Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Printable Version
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Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 09-22-2015
"It is," she confirmed, running an idle thumb over the condensation on her bottle. "They gotta hide, other places. Less on the east coast, I guess, but nowhere's like Valesport. Chicago's probably closest, but even that's… fragile." Not that it mattered, here and now, lessons he couldn't learn from and wouldn't be able to use. Particularly not if he was going to stay in Valesport. What a strange thought, staying in the same place on purpose. She didn't think she ever had.
The corners of her mouth pulled in what was almost a sad smile – but not quite sad. Amused, maybe, or something like pity. God, but he was making her feel old. "Oh, you got it all backwards," she said gently, patting his knee again. When it came to getting fucked, she was an expert, after all. "You know how little kids hide from monsters? Under the covers, like it's the seeing or the touching that'll let the monsters get them?" Her hand hadn't left his thigh, leaning a little bit closer without realizing it. "They're right." She sighed, and as she took her hand back she trailed her nails along black fabric and the skin beneath, more a fidget than a gesture. "Knowing what to look for just means seeing things you shouldn't. Magic sticks to your skin, almost. Like you've been marked. Let it touch you once and you'll never get away." After a contemplative moment she took another sip of her drink. "Not that you're gonna remember any career advice. Seems like it's too late for you, anyway, if it makes you feel better." The things that made her feel better were rarely universal.
Nadine still had not touched her own mask, to fidget or otherwise. The lace, fitted perfectly to her face, was soft enough that it was as if she was wearing nothing at all. Less obtrusive than her usual glasses, and she didn't get to wear those half the time, anyway. The only inconvenience was the feather, and it was easier to fidget with her hair.
She couldn't tell why he answered so quickly. Defensive, or appalled? She'd never had the best sense of propriety, but she supposed it was worse now. She cocked her head to the side. "Are you sure? It seems… boring." She wasn't doing a very good job of selling herself. Maybe she was just tired of selling herself. "I'd probably be bored," she clarified, "if I weren't… me." She wasn't here for any reason except to not be where she'd been; the actual masquerade was barely a consideration for her. "What are you here for?" she asked. "You don't seem like the ballroom type." After a moment, she added, "And you never said how old you are." She didn't know why that felt important, couldn't decide whether she'd rather he be younger or older than she was.
The corners of her mouth pulled in what was almost a sad smile – but not quite sad. Amused, maybe, or something like pity. God, but he was making her feel old. "Oh, you got it all backwards," she said gently, patting his knee again. When it came to getting fucked, she was an expert, after all. "You know how little kids hide from monsters? Under the covers, like it's the seeing or the touching that'll let the monsters get them?" Her hand hadn't left his thigh, leaning a little bit closer without realizing it. "They're right." She sighed, and as she took her hand back she trailed her nails along black fabric and the skin beneath, more a fidget than a gesture. "Knowing what to look for just means seeing things you shouldn't. Magic sticks to your skin, almost. Like you've been marked. Let it touch you once and you'll never get away." After a contemplative moment she took another sip of her drink. "Not that you're gonna remember any career advice. Seems like it's too late for you, anyway, if it makes you feel better." The things that made her feel better were rarely universal.
Nadine still had not touched her own mask, to fidget or otherwise. The lace, fitted perfectly to her face, was soft enough that it was as if she was wearing nothing at all. Less obtrusive than her usual glasses, and she didn't get to wear those half the time, anyway. The only inconvenience was the feather, and it was easier to fidget with her hair.
She couldn't tell why he answered so quickly. Defensive, or appalled? She'd never had the best sense of propriety, but she supposed it was worse now. She cocked her head to the side. "Are you sure? It seems… boring." She wasn't doing a very good job of selling herself. Maybe she was just tired of selling herself. "I'd probably be bored," she clarified, "if I weren't… me." She wasn't here for any reason except to not be where she'd been; the actual masquerade was barely a consideration for her. "What are you here for?" she asked. "You don't seem like the ballroom type." After a moment, she added, "And you never said how old you are." She didn't know why that felt important, couldn't decide whether she'd rather he be younger or older than she was.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Blade - 11-21-2015
She was thinking much along the same lines as she recovered from her tumble and slowly tried to follow his motions—steps. These dances were nothing like her own tribes’, much less like the dances of the other tribes. One certainly did not hold one’s body close to their own; not because touching or closeness were frowned upon, but because... it just had never really been the way--dancing was a way to tell a story usually, a freeing experience not based on finding a mate or lover. Her culture was so very different in ways many did not understand in places like Elysian. She was quite sure they would not here.“For your feet as well, I think,” she replied, voice laden with gentle laughter. “I appreciate that stubbornness, Maca.” She made a point of looking at his face, meeting his eyes as they moved. The urge to look down was great, but she knew enough to know that it would only cause more gracelessness.
