his hands matched his tongue

Levent Kartal · 03-17-2012, 04:56 PM

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Ahhh I love this thread so much.

Levent was a very hungry man. He hungered for power and immortality and blood and a host of dark and deadly things. Most would scoff at such a claim, seeing the flamboyant and simpering foreigner accompanied by a pet cat—which is what he wanted them to see. Sometimes that was all he wanted to see too, when he looked at his reflection. Very few scars adorned his flesh and soul, but to deny those scars would be to deny too much.

He was dangerous, and he was drunk on moonlight.

The melek whirled around at the sound of his poetic words, and the merchant held his arms out to his sides to show he had no weapons—no weapons other than his fangs and claws and wickedness. His content smile flickered into a mundane grin when the other gestured to his ear to show that he did not understand. Of course, Lev did not expect most to understand the foreign words that came from his mouth—sometimes in streams, sometimes like rocks dropped into a pond. That was part of the very reason he spoke his mother tongue most of the time, to cement his status as an exotic stranger.

“Forgive me,” smiled Levent, “I forget myself sometimes.” He stepped closer until he was separated by the beauty by only a matter of feet, and at this point he was near enough to smell and see a difference in what was there and what his mind had expected. He had expected a gorgeous woman, one whose breasts were as shapely as those dark-clothed hips, but instead he was facing a male who was cursed or blessed to look feminine.

He almost frowned, and then he remembered he liked both sexes equally and how long it had been since he’d had a man, and so he grinned like a human child opening presents.

“What’s your name? I’m Levent.”

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