08-07-2008, 04:49 PM
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Table by Tammi!
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Mlld power-play? Let me know if it needs adjusting.
Like polar magnets when they were brought within range, it seemed that the instant Poe sat herself to the hybrid's side, there was a distinct pull that neither of them were fighting against. He fidgeted his way closer, and she leaned onto an arm, propped next to his knee and slinging her torso, shoulder to hip, towards his side of the couch. And behind lazy eyelids and heavy eyelashes, she followed the story that his body offered to tell her as he thought and spoke, and slowly, slowly came closer. The back of her mind noted his scent and the warmth that radiated from his large body, creeping up by fractions of degrees as they neared. He moved comfortably in his own skin, comfortable in this secret edge between many worlds that she had sleepwalked to. The place, the sights, the company and conversation had a distinctly dream-like quality to it, and in a briefly touched moment of humour, Poe noted that it was more dream-like than the real dreams that she had recently been chasing after. Except for the simple fact that nothing would crumble away with a wrong move, with a single touch.
To prove this to herself, she brought her free hand to the hybrid's knee, pushing dark, fine fingers in trails through the mottled-golden fur halfway up his thigh and then smoothing it back down while considering his words. Her gaze fell to scan the slightly ruffled tracks that remained, and she used her thumb to smooth only one of them down entirely. "Secret gardens always call in fairies, though," she said, flicking her gaze back up to him with the impish smile she often wore. "It doesn't mean that it's any less of a secret, though," she said in a low, mischievously assuring tone of voice. Truthfully though, she then marked this as a place she would not take someone else, or very likely even speak of. Places of precipice were delicate and precious, and she thought that her companion just might need something beautiful all for himself.
In a tower of steel Nature forges a deal To raise wonderful hell
Movement and body came as a first language to the danciing city urchin, far broader and more practical than any language that came from the lips and only really rivaled by the language of music by her standards. Body language, gestures, glances, twitches and touches told of much more than the words Poe chose, and she believed herself to understand (although not always consciously) those of others' with more clarity than any conversation might offer her. Perhaps it was the animal that still lived somewhere behind the crinoline and ribbons, prowling around in an everyday that tried so defiantly to deny such a nature. Because it certainly did take charge of these times that she crossed paths with another, and spoke with a louder voice and listened with larger eyes the deeper things progressed.Like polar magnets when they were brought within range, it seemed that the instant Poe sat herself to the hybrid's side, there was a distinct pull that neither of them were fighting against. He fidgeted his way closer, and she leaned onto an arm, propped next to his knee and slinging her torso, shoulder to hip, towards his side of the couch. And behind lazy eyelids and heavy eyelashes, she followed the story that his body offered to tell her as he thought and spoke, and slowly, slowly came closer. The back of her mind noted his scent and the warmth that radiated from his large body, creeping up by fractions of degrees as they neared. He moved comfortably in his own skin, comfortable in this secret edge between many worlds that she had sleepwalked to. The place, the sights, the company and conversation had a distinctly dream-like quality to it, and in a briefly touched moment of humour, Poe noted that it was more dream-like than the real dreams that she had recently been chasing after. Except for the simple fact that nothing would crumble away with a wrong move, with a single touch.
To prove this to herself, she brought her free hand to the hybrid's knee, pushing dark, fine fingers in trails through the mottled-golden fur halfway up his thigh and then smoothing it back down while considering his words. Her gaze fell to scan the slightly ruffled tracks that remained, and she used her thumb to smooth only one of them down entirely. "Secret gardens always call in fairies, though," she said, flicking her gaze back up to him with the impish smile she often wore. "It doesn't mean that it's any less of a secret, though," she said in a low, mischievously assuring tone of voice. Truthfully though, she then marked this as a place she would not take someone else, or very likely even speak of. Places of precipice were delicate and precious, and she thought that her companion just might need something beautiful all for himself.
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