[ P ] dance to forget

The ocean was his sanctuary, but Bastien found no solace in the churning tides. The savage grey sky and volatile lightning in the distance reflected his inner turmoil, the static electricity in the air gathering in his wild windswept fur. News had arrived in the Mainlands of the war moving deeper into the Highlands after the recent Royalist victory. Soldiers would soon march through, sniffing around his land. His kingdom. His home. The thought of what they could find and what they would do had him on edge, but the assignment he was on felt heavier than if there were chains around his ankles. He knew, even if every instinct in him resisted, that keeping his head down was more crucial than recklessness. For not the first time in his life he avidly put his faith in the fae, praying that their magic would turn the tides in this war and run the Royalists off their land. It was all he could do.

His worries had not abated, but resolve was enough to move his feet from the cliff's edge. The ocean would not end the war no matter how long he stared into it, urging it to rise and devour the opposing forces. He needed a new distraction. It wasn't long before the sweet smell of fermented berries rubbed across his tongue, as if absorbing the taste that made his mouth water. If solace would not spring from the water, perhaps he could find it in a more savory beverage.

Bastien entered the Drunken Seagull, a ghost against its dark stone structure. He drifted through its throngs of patrons, deliberately avoiding others' gazes, until he shored up to a secluded table along the wall. Alcohol began to fizz through his senses, dulling the anxiety he was feeling, and slowly a lazy grin splayed across his muzzle, tail thumping along to the chaotic chorus of voices surrounding him.

Art by Wisper

This was never what she had in mind for herself, while she didn't exactly know what it was that she had in mind for herself, she knew this was far from it. She was disgusted by the disease that was the royalists and their notion of a better nation. With such filth stampeding around the country, there was hardly a chance a truly "better" nation. Yet, here she was, cloaked amongst the filth she spent the better half of her life avoiding and despising. But being here meant that she was likely far away from her father and his own personal militia of deranged hounds.

And being here in particular meant that she had work to do, she was scoping out the crowd. Looking for none in particular, but ones that perhaps an itch to be scratch, an ache to be soothed, or simply one that had pockets deeper than the ocean just outside the bar past the cliffside. She could let them indulge themselves with her, should see them fit, while gathered any useful Intel she could perhaps whisk back to the secretive man at the last join she was in. A little worth was all she was trying to prove to him, but would eagerly go above and beyond.

Emerald hues danced across the patrons, most stumbling over their own feet or burying their noses in the waitresses that brought them their concoctions. Out of the corner of her eye, shebwatches the door swing open and In would come a ghost like creature, their muzzle wrapped in obsidian and blood stained their hues. He wandered deeper into the bar, finding a spot to bury himself amongst the crowd. But she would find him, limbs wandering closer to his table through more drunkards and other waitresses and servers.

As she slid herself up to his table, she plastered a fake smile only herself or brother could pick apart. She waved a paw, and like a switch was flipped, a waitress came to her paw wave. "Ill take the usual, and whatever this handsome fella is drinking, too please darling." she cooed. Her emeralds flickered up to his Crimson hues, hoping he would take her up on the offer of a free drink from her- or as many he wanted.
"I dont believe I've seen your face around here before, either that or i have to pay attention more. she gave a soft chuckle, playing on the disguise of being a usual patron here. She hated the language down here, despised it just as she did the ones that taught it and shoved the native tongue into a history book practically. Though, she had managed to perfect it just about. Only someone paying attention that spoke the native tongue could hear the subtle twists that made her tongue leave the English words just a little off as they left her lips.


"speech" "thoughts"

Alcoholic stupor had him almost letting down his guard, heavy eyelids threatening to obscure the unfocused red gaze beneath. Almost. Even with his senses numbed, a frantic voice set off the alarm bells in his skull, anchoring him in this moment. Years of betrayal, treachery, and acts of vengeance made it impossible for him to fully let down his guard. Doing so here was especially dangerous. War may have drawn most of the soldiers to the north, but he had more enemies than just those he had once served beside as an Imperial soldier himself. Hopefully he could cross one of those names off his list after tonight.

