Tastes like every dark thought you've ever had

"—and I encourage you to seek me out should you have any interest in my services."

The last of his chords still hummed quietly in the back of her mind, nevermind the gesture to lace her with the same jewels she swiped. He left her with an open invitation, one she wouldn't disregard. She didn't linger in the crowd of souls so uncertain, the doubtful were hardly fun to play with anyhow. Perhaps the All-Father was watching her, just as he so nonchalantly did before their introductions, and would do the same now—this time, however, she would make a swift exit.

Pads carried her quietly through the small crowds gathered just outside the building, soon settling her in to the shadows that began to creep in around her. Her next destination of the evening was to a tavern that lacked the usual tradional highlander intricacies, and focused more on a few more lavish touches that reflected something closer to the taste of those to the south. With a few slickened tongues and debts she'd reduced by a fraction, she was given Intel on the future whereabouts of Sir Omiros, and took it upon herself to follow suit.

The anklet she removed once more, but from her own paw this time, was left to a bartender with instructions. Aely was nowhere to be seen when said anklet and instructions were given, she was tucking herself away in a room that was reserved for a one Mr. Vikari Omiros.

Her instructions were simple, really; deliever the anklet after Vikari was comfortable in his recreation time, after a few drinks were had and say nothing. If questions were asked, she ordered their answers remain vague, there wouldn't be any fun left in her game if all of the guessing was taken out of it.

In the mean time, she waits patiently in his room; indulging in beverages she's pawned off the cart for another room, requested a small fire be lit in the hearth of the room, and atop a few fur rugs she lay by said fire. She's touched none of his belongings—though she did glance— but knows if she wanted anything in particular, she could swipe it when she leaves. In the quiet of the All-Father's room, she brews on the opportunities that bare potential on initial thoughts. She was not in the business of raising children, not in anyway, nonetheless raising them to be suitable for the world of shadows they'll grow up to live in. She was, however, in the business of doing whatever she wanted, when she wanted, for whoever she wanted. Surely she could find herself in the good graces of an icon such as Vikari Omiros. And that's what tonight would entail—making sure she embeds herself in his thoughts, she aims to leave traces of herself under his skin.

His eyes narrowed, cold steel, as the anklet was set before him. How it managed to look so undesirable now, when it lay not upon an elegant arm, threatened to raise the magma that Vikari was trying to suppress before the chains keeping his temper in check were melted. The jewels now seemed to wink at him mockingly, as if imbued by Mrs. O’Conaill’s influence even in her absence—as if her presence lingered in the gleam of each gem.

Even now, he felt her power circling him like a slow, deliberate coil. It was a feeling that crawled beneath his skin, settling in the quiet spaces of the room, filling the silence with something that was never truly gone. His eyes darted to the corners, searching for any slight flicker that might betray her location—anything that might return his advantage, the spellbinding control he had exerted over her. "We do offer room service," the bartender supplied, sensing that it was in everyone's best interest. The tension roiling around the All-father was palpable.

He pushed away from the bar, his unfinished drink forgotten. His mind had already left behind the fleeting pleasure of its effect, turned instead toward the future and whatever it held in store, sealed behind the door to his room. A cursory glance assured him that his meager belongings went untouched, though he had been mindful not to carry anything with him that would leave him morose in the event of its disappearance. Only after this perfunctory performance did he let himself savor the sight that Mrs. O'Conaill laid out for him: Herself.

"And here I was beginning to think my offer would go unclaimed," Vikari rumbled. The budding embers lifting from the fire reflected in the pale mirror of his eyes—like fireflies.

code: elyon | art: eightysichs

She hears the waitstaff before him, but knows one is connected to the other. Her attention lay on the door that separates the company from her, only letting her eyes fall from it once the handle is heard clicking, welcoming the night's guest. She expects a perusal of his belongings, an inquiry as to whether or not she's invaded his privacy any further than settling in his room. But she hears none, and doesn't see a look on his face—not because there isn't one, but because her attention lays anywhere but on him, but only for a second. She let's her gaze follow the sound of his voice, and her paws slowly prop her upwards to a sitting position. Her lips, long since free of the berry stains she was already careful to avoid in the first place, curl to offer a faint smile.

"I have to admit, I did ponder the idea of delaying–perhaps giving you time to decompress from the rigidity of the company many seemed to offer at the Gala. she is deliberate with her words, chords soft and coated with—feigned— concern giving an illusion of the slightest of sympathy for the man, dealing with the task of holding mannerisms above simply demanding they support his cause. For that, she commended him, she could never hold face in crowd against her, and act like she didn't want to break each of them at their knees and take whatever she needed from them. A moment of cool collects her thoughts, and rallies her back to the moment where she's now gestured a paw to Vikari, and back to the furs she's spent the last couple of hours warming herself. She has little interest in staying as a guest here much longer, but she's laced the furs with her scent, adding to the aroma by summoning the help to scrounge what was left of the lilac stores at any of the shops nearby. Her perfume would be left all around the room, should she fail to leave the man with no impression, she would atleast leave him to the empty room with nothing but the thought of her every time he took a breath here.