And then she blinked in surprise at his final comment. A tease, for certain; though, not at her expense. Perhaps not. “You are a flirt,” she said gently in tamed shock that had a lilt of enjoyment; her cheeks colored just barely in a dusty hue of rose on alabaster. Not because she was embarrassed, but because people didn’t often say such things to her. Respectful things, nice things, yes. They might want her, as some of her people did, for a life partner; though, none of them ever voiced a desire so... directly. To others, but never to her. Never to the woman who was an advisor of woes, troubles, and carrier of prayers to Draco.
Should she be offended? She was not one to judge on appearance alone; it was not her way. Though, were she to judge him on his mask alone—the accent rolling along his tongue like molten caramel... she would say that there was likely much worse that he could say, things she knew well of an understood—things she had heard in the broken thoughts of other men and women who barely dared to speak them aloud in a given situation.
Instead she continued her gentle smiling, deciding to them reply to his question from earlier. “My people are, aye.” She nodded. “The north bears green fields for planting in the spring months, the south all year long, but its better for some in the winter. We travel according to the climate, location, and time of year, making certain not to overtax the land. Some crops can be stored, others not.” She shrugged. “I prefer the beaches in the south—the fish.” She sighed longingly. “The water is soothing...”
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 11-22-2015
There was a glint in his eyes, bright blue striking against the black of his mask. «My most difficult lesson?» he repeated, and maybe the way that he said it would lead her to reconsider. «I have a few,» he said, «but most would require an assistant. Logistical difficulties, you understand.» He grinned. «I have no doubt that we could find a volunteer, but I think that I would rather have you all to myself, for now.»
«And where shall I accept this invitation, I wonder?» he asked. «I do not think your skirt would be quite large enough to disguise me – being that I am so very large. Perhaps not here then.» If there was another reason that she would not want him burying his face between her legs in the middle of a crowded ballroom, he did not mention it. «Shall we find a dark corner? A room all to ourselves? Where do you think we would find the best classroom?»
Still, he had not kissed her.
«Decide quickly, Kitten, or I fear that I will lose my patience and carry you away.»
«And where shall I accept this invitation, I wonder?» he asked. «I do not think your skirt would be quite large enough to disguise me – being that I am so very large. Perhaps not here then.» If there was another reason that she would not want him burying his face between her legs in the middle of a crowded ballroom, he did not mention it. «Shall we find a dark corner? A room all to ourselves? Where do you think we would find the best classroom?»
Still, he had not kissed her.
«Decide quickly, Kitten, or I fear that I will lose my patience and carry you away.»
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 11-23-2015
"Losing my touch," he said, "if it took you that long to notice." This was actually downright subtle for Niyol, whose usual approach involved more money and less clothes.
That scandalized tone and that pretty little blush had him strongly reconsidering having approached at all. It was possible that making assumptions based on a dress she hadn't even picked out for herself had been a miscalculation. A little bit coy, an elegant veneer – whatever he'd thought, this didn't quite fit. Either she was a helluva lot more innocent than she looked, or she was very good at pretending to be; either way, it put a significant damper on his plans, insofar as he'd had plans at all.
Shit damn.
But then, of course, was the issue of how to extricate himself from a situation of his own making. He could always just be honest – sorry, but it's come to my attention that you might not be interested in getting nailed to the floor. Come to think of it, you're pretty white to start with, so painting you with it seems excessive. I'm looking for someone with at least five years' experience, do you have a resume?
That felt like the sort of thing that might not end all that well for him, no-consequences masquerade aside. And he still hadn't figured out how many days she had left.
More than one, probably.
Shit damn.
She changed the subject, and maybe that was for the best. Steering the conversation away from flirtation as he attempted to continue steering them along to the music, a dance in only the loosest possible sense. He gave his very best 'active listening' nod.
What a shame, though. He didn't think there was a whore in the whole Wasteland with hair like that. There couldn't have been, because she'd have cost him a fortune already if there was.