Parading as just another regular customer wasn’t difficult. Bastien loved to drink as much as he loved people watching, and the Drunken Seagull was the perfect backdrop to do both. Normally he could do so with little interruption. Few of the patrons tended to notice his unremarkable entrance, many of them disturbed by the unsettling way his blood-stained eyes seemed to devour them. Unexpectedly, a woman of the earth weaved through the crowd, heading for his table. She sidled up, took a seat, and gestured for a server to attend to them, all the while under the scrutiny of his eyes like twin blood moons. Bastien gave the waitress a curt, affirming nod that sent her scurrying away to put in the order. He wasn’t one to turn down a free drink or, by the nature of the suggestive undertones of her voice, a night of fun. Manhunting could wait another night.

She was, appreciably, liberal with her flirtations. Her words were adorned with the generic Mainlander accent, but there was something sweeter, something familiar, underneath that she was trying to disguise. Like coming home after a long time away, the Highlander lilt brushed his ears and made him ever more attentive to the sweet nothings falling from her snow-dusted lips. “Chan eil mi air a bhith an seo o chionn bhliadhnaichean,” (I haven’t been here in years) he replied back in his native tongue, gauging her reaction. In the common language he added, with a shark-like smile, “What does this place offer a gorgeous lady like yourself? All ruffians and low lives in here. Not complaining – I’ll have to come more often if it means I’ll be a face you remember.”

Art by Wisper

Even if the artic behemoth was inebriated beyond her initial judgement, she was sure he could carry himself far better than she ever could only on a few drinks. Granted, he was a much larger creature than herself. Perhaps he was a usual here, which would render her guise nearly useless. You couldn't walk in or out or around this place without being seen by eyes from every direction.

He had made his order and dismissed the waitress all too quickly, though there was a nonchalant suave-esque touch to his dismissal. And his pools of Crimson, how they bore into her as she made herself comfortable in his-no, their-space. Her hues of ever glowing verdant would connect with his red orbs and dance with each glance and trace he made over her. Ivory wrapped lips parted, to call on his observing, but she any words she meant to out between them would remain stuck somewhere in her throat. Her own ears at first seemed to have tricked her, a curious gaze washed over him. A paw would slowly reach to her drink that had been left infront of her. Bitter sweet was the wine that she would lightly swish I'm her mouth before addressing the man, treading as carefully as she could.

His tongue was smooth, the native lyrics that poured from his obsidian kissers was a touch of familiarity that she had lacked since arriving in the mainlands months ago. But just being close to such chords made her uneasy, her position shifting slightly as she glanced around to any prying eyes or listening ears. Should the words fall upon the wrong ears, surely trouble would follow. And she didnt want that- not tonight, atleast. She would flicker her gaze back to him, her drink finding her lips once more before she waved for another. “What does this place offer a gorgeous lady like yourself? All ruffians and low lives in here. Not complaining – I’ll have to come more often if it means I’ll be a face you remember.”

So boldy would she unfold from her seat, giving him and their company around them a rather fake, drunken giggle as she then leaned in towards him. She would elevate herself enough for her muzzle to reach an ear. "Ciamar a bha mi ag iarraidh blas den dachaigh.." (how I've craved a taste of home..) she would pull herself from his ear slowly, crown swiveling to once again check her surroundings nonchalantly. She would give a other faint chuckle toward the man, falling back to her orignal seat as she reached for the fresh drink that had just arrived.

"This place.. offers a disguise, a place to hide. " she was quiet, and vague. She knew members of the Imperial Army made it a habit to visit here, and she knew that this man before her could just as easily be one, just in the disguise the tavern offered. All too often was her mind racing, and all too often was she exhausted. And so, she chose her words carefully, knowing full well even just a soldier had the jurisdiction to deem her worthy of their jail cells simply for the words she spoke so far away from the north.

"speech" "thoughts"

Ciamar a bha mi ag iarraidh blas den dachaigh.. Gooseflesh would erupt along his spine and down his forelimbs at the brush of her lips against his sensitive ear fluff. The delicious language she spoke for only him to hear drove him mad with… no, not lust (though there was an undercurrent of it). Her concern seemed to be suddenly mirrored in him. All of a sudden his easy composure stiffened, his ears fell back, and a haze obscured the brightness in his eyes from reaching the surface. The sweet, honey-drenched Gaelic reminded him of the war front moving closer to the sentinel peaks and fae-guarded forests, and Bastien couldn’t help but to envision legions of soldiers marching through the woods and beyond Perth, steadily ascending the ridges and upward slopes into the troposphere of Tir Na Nog where his most precious treasure resided.

"Slàinte, ma-thà. Chun dachaigh." (Cheers, then. To home.) He said, rueful and bitter.