"I do hope the server was mindful of my task for them—allowing you time to indulge and relax,—" she makes the inquiry nonchalantly, a slight tilt of her head to further the question of concern before continuing. "—before they offered my request for your company. I do feel as though we were cut short on time, a shame, really, but expected—with a reputation such as yours, i can imagine youre a popular man no matter the company. She offers a half lidded gaze at him, a coo is laced subtly in her voice as she tries to engage the man and lure him to the furs with her. Or would he be so offput, between the Gala and her intrusion, that he would ask her to leave?

Once, twice, then thrice, the smoldering wood burst and cast orange constellations into the shadowed space. The sound was sharp, brief, but served to define the time it took before the man stepped into motion. It did not go unnoticed how her lips curled slightly, suggesting her confidence in the strength of her allure, or that she'd taken great care to saturate his room with her scent, lilac interwoven into the furniture's every fiber. He'd been able to smell her long before approaching the door, so this should have come as no surprise; yet he still found himself impressed behind the blank slate his features were. One had to appreciate such a calculated move, each element designed to announce her dominion.

Softness greeted his paws as he arrived at the furs, stepping not around but over her so warmth radiating from her enveloped his front and the hearth crackled at his back. This was to be his ultimate test—how absolute was the All-father's restraint?

It was there, in the firelight, that a detail that had previously gone unnoticed drew his eye: a white patch on her neck, mirroring his own. It was striking for its symmetry, its similarity, but especially its symbolism. While his fur delved into darkness as deep and endless as this shared night, she sparked to life, an echo of the embers leaping and dancing behind him. As though her existence had been designed to contrast his... Not to oppose, but to challenge and provoke.

"The server was quite... considerate." He'd let her interpret if his pause was more praise than reproach. In truth Vikari had half a mind to return later and strangle the poor wolf for letting him seethe for as long as he had. That was neither here nor there at this point. "As for my reputation, it seems to precede me more often than I'd like. How will I know, then, if it is I that captivates or merely my legacy?" An edge of amusement sharpened the smooth line of his lips as he leaned his head briefly backwards to warm the tips of his ears, only for the man to maneuver his muzzle so his next words could etch their own indelible marks into her back. "What is it that you have come for, Mrs. O'Conaill? The man... or the myth?"

He hoped he not only inspired shivers across her skin but wrested control of the night from her, seeking to take the lead in a dance that has already begun.

code: elyon | art: eightysichs

She watches the darkness that ebbs and flows at the mask of his face, as if the shadows have taken place of the darkest umber fibers that surround a cerulean gaze one not quite connected to their current reality. It isnt until a few brief seconds go by that the tiniest of doubts in her slowly dissipates as she remains where is and Vikari moves forward. He doesn't offer her the door, instead, he's given her his presence; an intrusion on her own space as she carried out on his. His intrusion, however, was more abrupt, lacking the gradual steps in place to make recognition near impossible to ignore. Instead, his body is cast over hers, disrupting the warmth of the fire but kindles a new flame within her as he lingers above her.

Ears twitch at the man's words, dissecting them the second they leave his lips. Surely his inner workings weren't so fragile as to break at the whim of a lash at his self worth should someone only want to witness what he can do, rather that what he himself is capable of. To her, that was the bigger picture here—if not for the man as the foundation and his extraordinary capabilities, he would be nothing. Once more she's snapped back to the space outside of her constantly working mind, ready to speak, until his breath is felt heavily on her back. He digs in, ever gracefully as he once more addresses her formally—incorrectly, once again, but she doesnt offer a correction just yet. Not as she just barely slips with her composure, her confidence coming in to question as she feels him at her back. He was prying, justifiably so, and he too was tedious in his steps to pick apart the validity of this meeting.

Carefully, she raises herself up, allowing a brief second to stretch forward, without letting the fibers of their coats touch. Then, she pivots, allowing her body to curl and slither like a serpent moving it's way around as she maneuvers between the furs on the floor and his hind quarters.

"One cannot exist without the other; but it is only because of you, the man, who has created said legacy, that it even lives as you do." chords hum, speaking once more in a matter-of-fact tone as she snakes between him and the fire, careful not to linger between not one but two dangerous matters for too long. "Sir Omiros" she murmured, swinging her body around tediously to face his darkened mask once more. "It is you and what you're capable of yourself that holds the allure—for myself, of course— rather than what you've already shown those of our world." she wants to sink her claws in to him; bury him where only she'll know he exists, she wants to hoard Vikari Omiros, but knows he's too embedded in this world that they share for that to happen.

