Re: don't weep for me

for i deserve no sorrow

POSTED: Sat Jul 13, 2019 9:57 pm

FennORe

Their conversation had quickly dwindled into silly laughter, their voices bellowing against the paper-thin walls of her tent unapologetically. In a fleeting moment of clarity Fennore hoped they weren't keeping anyone from their beauty sleep, but when she considered how their revelry very well could have been keeping certain individuals in the camp awake, she partook in the chuckling all the more vigorously. "Of course!" she agreed with him sagely, offering a stern nod, but this too was followed by more giggling and giddiness.

Tamlin seemed almost disappointed in her lacking response, and she gave him a small shrug as he continued on, hanging on to every word that spilled from his whiskey-laden muzzle. She was taken aback by his admission, and she eyed him with curiosity. "You dance?" she breathed. "Oh, you dog, how dare you for keeping that from me." Her sneer matched his in intensity, though hers very quickly darkened with gratifying thoughts.

"You will teach me to dance," she said with finality, nodding to herself as if to solidify this demand. Tamlin still managed to surprise her, even when she figured she knew all there was to know of the archer. Clearly she had underestimated his prowess. "If you learned them from your mother, then surely you must possess some skill," she added. "Women have certain... qualities when it comes to dancing, wouldn't you say?" Truthfully she did not know herself exactly what she was saying, but perhaps this mystery would stump him for a while yet.

He gazed at her with those vivid greenish-gold eyes, clearly stricken by her beauty — as he always was, naturally. But through the slog of whiskey he struggled to form his words, and Fennore began to crawl on her hands and knees back to his company, eyeing him as she would a rabbit or any other smaller mammal of prey. His words were bold, puffed up from the drink, but she devoured them all the same as her tongue ran across her lips in satisfaction. She sat back on her knees in from on him, head tilted and muzzle lowered as her dilated purple eyes regarded him fondly, patiently — seductively.

She gave him a soft smile despite the animalistic glint in her eyes. "I am beautiful," she said deliberately, freeing herself of the tug of her dialect for a moment. "And you are as handsome as you always are."

Had she ever told him that before? Did he not already know it? It mattered little. Quickly Tamlin had tacked another question to the words of affection, but Fennore took it as graciously as any of his words all the same. "Ah traded ye pelts fer it," she explained succinctly, tilting her head slightly. "Met a seamstress. Nice lass." It was laying on her words more thickly now, but she was far too into it to turn back now. Another swig of the bottle, though this time a bead of amber trickled down her mouth and down her throat, where she wiped it away before it soiled her fancy new dress.

"Well, then, I tink yer right drunk now, Tamlin," she said with amusement, one claw idly drawing a circle in the dirt. "Ye feel it?" Suddenly her face neared his, her muzzle hovering dangerously close as she stared him in the eyes. "Ah can almost taste it off ye." Then she burst into laughter again, retreating as she sprawled back onto the ground, chest shuddering with each bellowing chuckle as she lay beside herself.

ooc → :D
[+589]


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• moonwraith •

POSTED: Sat Jul 13, 2019 11:01 pm

When he had slid the statement about his skill with dancing into the conversation, he couldn’t be sure what sort of reaction he had been hoping for. When dealing with Fennore, it was pointless to aspire to any particular goal anyway; she was going to do what she wanted. The compass at the center of her decision making marked only one direction: Fennore’s. Nevertheless, she seized on the statement with vigor, clearly finding it an unexpected delight. “You never asked!” He defended himself, but the fierceness in her eyes made him laugh. Fennore drew herself up regally, laying her pronouncement upon him, and he bowed his aurelion skull obediently. “As you wish, miss Fennore,” he replied compliantly, though his smile was crooked and his eyes half open. “My mother was a fabulous dancer,” he agreed, uncertain where she was headed. The story had been that his mother had initially charmed his father at some sort of ball, but hadn’t agreed to marry him until he could find and catch her afield. Perhaps it had been her dancing that snagged his eye?