"Can't say as I've ever been," he said. "Not many beaches in the desert." His eyes moved briefly past her, skimmed over the crowd behind her before returning, watching for passing dancers. It was also possible that he was being just slightly inattentive. The thought that their little lesson might not end as he'd hoped set his mind to wandering, and his eyes with it, though it wasn't conscious on his part. It wasn't as if the ballroom was going to offer him any solutions.
Unless she had a slutty twin sister wandering around.
That scandalized tone and that pretty little blush had him strongly reconsidering having approached at all. It was possible that making assumptions based on a dress she hadn't even picked out for herself had been a miscalculation. A little bit coy, an elegant veneer – whatever he'd thought, this didn't quite fit. Either she was a helluva lot more innocent than she looked, or she was very good at pretending to be; either way, it put a significant damper on his plans, insofar as he'd had plans at all.
Shit damn.
But then, of course, was the issue of how to extricate himself from a situation of his own making. He could always just be honest – sorry, but it's come to my attention that you might not be interested in getting nailed to the floor. Come to think of it, you're pretty white to start with, so painting you with it seems excessive. I'm looking for someone with at least five years' experience, do you have a resume?
That felt like the sort of thing that might not end all that well for him, no-consequences masquerade aside. And he still hadn't figured out how many days she had left.
More than one, probably.
Shit damn.
She changed the subject, and maybe that was for the best. Steering the conversation away from flirtation as he attempted to continue steering them along to the music, a dance in only the loosest possible sense. He gave his very best 'active listening' nod.
What a shame, though. He didn't think there was a whore in the whole Wasteland with hair like that. There couldn't have been, because she'd have cost him a fortune already if there was.
"Can't say as I've ever been," he said. "Not many beaches in the desert." His eyes moved briefly past her, skimmed over the crowd behind her before returning, watching for passing dancers. It was also possible that he was being just slightly inattentive. The thought that their little lesson might not end as he'd hoped set his mind to wandering, and his eyes with it, though it wasn't conscious on his part. It wasn't as if the ballroom was going to offer him any solutions.
Unless she had a slutty twin sister wandering around.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Blade - 11-23-2015
“Not at all,” she argued, still doing her best to focus on their footing—hers. She bit her lower lip, tugging it into her mouth in a fashion that had everything to do with not screwing up. It took quite a bit of focus. Her hand gripped his tighter as a result. “I do not imagine for a moment you came over to say hi simply for the pleasure of speaking to me. That would be ridiculously naive.” She exhaled as if frustrated at her own thoughts. “It’s nice to be spoken to for reasons other than some misguided perspective that it is something of an honor to do so—as if I’m too good to be spoken to or be in the presence of. As if I am a blessed being who cannot manage the idea of someone desiring me.“It...” she sighed, her mouth forming a wry smile that made her look away. “It is nice to hear someone say that they want me,” she concluded out loud; though she wasn’t certain if her spoken thoughts were for his benefit or more for hers. She’d never been bad conversation of any kind, but this was not something she usually discussed out loud. She was fine with admitting it to herself here, in a place that she did not imagine she would remember. None of this mattered, likely. Like a dream. A lovely one where she could be the person she could never be at home—someone who didn’t have to have all the answers, who didn’t have to solve everyone’s problems, some who...
...It felt nice to just be a beautiful woman—wanted in ways that had nothing to do with how her likeness was attributed to Draco, or how her sister was their people’s champion. It was nice to not be thought of as some kind of goddess who never thought about anything but duty and guidance.
A woman. A real woman with fears, hopes, dreams, and desires of her own.
But then he was looking away, distracted, and she wondered about that as well. Her grip on his hand loosened and she considered forcing him to stop the dance. He’d been very attentive for a while, but she did not know him well enough to say if this was a sign he’d lost interest in her. So, she spoke freely—something she usually did when she did not know what was the matter—if at all. “If you have lost interest, Niyol,” she began, speaking his name directly because she imagined it would serve to regain his focus much better, “it will not offend me for you to say as much.
“Though... it would likely serve us both much better if you were to tell me directly what it is you want to gain from this—me. Then I can tell you if it is favorable to me or not.” Another smile as she met his gaze, trying to hold it. “Then you can move on from this if you so choose.
“I will not be angry with you,” she said the last as softly as anything else, as gently as she would to anyone.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 11-25-2015
An honor, she said, and that got his attention right back.
