Bending at the waist, the nephilim came to Carrick's ear and >

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : she murmured, "When she comes, choose love.  If that is all you remember of our interaction, please let it be that you will choose love over power."  All that he would remember?  Coming face to face with him, both palms held his jaw.  Ephra's mouth found his.  He would not be allowed to recall their meetings--not this one or the time prior.  She would fade from memory.  Perhaps it was divine epiphany that would give his ideas in later narratives?  But until they met again, Carrick Vaskaris would have no recollection of the divine creature that claimed his mouth.  She tasted of fruit sweetly ripened on the vine; of holiness, of purity.  A small sound escaped her throat and she gripped the hair at the back of his neck as her magic surged.  The deeper the kiss, the stronger she became.  Flashes of that moment they stood in the garden were erased.  Words exchanged between Wraith and Antiphon blurred and dissolved.  The tease of tongue urged him closer.  And just when fingers went to clasp her>

Ephяα·Vαskαяis : about the waist, Ephra Vaskaris was gone.  The candles in the room had been blown out and their tendrils of smoke danced eerily slow in spite of the storm raging at the open doors leading to the garden.  Alone in the shadows, the mage was left to such strange thoughts.  Had Carrick fallen asleep?  The only company left for him in the room was that of the girl in the portrait of the mirror...her winsome countenance speaking of all the things she knew that he, and the rest of their clan, did not.  (FIN)

Melinoë : a very human thrumming played along under her breast. There were few words as affirming as those of a man who had no idea what he was about to get himself into--- at a woman's behest. She reached out with a free hand and took the offered flask. The wine was good-- better than she remembered. As most things would prove to be. "We will move forward through time together, you and I." she replied thoughtfully. "I have foes stronger than I am alone. You have conquest and -c

Melinoë : victory ahead of you." she contiued, swallowing the sweet wine before pursing full lips-- pleased with its taste. "I will no longer be alone." she concluded, "and you will have more than battlefields to conquer." -:-

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Cursed. Wrath conceded her point with a gruff smile. “By some people’s definition, my bloodline is certainly that. To carry the weight of a name like mine means you win, or you die.” Taking a sip from the flask when she returned it, their hands briefly touching. His eyes staring at her lips, wet with wine. “They say the Deathstalkers are descendants of the Goddess.” Continuing the conversation. “But it seems like the furthest thing from a blessing these days.” He exhaled. The glow of the fire made Melinoe seem more alluring, her lithe form stretching in the dark. The seer’s back arching, flames dancing in her eyes with a promise of the future. Alas, for all Wrath’s self-loathing at times as he sought to defy the legacy of his father, Melinoe spoke to his blood. To follow her meant a path of blood and conquest: these were things a Deathstalker lived for. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> One final appraisal of the camp to discern if they were being watched, had the large warrior finally relenting. “Then I will break them.” The Prince leaning in her direction, his shadow looming over the lithe creature. Maybe she would resist him? Though Wrath had a feeling she wouldn’t. His exposed muscular arm reaching around her waist. “Give me what I want.” If the power she boasted of was real, Melinoe already knew what that was. An ultimatum, as his bearded mouth sought her lips. ::

Melinoë : -:- "You win, or you die." she conceded, raising the flask in the impression of a toast, chin dipping as her eyes briefly closed. His hand closed around hers, warm and calloused around soft and sure. She didn't move to resist or otherwise recoil, but remained with the hand upheld in his brief grasp before passing the wine. Her arms closed in a loop around her knees, drawing them in as she listened, supper set aside in anticipation, subtly. "What they say is true..." -c

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Fuck. Yes.))

Melinoë : <3~]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : Hot. That totally happened.]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : Frissons rippled throughout Carrick from Ephra’s touches toward his skin, and he held her gaze. His cool celadon to her white gold. Silence blessed the pair of them for a little while until the Vaskaris estate creaked; heralding the monster’s approach. The evoker didn’t know why this kin of his avoided the presence of Waryk so. But then again, he was always spectating the fucked-up play of their family from the shadows, wasn’t he? No doubt sipping at wine, and planning what to do next. [c]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : Being drawn to Ephra as the Wraith was, he wanted to balm her perturbations. Ironic. Being that a few minutes ago he wanted to punch her in the face. Perhaps … it was the angelic specter’s benevolence to him. A facet he’d only witnessed with his cousin when they were alone. But again, she advanced toward her descendant, the pad of her thumb brushing just underneath his eye. “Then stay with me, and I will take the brunt.” He tipped his chin upward and shown his most recent bruising from Waryk’s hand along the baseline of his neck, a grin coming to his face. [c]