She moved away, and instantly he felt the cold sweep in in her wake. A muscle in his jaw ticked, grinding his teeth as he grappled for the control necessary to keep his legs in place. It'd be so easy to claim her—clutch her against his chest, keep her within his grasp. Would her mouth part, as it had when he'd last touched her? He came perilously close to finding out, and almost permitted himself to, except...

He enjoyed her this way—deliberately distant, dancing a hairsbreadth out of reach, challenging his will, his discipline, and wielding intelligence like a blade. It made him want to offer his throat to her, to show that he would not retreat even as she made precise cuts into his resolve.

To be successful, however, he had to dispel the deepening desire to hear his name and focus instead on what else she had said. How his appeal stemmed from his capabilities. Smirking at that, he thought: Why not define them? There could be no danger in it. After all, were she Rionnachian, she would have as much insight into his past as his peers did. She'd know how he'd been orphaned himself, passed around from parental figures and abusers alike, until finally the age came where he could make a home, rather than drown continuously in loss. That those experiences had formed the driving force behind his ambition. That witnessing injustice could never replicate the spite necessary to overturn it in the same way that living through it did, and therein was the chip carved into his shoulder.

Vikari's head swiveled, observing her closely. His voice was smooth but the edges of his words were shorn ragged by his suffering and sacrifice. "Ah, but it wasn't I that created the legacy. It created me. Failure at a systemic level will always perpetuate the exploitation of the bereft by the privileged few. How should a child learn without guidance? How should he love without knowing care? The answer is simple: he cannot. Without intervention, he will only repeat the actions he is exposed to or fall victim to them." It was evident in the intensity cracking through his measured articulation that Vikari wasn't speaking in hypotheticals anymore. He was sharing with her his purpose, his passion, a piece of himself.

A piece that, like in chess, was a necessary sacrifice in order to retake the advantage he had lost. "I refused to be anyone else's victim. Yet..." His weight shifted then, adjusting himself so that the true intensity of his subzero gaze cut through the heat and smoke to strike her. "I am yours."

code: elyon | art: eightysichs

She watches the man before carefully, studies him; the way his jaw ticks just so–as if locking in any frustrations for only his mind to be dealt, he holds his composure considerably well. But he watches her just the same, and she wonders if he's doing the very same thing with his eyes and mind;she wonders if he's noticed the space she allows and rejects all at once, notices how she slows her breathing to inhale his own branded drug of a scent.

She listens, carefully so, as he breaks down the credit she's extended to him. His history is what's created anything he has, atleast, that is how he percieves his achievements. That same history strips him down bare to something he has grown so far from: an orphan, a child without the caring and loving touch of parents and siblings and the life a child should have. Without a doubt, his start was the reason he was here today. Sandstone plume flicks just so, her own mind is telling her to continue to tell him he's wrong, but her mouth won't allow the words. But in his rhetoric, he is not wrong, not entirely. She knows not the feeling of a loving family, doting parents to guide her and be the soft landing she's allowed when she falls. A dead mother and a father that should be dead. But she did not let that forge her, she forged herself. She was the woman she was today because of herself. And until this man before her admitted the same to himself, for himself, she feared that vital piece would always hinder any future potential. It was almost selfish, really, it all was—but if getting this creature of power in her grasp was a possibility, she would play out her cards to the best of her ability, for herself.

.. I am yours, her ears twitch and orbs flick to his through the smoke between them. Her crown cocks slightly, a brow lifting subtly as kissers part delicately slow as her front paws move her just as slowly towards the All-father. A victim of mine.. she muses quietly, moving forward until her front paws line with his, one forelimb stepping between his, leaving them chest to chest but not touching. Muzzle lifts carefully, to caress the air that lingers between their cheeks as she seeks an to whisper in. .. is never able to breathe such an implication. her next moves are swift, and fluid like as she snakes herself between around his front legs and under his stomach, still leaving a space of air between them as she moved. Her paws settle her closer to the fireplace, her belly coming to lay on the furs once more with her back to the flames and gaze drifting upwards to Vikari. She suddenly remembers why business and pleasure never meld well—she wants to open the two of them up to future ventures, but she also wants them both under eachothers skin so deep that the only way out is claw their ways out of one another while they're in a tangled mess. The firelight illuminates the dull ember hues of her pelt, while reflecting the same firelight in storm-raging blues that hover above her. It is getting late—it is late actually, Mr.Omiros she begins quietly, allowing a very short pause for an agreement or for him to detest. "Perhaps I should leave you alone for the night—you're probably exhausted after your event. She's half ready to make her exit into the night, half determined to see how long she can continue this dance with the man before her.