Expensive was not a concept that applied in this context. But unattainable? That was downright universal.
Blessed, an honor, too good – all words like catnip, rendering moot the issue of experience. Because while Niyol had very little interest in inexperienced women, he was willing to make exceptions. Because this, suddenly, had the potential to scratch an itch that he could not at home. Not unless he was willing to risk ending up married.
(He was not.)
Still, she didn't miss his lapse in attention, though she did not exactly scold him for it. "Course not," he said automatically, though for a moment he very much had. As she loosened her grip he tightened his, as if this signified anything at all.
What was it that he wanted?
That was one hell of a list.
The thing was, she baffled him as much now as she had when first he'd heard her speak. She simply didn't make sense to him. And that… irritated him.
"What do I want?" he mused, still moving in a lazy excuse for a dance. "Mostly I suppose what I'd really like, Miss Redwind, is to fuck you up the ass." A rare moment of honesty, with a unique sense of timing. "Except that's the kind of thing you want to finish with, usually, or else things get real messy real fast in a way I can't much say I care for. Logically it makes the most sense to start off with my dick in your mouth, but I can't decide whether or not it'd be nicer to fuck your face. That's another one of those real messy things, makes it hard to get anything else done if you do it right. Usually I'd save that for a spare, but some folk just have those kinds of faces, I guess. Not that it wouldn't be just as nice to see you looking real enthusiastic about it, but I'm not always good at making choices. Maybe that's the sort of thing we'd just start with the one and move on to the other, depending on how things go."
He had not, throughout this train of thought, stopped dancing.
"I like that pretty dress, so maybe that'd stay a while, but I'd want to let that hair down first thing, I'm thinking. Can't say as I've ever seen hair quite like yours, and I kind of just want to brush it awhile while you bounce in my lap. Not going to be that nice for very long, probably, but I'm not the kind that likes smacking people around, if that's a thing might worry you. Except with my dick, I guess, but I don't think that rightly counts. I'm not sure there's anyone that delicate, going to get bruises from a dick to the face, and if there was I don't think I'd want to fuck them. That sounds like an accident waiting to happen, is what that is."
He paused. "I suppose that covers the broad strokes of the matter, if you'll pardon the pun. Any of that sound interesting at all?"
His hopes were not high. But he would settle, if nothing else, for the satisfaction of the look on her face.
Expensive was not a concept that applied in this context. But unattainable? That was downright universal.
Blessed, an honor, too good – all words like catnip, rendering moot the issue of experience. Because while Niyol had very little interest in inexperienced women, he was willing to make exceptions. Because this, suddenly, had the potential to scratch an itch that he could not at home. Not unless he was willing to risk ending up married.
(He was not.)
Still, she didn't miss his lapse in attention, though she did not exactly scold him for it. "Course not," he said automatically, though for a moment he very much had. As she loosened her grip he tightened his, as if this signified anything at all.
What was it that he wanted?
That was one hell of a list.
The thing was, she baffled him as much now as she had when first he'd heard her speak. She simply didn't make sense to him. And that… irritated him.
"What do I want?" he mused, still moving in a lazy excuse for a dance. "Mostly I suppose what I'd really like, Miss Redwind, is to fuck you up the ass." A rare moment of honesty, with a unique sense of timing. "Except that's the kind of thing you want to finish with, usually, or else things get real messy real fast in a way I can't much say I care for. Logically it makes the most sense to start off with my dick in your mouth, but I can't decide whether or not it'd be nicer to fuck your face. That's another one of those real messy things, makes it hard to get anything else done if you do it right. Usually I'd save that for a spare, but some folk just have those kinds of faces, I guess. Not that it wouldn't be just as nice to see you looking real enthusiastic about it, but I'm not always good at making choices. Maybe that's the sort of thing we'd just start with the one and move on to the other, depending on how things go."
He had not, throughout this train of thought, stopped dancing.
"I like that pretty dress, so maybe that'd stay a while, but I'd want to let that hair down first thing, I'm thinking. Can't say as I've ever seen hair quite like yours, and I kind of just want to brush it awhile while you bounce in my lap. Not going to be that nice for very long, probably, but I'm not the kind that likes smacking people around, if that's a thing might worry you. Except with my dick, I guess, but I don't think that rightly counts. I'm not sure there's anyone that delicate, going to get bruises from a dick to the face, and if there was I don't think I'd want to fuck them. That sounds like an accident waiting to happen, is what that is."