Melinoë : she mused with the gentle tilt of her head, cheek turned toward the mensch. "But history isn't my strong suit." she admitted, shoulders relaxing as she admitted it. Wrath leaned toward her, testing the water with the overwhelming size of his presence. He glanced around, almost as an obligation. She could tell-- he didn't want to shift his focus, but checking his surroundings was as much a part of him as the overwhelming urge to reach out and sieze her-- which he did -c

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : “... you better go.” He tried to pull back but her clasp upon his chin grew tighter, and his chest grew heavy. Carrick didn’t know of her true origins, nor of her real link with Waryk, but if it meant he could protect another family member from that bastard’s grip … he would. Of course, the male was confused when she mentioned love. “Love?” He echoed after her. Though, not much would breach through his lips again for Ephra’s found his. Instantly, her power swept through him and he felt he could do nothing but go with it, instead of against it. His mouth widened, tasting her sweet piety. [c]

Melinoë : almost immediately after. Melinoe's wispy frame melted in the bolstered loop of his arm, body seeming to fit neatly against him as if it were designed to do so. She was smaller around the waist than she'd appeared beneath a shapeless shift and cloak. Despite looking absolutely fragile beside him, Melinoe's hips bowed out from the narrow dip of her waist and rounded out in muscle beneath his arm, forming a rest beneath it. Pulled in close, she could smell the -c

Melinoë : wine on his breath, but the remarkable thing was that she found the way he smelled...desirable. Despite being under a cloak of campfire, sweat, wine and leather-- the most prominent scent was a remarkably human smell. Warm, woodsy and sanguine. As his mouth fell on hers, the full plumage of her mouth opened to greet his. Her tongue grazed his lower lip, hands slipping up between their chests to grasp him by either side of his face. With slender digits in his beard she -c

Melinoë : grasped him firmly, sure of herself and their mutual desire. He smelled better than she imagined, and he kissed better, too. No matter the texture of her visions, real life consistently proved that they paled in comparison to the present. Her small hands squeezed his jaw, forming to its outline as she pulled her mouth free of his to breathe, "It's yours." she affirmed, using the end of her pointy nose to graze against the rugged skin of his neck before her lips found -c

Melinoë : purchase at the soft flesh behind his ear. -:-

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : How could a divine creature like her not burn him? Carrick could not think ponder then. He felt blank as he pushed himself into her molten lips, bobbing his head into the deepened pace. Ephra gripped the nape of his neck, he placed his palm to the curve of her jawline, his lips massaging hers. The evoker felt overcome with a surge of unidentified power, and a white hot flame consumed him the moment Ephra’s tongue urged him closer. His breath was errant and mouth was bruised from their brusque osculation. He wanted her. How did this make ANY sense? [c]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : could not ponder then.*] apparently the writer can't either rooofl]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Everyone just casually making out. Good job, y'all.))

Melinoë : We keep it consistent.]

Melinoë : We couldn't be outdone.]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : You know, we all came here for a goal. And I think we are crushing it.))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : SYNERGY.))

Melinoë : -SMASHES GOALS-]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Lmao ]

Melinoë : And with that, I have to go sleep.]

Melinoë : -whacks pause button, like a total buzzkill.-]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : I AM DISAPPOINTED.))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : CARRICK, YOU BETTER DELIVER.))

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : Piece by piece, she removed fragments of their interactions together. And as he placed his palm about Ephra’s waistline, his fingers became entwined in her lacy gown, and then just like that Carrick Vaskaris was left standing alone. His arm extended, hand groping at empty air. Why the fuck was he panting? Eyes blinked multiple times and he looked through the pitch dark … as if seeking someone that obviously wasn't there. Celadon eyes rose to the portrait he’d been staring at upon his prior entrance. Perhaps he’d fallen accidentally to one of the hexes about the estate? Stumbling toward the stairs, he headed towards his room for the night ... why did he have a boner? [e]

Melinoë : I AM DEAD]

​