He would drown his glass in one great gulp. Tangy and harsh, the flavors scorched his throat as they descended into his gut, but the momentary flare of heat receded quickly. In its place returned the happy buzz that kept him from tearing every godforsaken mongrel in here limb from bloody limb. Bastien's languorous composure returned, and with it came those eyes that never stopped devouring.

She would continue to drink in the sight of him, the wine from her glass, and the presence of others surrounding them, supported by frequent furtive glances and the implication of desired anonymity. "What have you to hide from?" Bastien would move in closer, voice low and raspy and edged by a growl. "What bastard makes you so nervous? IInnis dhomh, leannan, agus cuiridh mi crìoch air." (Tell me, sweetheart, and I'll finish it.) The offer was fairly innocent by nature but not intent. Any gentleman would ardently come to her aid, but chivalry was dead.

Vengeance, however, survived in him.

Art by Wisper

Such smooth and contoured lines that defined the chiseled, ivory and ebony behemoth became rigid, his gaze was nearly out of reach. Her own ears would slowly fall back, while she pulled her emerald hues away from the crimson pools that would grow somehow cold and much darker. There was a sudden urge to excuse herself, to turn and run: she may have just accidentally given herself away to god knows who, with god knows what intentions. A single forepaw placed itself against the ledge of the table infront of them, preparing to use it as leverage to bolt. She could feel her own heart beating ridiculously paced up. He could have been anyone; a spy, a vengeful mainlander, a rogue working on his own ambitions and passions, and she offered too much of herself to whichever character this man was. She worried not of strangers when she wove her webs and slithered amongst the throned bushes that kept her safe within the confines of the dark labyrinth that was Far Forest. Here? Here she could be at the hands of the darkest creatures and she had no true place to run. And while the possibility was far fetched, she wouldnt put her father past finding connections to the south to seek her out while he roamed the north. "Slàinte, ma-thà. Chun dachaigh." even his words, just as cold and rigid as his body language.

But, with no sway to provoke it, the man before her melted back to his more smoother, less rigid self. Emeralds traced his features ever so slowly, waiting for the sign of his true intentions to reveal itself now, rather than later. Perhaps it was provoked, however, triggered by the potent liquid that he lapped up. She would only savour the wine, not yet letting herself wash it down. "What have you to hide from?"
he leaned in to her now, still having enough courtesy to keep their conversation as secluded as possible. What bastard makes you so nervous? snow kissed lips parted, slowly and hesitantly, though before she even formed the sound of the beginning of her words, his tongue twisted to the ever intoxicating sound of familiarity.

Her single paw that was placed against their table fell slowly, only raise ahead to gauge the attention of the barkeep for another drink. Her lips slowly found the glass, letting herself take her time as she finished it. Another would find itself sitting infront of her, but her spectacles didn't dare move from the man. A faint smile made her lips dance before she spoke. "life, responsibilities, the usual" everyone, and everything, everywhere she thought to herself. But outwardly, she played it off. Though, she couldn't find a way around the second part. There were plenty of bastards to make her nervous. He could choose one for her and there would still be a list miles long. But the most feared was the one who had already come so close to stealing the last breath from her body. She would dance around the question instead. A soft chuckle fell from her now stilled lips, a brow cooking as indulged In her next drink. "you would do such a thing, for a stranger nonetheless?" she leaned in closer, using a little play to smooth over her rocky change in tone.
"for a price, i can imagine of course. One that youve all the power to conjure up as fair enough payment." a taunting little grin curled at the corners of her lips as she watched the man, almost forgetting that just moments ago she had to remind herself that there were plenty of creatures here with I'll intentions.
"speech" "thoughts"

Terror seized her composure. For a fleeting moment Bastien's expression held nothing but apologetic sincerity left unsung. He may have had she not settled back down, her paw poised to push off the table instead reached for her glass. His would nudge it towards her – an olive branch or apology.

Her responses were slow, measured, and deliberate. He could sense that she distrusted more than half the crowd here, including himself, but she did not flee. She brushed him off with elusive words, regaining that sultry confidence she'd approached him with. Crimson eyes watched her with immutable curiosity, wondering exactly who the danger in this building was: the rats and garter snakes, or the kingsnake poised in wait?