He paused. "I suppose that covers the broad strokes of the matter, if you'll pardon the pun. Any of that sound interesting at all?"
His hopes were not high. But he would settle, if nothing else, for the satisfaction of the look on her face.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Blade - 11-25-2015
She didn’t miss the way his grip tightened on hers when she loosened hers. It wasn’t startling, but for a moment—brief as it was—she felt as if an inner chord had tugged inside of her chest. Perhaps she had been wrong; though, she did not regret what she had said to him. Despite what she didn’t reveal to her people, the little things she held inside that she’d spoken aloud to Niyol, directness was always a comfort—a comfort to most Traygons. After all, she’d spend the first five years of her life speaking to others only in thoughts, listening only in thoughts before she’d fully grasped how to articulate words properly and wholly beyond the fumblings of a child. And when she’d turned fifteen she’d been sent to temple to learn telepathic healing. Hours in a single day were spent learning how to aid, to mend, to clear others of their doubts and find their true fears—deepest desires. Frightening, at first, but a task she’d taken to all the same. One day, perhaps, she would instruct her younger sister so that she might reach her full potential. So some had whispered, at any rate.As he spoke, she brushed away such thinking from her head. Miss Redwind... Not Lady Calandra, Not High Priestess Calandra, not Your Holiness—she hated that one. It sounded so... ridiculous that she smiled right through his speech—his list. What she found funny about it, she was not certain. But it was all the same.
“I would imagine so,” she replied of his comment about ‘fucking her up the ass’. Her eyes remained on his as he led her through the dance, noting that he seemed more confident in simply telling her exactly what he wanted from her. And she did not speak until he was finished, though that did not stop her from contemplating every word with something of a poker face. It was more that she was dissecting it all, reworking it in her mind as she tried to imagine them accomplishing such a list.
Her brow knit curiously.
Did he think she would find offense in his honest words? Words that were entirely natural to think? It was normal, she supposed. What was unusual for others felt perfectly natural to her species. Another woman might have hit him, not really imagining that just because he didn’t say it didn’t mean he didn’t think it. And she’d much rather just hear his thoughts.
But there was a problem, wasn’t there? It had been in the back of her mind as she’d wondered, while speaking with him, if he’d wanted something akin to what he’d revealed so openly. Her people did not mate for pleasure alone, usually. Bonded pairs for centuries was how it tended to go. The pain of losing one another so great it sometimes made the remaining mate commit suicide. They could not live in a world with half of themselves cut away, not when they’d become so accustomed to listening... to joining their bodies as they joined their minds—reaching a sort of climatic symphony few others could comprehend. No one looked down on you for doing so, for acting out of what was commonly accepted; you weren’t judged or cast out. But it was the way it went.
Usually.
“I think I much prefer you when you when you speak your mind, given that I cannot hear your thoughts.” Not unless he let her, that is. Not that she imagined he would. Outsiders were very guarded about their minds. As she told him this she moved to lay her head on his shoulder, removed her hand from it and wrapped it about his waist. Her fingers spliced through the spaces in his as he held her hand. The action felt more comforting than sexual, but Calandra enjoyed touch.
It did not feel wrong to contemplate lying with him. Maybe that was the deciding factor of it all, given that her people had never been very clear about it. His words, however nasty to others, did not bother her. They were not shocking because of where she had grown up and how she had grown up. Truly, they were raw and untethered. And there was not much she did not know about them, application withstanding.
She was curious about him, a man so very unlike and like her people.
She was smiling again and inhaled once—deeply, as she took comfort in the solidity of him. “My people rarely wear clothes,” she couldn’t help but offer up, not sure if she was trying to tease him. “Very little much of the time,” she murmured idly. “This gown is customary for festivals.”
And then she pulled back to look at him, but not far enough that would separate their closeness. Her nose barely brushed his in the process. “Would you let me comb yours? Run my fingers through it after I have removed it from its ties, cascading strands of abyssal ink....” A pause as she narrowed her eyes on him, cool blues almost trying to see right into him before she continued, “I have never bathed a man, but I find the urge growing the longer I dance with you, Maca. To run water and soap along your skin with my fingers, to scrub the ache from your bones if you need me to. To see the expression you make as I do so...”
Yes, it would be nice to let go for a little while. Perhaps that was the purpose in all of this, in being here. To be someone else for a little while.