Vikari hadn't moved much—he has been stock-still, letting his firefly flutter and flit by and around him. When she settled a foot away, however, he did move, approaching her with the same predatory leisure as a jungle cat approaches fallen prey. He circled her once, letting the cold rake of his eyes savor her, then righted himself into the position he'd started in. Him above, her below.

"If that is what you wish." With no small amount of displeasure, Vikari acquiesced. But his head tilted towards the wall, where the sound of rain slashed against the exterior stones, trapping her in here... with him. "Though I fear you missed that there was rain on the wind. I'd be remiss to let a lady leave in this weather," he murmured, quietly satisfied. He didn't want her to leave, and that was a very dangerous thing indeed. In the end, the All-father always ensured he got what he wanted, no matter how long he must wait.

Ever so patient was he.

His breath frosted against the back of her ears, gently disturbing the fur there. "Shall we continue learning about one another? Your husband, Mrs. O'Conaill—tell me about him." His forelegs guarded her on either side like cage bars keeping her contained in this private paradise, and at the same time they've been keeping him true by allowing nothing but smoke to touch her. But he was close to breaking an unspoken vow—so very close to relinquishing restraint.

His muzzle ventured closer to her cheek, a hairsbreadth away. "How much do you love him, Mrs. O'Conaill?" His eyes glinted like embers, as though her answer was already his to rewrite. Show me every tie that he has to you and watch me sever them.

code: elyon | art: eightysichs

Her gaze cascades over him, washes over him like laps of waves on the beach; he moves—no, stalks— toward her, like the prey he's patiently waiting to devour. And how badly did she want to be be consumed by this man. She doesn't shy away from his assessing, from his invasion of her space. The serpent waits and watches in turn as he hovers above her now, as if locking her in for the night.

I'd much rather entertain your wishes—I am a.. guest, in your space after all. She coos quietly with her muzzle titled upwards, then followed to the mention of rain outside his door. A brow quirks lightly lips twitch against allowing a smirk. Hmm..you're right, i suppose—I'd hate to leave here and arrive home soaking wet. She has little time to revel in her lyrics as his breath finds a space between her ears, leaving them to ring gently with the soft vibrations of his voice seeping into her senses.

A husband. she recollects the impression made when they met earlier in the night. She has to shove a laugh deep down, before she let's the ridiculous idea ruin the scene being painted. She loves the idea of being something someone wants but can't have—but as he encroaches with his curiosities, she believes he's gearing up to take what doesn't belong to him. The thought alone brings a heat to cheeks, and is the exact fuse she needed to successfully ignite the fire in her core that she doesn't fight.

She lifts her chin, and then her front limbs slowly raise her up. Her hind quarters are still on the ground, but she allows her body to rise until jusy her shoulder blades are just barely brushing the furs of his chest. He really doesn't like it when anyone but him gives me attention. It's not quite a pout, but close enough as she displays a fractions of upset on the tone of her voice. He hates the smell of anyone else on my coat, maybe I should g— her voice is cut short by the presence of his muzzle by her cheek. If she wasn't letting herself get caught up in the warmth of his breath as it swirled by her face, or by his scent that would surely suffocate her in the best of ways, she would have sneered at the thought. She let's her crown tilt back, erasing more space between them as her muzzle skims the furs of his neck. She raises a paw slowly, as if to move out from underneath him as she let's out a soft sigh and fakes her next statement. Perhaps more than he loves me. It was all fake, really. But she loves games, and she loves playing them even more. She wants him to think he's acquiring a piece of her that belongs to someone else.

Contrary to Aely’s comment, Vikari thinks sending her home soaking wet is exactly what he should do. That is, if he had the power to release her with her smell cloying his mind and her fur brushing his. The All-father, instead, is powerless as she gives him the barest offering of what he truly desires, and the increasing effort it was taking to breathe isn’t from the slow-burning fire or smoky haze. Consequences be damned, he has to have her.

“A wise man I might say,” he murmurs against her cheek, inclining his head slightly so his muzzle can graze hers. With the touch barrier broken, Vikari starts to shed his chivalrous façade. His fangs clip her ear as he draws somewhat away but not before subverting his compliment towards her husband into the insult it was from the start: “If he were not so foolish as to let you out of his sight.”

She lifts her paw as though to leave and his comes down atop it, guiding it back to the furs. “Is it not that possession is nine-tenths of the law? Or better yet: Finder's keepers?” A low chuckle snakes from between his lips moments before the All-father lowers his full weight against her back, expelling a second sound more satiated than amused. He likes how her form curls into his stomach and chest—like she is made for these hollow spaces.

code: elyon | art: eightysichs