Unfortunately for him, whatever she had meant by womanly qualities was a bit lost in translation—had she been referring to herself he might’ve understood more clearly, but in the context of his mother, he found himself flummoxed. “Uh… yes?” There was little confidence in the reply, but maybe all she wanted was assent: It appeared the statement was satisfactory. Fennore came toward him again, but instead of the odd shuffles on one’s knees they all performed in their too-short tents, she leaned forward and crawled to him. Still leaning back on his hands, she came upon him like a puma in pursuit, a volatile creature ensnared by curves. The flash of her tongue had him transfixed in a stupor, though he couldn’t deny that some primal part of his own spirit reared its own head, made easily unleashed by the toxins he had willingly imbibed. Instinctually, they urged him to action: anything would do, save staying static—to reach out to her, to tangle his fingers in her hair, to press his lips to hers.

Tamlin lifted his hand, and hesitated. Though she sat back with as cloying a gaze as ever, he still remembered that way she had interrupted him when she had had a sober mind. As provocative as she moved, as inviting as she was, Fennore was drunk. Guilt bubbled up then, for even entertaining the idea; it was appreciable timing, for her face had swung back to him like a pendulum. The accent made her only more charming, and after the words he stole the bottle from her hands, reviving his smile as he drank it. “You think—you think I’m drunk, well… I have something very important to tell you…” He pulled himself forward, pointing an accusing finger at her laughing torso. “It was you the whole time. You are drunk.” Utterly pleased with himself, he beamed down upon her, her own laughs infected his chest contagiously.

Outside, he heard Sabriel squawk warningly, and the shuffle of some other New Caledonian about in the night. Tamlin grimaced, shushing Fennore overly loudly before he bent over her face where she lay. Strands of red hair fell about her, mingling with her. “Let’s go dancing,” he whispered, his countenance impish. “Come… come on!” Another swig of the bottle, and he was appalled at how much was missing, but he put it aside to hold a hand out to his friend.

WC: 585

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Becky
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POSTED: Sun Jul 21, 2019 4:11 pm

FennORe

She saw the conflict of emotions across his face and felt it in her own; the drunkenness that plagued them both, the starvation for touch they both felt, the mutual, carnal impulses they both surely wished to indulge in — of which alcohol was of a great help, for these usually hidden things were now plain to see, even as Tamlin sought to push past it. On one hand Fennore thought he would be relieved to see the girl he fancied finally pay him the sort of attention he wanted, but on the other, she understood the moral dilemma he faced.

Maybe with more alcohol he would loosen up on that front.

Her eyes rolled to his one outstretched hand, but it receded before it could grace her own. Even as she writhed with laughter on the ground, completely vulnerable to whatever desires his inebriated mind could subject her to, he remained guarded and a respectable distance from her — jolly and chuckling but still reserved in spite of himself.

But then he did crawl forward with a message of utter importance, one that she took with as much grace and regality as she could muster — which was to say none at all. She couldn't contain her giddiness or her bellowing laughs as she gripped her chest; her ribs were throbbing dully throbbing from the force at which she shuddered. Her hands lifted above her head in surrender. "Ye got me," she relented. "'M right stoned. An' so are you." There was a flash of pink as her tongue stuck out mischievously.

When he neared her, his blood red hair spilling over his shoulders to touch her dress, and a hot flare of energy seized her lithe frame; but he did not linger there, as much as she wished he had, but surely he would have seen the look of lust pass over her white features before he drew away. "Aye, dance? Now?" she repeated after him, sitting up as Tamlin sought another pass of the bottle before extending his palm to her. "It's a tad late, Tam," she argued with little conviction, but this comment only served to set another grin on her face. "If yer quiet, we can dance," she chided him, shakily pulling herself to her feet and leaning onto his broader frame as she stumbled out of the tent into the night.

Again he shushed her and again they both giggled as they fumbled into the woods, the moonlight casting a pale sheen on the trees as they (somehow) reached a clearing a good ways away from the camp. She tugged on his shirt when they almost walked past, and obediently the coydog stopped them in the quaint little area.

"This — This is bleedin' rapid," she gushed, wide purple eyes sweeping around the clearing in amazement; and she spun a bit too fast, as seconds after she was gripping her scout's chest again, queasy from the motion. She looked to him again, smiling and leaning into him as her mouth grazed his throat and she spoke with eagerness. "Show me, show me," she urged, squeezing his chest and grabbing his other hand. "Show me how ter dance, Tamlin Anor, I demand it."

ooc → :D
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