“To be clear, though, I was never very worried about you,” she whispered.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 11-28-2015
He didn't know what he'd expected. More of that blushing, maybe. Exclamations of offense. A slap in the face. Leaving a huff.
All of the above, though maybe not necessarily in that particular order.
She was taking it all very much in stride, instead. Which was absolutely not what he'd expected. Usually the sorts of women that didn't take offense to that kind of talk went in the other direction instead – enthusiastic in ways that occasionally made him change his mind.
Not that he was the kind to balk at a woman who'd been around a time or twelve. But sometimes there were… health concerns.
She was neither of the things he might have guessed, if he had cared to guess. If anything, she seemed almost… affectionate? He was pretty sure that was what this was. He did not have a lot of experience with these sorts of gestures, lacing her fingers with his and resting her head on his shoulder. It was all very intimate in a very nonsexual sort of way, which made it weird and uncomfortable and yet more confusing.
"Is that… unusual?" he asked, unsure what to make of her statement. Could she usually read people's thoughts? If so, why not his? Not that he wasn't thankful as hell for that fact.
"Neither do mine," he said, "but they're mine." He could have clarified further, but he didn't quite know how and didn't know if he wanted to. Outsiders were different, with different standards. He'd never look at a woman from Dinétah the way he looked at women from outside – and he'd never let a man get away with looking at his sister the way they looked at damn near everyone.
Was she… offering to bathe him?
It seemed like she was offering to bathe him.
Which was not, perhaps, completely uncalled for, under the circumstances. He didn't think anyone had ever asked to touch his hair, either, and he couldn't decide just how he felt about that. Some part of him recoiled from the idea, for the same reason the reverse appealed to him. It sounded intimate, the way all this hand-holding was intimate, intimate like being touched rather than touching. "Is this a trade you're suggesting?" he wondered, because she had not actually given an answer one way or the other, and that was a context where her suggestion made some sense.
Hell, if the only price he had to pay for doing filthy things to her was letting her wash it off him afterward, that was something of a bargain. If a slightly offensive one, for the theoretical implication that he was particularly in need of it.
"I'm real touched," he added, a faint curl to his mouth.
All of the above, though maybe not necessarily in that particular order.
She was taking it all very much in stride, instead. Which was absolutely not what he'd expected. Usually the sorts of women that didn't take offense to that kind of talk went in the other direction instead – enthusiastic in ways that occasionally made him change his mind.
Not that he was the kind to balk at a woman who'd been around a time or twelve. But sometimes there were… health concerns.
She was neither of the things he might have guessed, if he had cared to guess. If anything, she seemed almost… affectionate? He was pretty sure that was what this was. He did not have a lot of experience with these sorts of gestures, lacing her fingers with his and resting her head on his shoulder. It was all very intimate in a very nonsexual sort of way, which made it weird and uncomfortable and yet more confusing.
"Is that… unusual?" he asked, unsure what to make of her statement. Could she usually read people's thoughts? If so, why not his? Not that he wasn't thankful as hell for that fact.
"Neither do mine," he said, "but they're mine." He could have clarified further, but he didn't quite know how and didn't know if he wanted to. Outsiders were different, with different standards. He'd never look at a woman from Dinétah the way he looked at women from outside – and he'd never let a man get away with looking at his sister the way they looked at damn near everyone.
Was she… offering to bathe him?
It seemed like she was offering to bathe him.
Which was not, perhaps, completely uncalled for, under the circumstances. He didn't think anyone had ever asked to touch his hair, either, and he couldn't decide just how he felt about that. Some part of him recoiled from the idea, for the same reason the reverse appealed to him. It sounded intimate, the way all this hand-holding was intimate, intimate like being touched rather than touching. "Is this a trade you're suggesting?" he wondered, because she had not actually given an answer one way or the other, and that was a context where her suggestion made some sense.
Hell, if the only price he had to pay for doing filthy things to her was letting her wash it off him afterward, that was something of a bargain. If a slightly offensive one, for the theoretical implication that he was particularly in need of it.