Bastien would shift in his seat until they were side by side, winter entangling with spring. He returned the touch she'd left burning along his ears by tracing his nose along her jaw. To onlookers they were just two stars lost in their own galaxy. But for them it allowed Bastien to drop his voice to its lowest, barest whisper and impart the words, "I don't believe in terrorizing women. I eradicate those that do and wipe their existence from this world. That is my price and my reward." He savored the words as they flowed across his tongue as if lavished in blood. As much as he wanted to turn over a new leaf, this was the life he was good at – and he couldn't help but enjoy it.

As he drew away, his nose bitterly cold as it left the warm embrace of her fur, Bastien paused. He knew it was time to leave; his mark had left by now, a hazardous mess of drunken albino fur. A feeling of obligation leftover from his time as a soldier and bloodlust kept alive by his trade as a killer made him reluctant to leave without one last offer. "I'm returning to the North soon. The offer stands until then. Siribh," he said, "agus gheibh sibh mi. (Seek, and you shall find me.)

With that he waded back into the sea of drunks without even a glance behind. One thing Bastien never did was look back.

- exit unless stopped / followed -

Art by Wisper

She was ever tedious as she intricately placed each word where it belonged, and every motion moved in the right way. Was it the uneasiness she felt from simply being so deep in the Mainlands, or the plain distrust she had in most bodies since she was ambushed by her father and his unfathomable crew of mutts? Either or, she would make no mistake in keeping herself in one spot for too long- no matter the half-hearted promise she made to the smokey man in the other just days ago, to keep his business flowing in turn for whatever form of oversight he provide her.

When the man of bright ivory slid closer next to her, she would tighten her grip on the drink infront of her whilst folding it to her kissers. His snout would trace her jaw, the warmth of his touch, and the breath finding her ear warranted a subtle and soft flinch. The feeling of gifting or giving touch was far more easier, more tolerable than recieving now. Especially coming from a man, one she really had no insight on. But his voice, ever so low and deeply would it cut that flinch away.

""I don't believe in terrorizing women. I eradicate those that do and wipe their existence from this world. That is my price and my reward." his words were ever enticing. But while such a statement was like a light in the dark she found herself in, she couldnt help but to see it for what it really meant: those very teeth, tucked behind intoxicating lips, have likely ended lives and those Crimson pools have watched the same colors seep from a dying body. and oh how closely were they to her in this very moment.

Relief swept across her as she felt his body move from hers,but there was a small pang of disappointment when her warmth would cling back only herself, instead of being tangled up with him.

"I'm returning to the North soon. The offer stands until then. Siribh,"agus gheibh sibh mi." The north. Home, thats where he was returning- where she ran from. Crixus was home, surely- likely assuming she'd run off to tangle herself up with more nonsense and not thinking of her being sp far away from home instead. He would do something about their father, or would he? Once before he'd been relentless in helping them escape- but did luck play a bigger part in that? Could he do it again, and rather than finding a way out and away from Alistor, could he find them a way to free? Surely, he couldn't do it on his own, but did she want to risk her brother's life, when it was herself that their father sought to destroy? She was selfish, surely. But when it came to her brother, she would go to the ends of this earth to see to it that she was never left alone without him being there- whether that was close by or like now, and regions apart.

She would finally let the now warm beverage fall to her throat, turning to face the man but all she caught was his obsidian cloaked plume snaking through the crowd. Her own tail would tick, just as her mind did with pondering thoughts. Far off, she could see that same obsidian tail follow the artic body it was attached to, sweeping through the door of the bar. And suddenly, she was alone. Surrounded by who knows what and who. With a disguise that would surely only work a little while longer. Watching tje patrons around her, she fought with herself as the thought of staying put or following this man came to a head in her mind. She would nonchalantly slide her empty glass across the counter, and she herself would dip away from the bar.

If he was her ticket home, she would hate herself for not taking it and staying her instead. With little thought as to how she would handle anything else from here on out, she slithered through the crowd and made her way to the same door she watched him exit. Lips parted as a tongue rolled to call out a name, his name- something she didn't even get to begin with. But surely he was gone already, hidden amongst the townsfolk that wandered about with business as usual. A paw would swat at the ground the below her, while frustration fell through her lips and snout in an exhale. How hard could it be to seek out a tall, handsome man of ebony and ivory? She would surely find out, slinking into the shadows of the alleys of stone walls and cracked cobblestone walk ways.

exit via lorelei off to follow the stranger



"speech" "thoughts"