"I'm real touched," he added, a faint curl to his mouth.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Blade - 11-28-2015
He seemed almost hesitant about his first question. Confused maybe? Maybe she’d taken for granted that those of her realm knew what a Traygon was. He was not of her realm. There was a good chance where he came from nothing like her people existed. Magic could also not exist. She wondered how unusual this experience was for him—being here in some kind of time bubble where naught much mattered.The smile though, soft as it was, would not leave her face as he asked. She shook her head, squeezing his hand once. “Nay, not unusual. You are an outsider—and outlander. I need permission to read your thoughts, to speak to them, to allow you to speak to mine—all Traygons do.” A paused; her brow knit. “Outsiders are not fond of letting someone into their head, as a rule, even if it is done by someone with my years of experience and even if they need help. Though... there are distinct benefits to it in a given situation.” Her thumb caressed downward along the top of his hand as theirs remained gripped together. At the same time her forehead moved to rest against his and her eyes shut. While her mask was thicker than his, it was not obstructive enough to cause issue with the position.
“Would you like me to show you some of those benefits?”
A trade? He seemed happy about the idea if the tone of his voice was any indication. Her people understood trade very well, rarely using money within their own ‘borders’. Money was also understood, but trade for goods or services were more beneficial because everyone had their own talents and skills to offer the tribe as a whole. And well, everyone ate regardless. Food was not tradeable unless it was a rare treat of some kind—a foreign candy or desert.
“If you wish to call it as much, Maca, you may. Though, you cannot buy sexual favors from me; that is not the way of me—of my own. What I give of my body, I give freely. I would only ask the same of you. I expect nothing of you that I cannot offer in return.
“Is that acceptable to you?”
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 12-20-2015
"Ah." He did his best to sound as casual about it as she did, but he did not think that he succeeded as well as he usually managed. He'd interacted with any number of strange folk in this masquerade, but he had not yet – as far as he knew – met anyone else able to read into the thoughts in his head. He hoped that he hadn't. No one had acted as if they could.
A matter of permission, and wasn't that just tricky as hell, having him look like he had something to hide for refusing.
Not that it wasn't possible she was lying. That was always possible, as far as he was concerned. It just didn't seem likely, under the circumstances; a strange thing to lie about with no obvious motivations.
Still that peculiar intimacy, with no good way that he could see to pull away from it. Benefits, but thus far he wasn't finding much appeal in the notion – even if it was some kind of a sex thing. Was she trying to make it sound like a sex thing? It was sounding like a sex thing. But not the kind he usually paid for.
"That's all right," he drawled. "I'm willing to take your word for it. And I can't say as I'm in much need of help, at the moment." Or, ever. In that particular way.
He kept getting caught in her turns of phrase, trying to unravel them to catch the trick hiding in the implicit contract. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said automatically, as if the purchase of sexual favors was not exactly his desire. Women who weren't whores tended to get persnickety about that kind of thing, anyway.
This felt like a trick, was the trouble, and what he really wanted was something in writing he could go over with a fine-toothed comb.
But, hell. He was going to forget the whole mess in four days, anyway.
"Seems acceptable enough," he conceded, against his better judgment.
A matter of permission, and wasn't that just tricky as hell, having him look like he had something to hide for refusing.
Not that it wasn't possible she was lying. That was always possible, as far as he was concerned. It just didn't seem likely, under the circumstances; a strange thing to lie about with no obvious motivations.
Still that peculiar intimacy, with no good way that he could see to pull away from it. Benefits, but thus far he wasn't finding much appeal in the notion – even if it was some kind of a sex thing. Was she trying to make it sound like a sex thing? It was sounding like a sex thing. But not the kind he usually paid for.
"That's all right," he drawled. "I'm willing to take your word for it. And I can't say as I'm in much need of help, at the moment." Or, ever. In that particular way.
He kept getting caught in her turns of phrase, trying to unravel them to catch the trick hiding in the implicit contract. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said automatically, as if the purchase of sexual favors was not exactly his desire. Women who weren't whores tended to get persnickety about that kind of thing, anyway.
This felt like a trick, was the trouble, and what he really wanted was something in writing he could go over with a fine-toothed comb.
But, hell. He was going to forget the whole mess in four days, anyway.
"Seems acceptable enough," he conceded, against his better judgment.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Blade - 01-17-2016
He was quiet for a while after the ‘ah’. It made Calandra wonder if he lived in his own head as often as she did. She wasn’t entirely certain about the type of man he was, not fully anyway. So there was no real way of knowing. But she had forgotten how odd it felt to be away from home and not listening to the lingering murmur in other people’s internal monologue—one voice layered over another like tiny whispers. Many of them were simply tuned out, and she only really listened when they directed their internal voice at her—their thoughts.She pulled her forehead away from his so that she could look at him more properly as he contemplated—as she contemplated. And then the smile returned as he said it would be alright, that he didn’t need help. “I certainly did not mean to imply you did.”
And then she chuckled when he said he wouldn’t dream of it. “You wouldn’t bother me if you did,” she said in reply. “Everyone is different, I suppose. But... what one does to make a living, consensually, makes no difference. The shame in act, the act of taking payment for favors, lies in how people view one another.” She shrugged. “But I suppose I must be babbling.” A sigh and then a soft smile. “You didn’t ask to dance with me to discuss the social perceptions and injustices of prostitutes.”
And then she came to a stop, doing so only long enough to tug him away from the floor of moving dancers. “Come. We shall endeavor to find an acceptable space.”
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 02-18-2016
All signs pointed to her being a real intellectual type, nose in a book and head in the clouds, putting all kinds of thought into all kinds of things he generally didn't bother thinking about. It was an endearing trait in, say, his sister. Wasn't something he usually sought out in anyone else. Particularly not in anyone he was planning to fuck. But it seemed a more common trait here; maybe a dreamworld drew in dreamers. But it meant he spent a lot more time than usual pretending to be interested in the things people were saying. Lucky for him he was good at it.
For someone so certain she'd take no offense at being confused with a whore, she sure had been quick to say she wasn't one. Not that he'd be calling her on that. "You go on and talk all you like," he assured her. "I don't mind listening."
At some point, he should probably stop lying to someone who could read minds. Even if she said she wasn't doing it. Reflex, mostly. But he hadn't even asked her to dance in order to dance. Listing off all the reasons he hadn't come over seemed counterproductive.
He followed her lead as she pulled him along, since she seemed to have a direction in mind. "Right," he said, momentarily awkward as he mentally deconstructed her sentence into something he could work with. "Imagine it won't be too hard," he managed, "since I'd find just about anywhere with you more'n acceptable."
There. Good save. Probably.
For someone so certain she'd take no offense at being confused with a whore, she sure had been quick to say she wasn't one. Not that he'd be calling her on that. "You go on and talk all you like," he assured her. "I don't mind listening."
At some point, he should probably stop lying to someone who could read minds. Even if she said she wasn't doing it. Reflex, mostly. But he hadn't even asked her to dance in order to dance. Listing off all the reasons he hadn't come over seemed counterproductive.
He followed her lead as she pulled him along, since she seemed to have a direction in mind. "Right," he said, momentarily awkward as he mentally deconstructed her sentence into something he could work with. "Imagine it won't be too hard," he managed, "since I'd find just about anywhere with you more'n acceptable."
There. Good save. Probably.
RE: Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Blade - 07-12-2016
It was hard not to smile as she led him along, her gown once more slipping around and between her legs to reveal more skin than fabric. The tone of his voice bespoke awkwardness, and for some reason she found that endearing. Was he doing it apurpose to endear himself to her? It didn’t feel that way, even if she had no real way of knowing without his permission. Well... aside from body language and tone of voice. But Calandra liked to imagine herself a good judge of character given her position at the temple.“Do coyotes often offer an ear to others?” she asked playfully as they rounded a glassy-walled corridor and she stopped to stare down it—at the many doors, curious. Her fingers touched her lips and her brow knit, as if she were considering something private. “Hm... magic is always a little fuzzy,” she said quietly to herself more than him.
Then she looped her arm through his before walking down the hall, glancing at each door, but not yet stopping... not until they were about five or six doors in. She released him to face one door made in prism-rainbow glass. Nothing seemed solid on the other side... and yet... She shook it off and reached for the handle, turning it down, and opened the door.
The room she observed inside was oddly suited for her needs—theirs perhaps. But she was still getting used to him and couldn’t say for certain: A bed with the plush sheets and dark brown animal fur rug, windows illuminating a night sky just as much as the rest of the place, white marble floors with amber and grey irregular striations, and an overlarge tub sunk into the floor looking more like a man-crafted spring than a bath near the middle of the room.
She stepped inside and looked around, gaze going upwards towards the high ceilings. “You know... I believe part of me dreads going home. Not that you need to hear such a thing.” Which was silly, she’d on been here a little while. But she knew her time was limited. For how long, she wasn’t wholly certain just yet.