December 04, 2002
.12.04.02. - pretty [mera diya al din]

[cymaa - freeform room]

(nakhti)
there is something that slithers serpentous in the music falling from well-hidden speakers as languid rain, were it to strike the sand surely each droplet would befalls the adder's coils and sink away, deeply, as if burying itself in hopes to seep back to the banks of the very Nile that would thunder in lazy flow through the club itself

he has spawled here, silently, for countless number of songs, curve of cheek and brow tilted upwards to be washed by the raining music, to feel the very treble and bass comb through shadowed locks which frame dusk-flushed skin, shoes have been removed to tuck feet comfortably on the sculpted chase lounge pillows,one arm draped over the long sweep of spine, the other hooked by but an elbow, half-finished drink dangling between slim fingers

perhaps it is the break of sound that gives enough suggestion for the man to move, liquid muscle drawn to bring the glass to lips in this everlasting quest for quench, long draught swallowed before tongue peeks out to draw the leftover liquor tears from upper lip, hazel eyes opening, slowly, some strange dawn lifting night-sky lashes to gaze at the painted ceiling above

(mera diya al din)
~How amusing that this creature of utter leisure lays as Mera so often did in nights past.
Now however she comes as a trespasser. An invader. A encroacher.
There is no doubt in her mind of swirling thought and amusement inherient that the propieter of the establishment is unaware of these midnight wanderings.
Still the stealth is all the more a part of the very Act which is ever in session with creatures such as themselves.
He.you.It.They.
Eyes watching with a flicker as the feminine figure in the shifting near translucent veils of bedouin garb flutter-curl to wrap around her again.
Eyes the only teasing glimpse of "flesh" a brilliant almond shape of purest emerald.
And beneath...beneath the teasing hint of bronzed flesh that can only be guessed at for the dark attire which hides her folding her in its full embrace.
There is a scent which follows the figure moving so slowly through the bodies amassed...spicy,musky and exotic against the wash of those others whom are mere sweat and alcohol.
A hunt again tonight.~

(nakhti)
spice

above the fragrance of the imported liquor, somewhere smoking across and infront of the heady richness that wafts up from the glass between his fingers, there is the musk, the scent of the bazaar drifting in the desert's dry winds, some hinting tease of moisture that stretches and spans the miles wrought between..... what?

the hunter and the hunted, the man and the woman, the patron and the stranger - and it is now, this stranger, this claimant to her territory, it is now this. man. moves. eyes a swirl of sage and nutmeg swing some downward slope from the ceiling, and they follow, they hunt this scent that suddenly has his attention - his curiosity - his hunger

and maybe it is a slow smile that creeps into his features

the flick of fluttering garb to snatch his focus, contrast in the sheer amount of covered form compared to the Ghamorran spread of employee flesh, there is a shift in his legs, the whisper of linen draped casually in baggy excess, the pull and twist of tunic stretched black across his chest before falling loosely once more, a glass that twists between his fingers, half-raised, half-halted, cool form cupped in warm palm

(mera)
~A pause in the dance as she leans to whisper to the dark~skinned man behind the bar.
His head in the negative causing a slight sigh which flutters the veil over bowed lips. Hands in delicate seeming creation stretch slender over the bar as her head tilts as if to meet the eyes which watch her. But there are so many are there not? At least there were but then the mating rituals of the denizens within reclaimed them once more leaving only one pair of eyes to stir the hairs in alertness to their touch. Eyes which gleam gemlike in the darkness even as do her own.

Watching.

Dark forest pools do not shift away shyly as might a desert woman of her garb giving perhaps some crack in the facade. Instead there is a bold unblinking return of his briefly held gaze.~

(nakhti)
eyes that gleam, eyes that glitter, eyes that do not look away but narrow in the disconcerting familiarity brought by no smile, rather a language unspoken, unearthly as it surpasses the superficial mating rituals of the sweating, writhing, dancing bodies that surround and ignore, caught within their own whims and ways

a language far older
a language ancient even in such surroundings

in the brief moment, his body shifts again, twisting over the pillows to draw legs beneath him, long back flexing to straighten in sudden cross-legged perch on the chaise, hands folding to bring the glass into settlement at the cross of calves which tuck ankles beneath thighs, room made on in head tilt's silent invititation

(mera)
~The is a flutter-shift of the veil against her lips. Perhaps it is a smile or perhaps something more feral in intent. Eyes half~lidded as they are framed by dark long lashes still holding the gaze until at last broken shifting to another dais. Similiar. Identical in fact. Yet far across the dance floor from his own shrouded in its own depth and shadow.
Chin lifted slightly now with all eye contact broken so the dance begins again. Sandals crunching against sand as she passes nearly close enough for him to touch were it not for the bodies 'tween them.
The scent a lure whereas all else may not be following in her wake. Settling then as queen of her own nice amongst the pillows of that divan within eyesight of Him but so very far away in the span.
Profile offered then in elusive shadows beneath the dark thin veil as fingers curl around the wrist of a passing waitress. Light tug and a slight smile as the girl recognizes the voice which whispers in her ear (bent) though she had not the woman in desert garb.
The view so only briefly obstructed clear once again but for the caravan of shifting,ponderous pale forms on the dance floor between them.~

(nahkti)
there is a poetry of motion, a fluid movement which aches upon glance and scorches upon study, something both immaculate and sinister in its very intentions - perhaps a tease, perhaps a flaunt, perhaps something more natural than anything anyone else could ever imagine

the waitress moves away, and then returns again, but this time it is his free hand that reaches to clasp her wrist, lips drawn back from teeth in slow smile that melts into words fluid as the voice which sinks to earth in moist fog from the speakers high above, a question asked, an answer received, and it is now that the chase begins

slender hand moves from wrist to glass, the tray granted pardon the slight weight, and his own lifts from the chaise, abandoned just as his shoes beneath, the warm sand hugging bare soles this passage between the comfortable mountains set in this internal desert, fingers splay as he stops before this woman dressed so appropriately, glass held on open palm, so close she has to but pluck it from his fingers, a slow blink of crystaline eyes, a slow dip of chin allowing waves of hair to fall to gravity's call in creation a veil of his own making

(mera)
~Eyebrows are hidden though there is the slight shift as one lifts head tilting to the side as eyes lift to meet boldly assessing. Finally, fingers cool if not cold wrap around his wrist to bring the drink in level with where her mouth would be behind the veil. Eyes however have fallen if far from subservient at least not staring up in the challengingly assessing fashion for the moment.
Free fingers lift the bottom of the veil but teasingly reveal nothing as room is made only for the drink. And he? Given the outline of a mouth to trace by as her intentions head tilted back may become apparent. Fingers bearing down just slightly on his wrist to tilt the drink towards the waiting lips.
The short glass is warm-foamy with a beverage likely based in milk or cream.~

(nakhti)
his smile, however slight, grows, an apparition of features curving the corners of lips, thumb and forefinger curving around the glass in balance for the tilt which brings it to her lips in fluid motion which sends not even a ripple across warm, foamed surface, only the clink of ring's metal on smooth surface, strong tendons flex and stretch beneath the light bear of cool fingers

and so they stand, trapped in the sands of time, the man upright and regal, the woman demure and strong, and within this everlasting moment life's milk passes from his hand to her throat, but of it there is no trace of verbal communication's effort to rise above the throbbing sound, there is only the steady bridge created by their eyes, his that watch hers as she watches the drink, there is only movement, there is only the slow, swallowing exchange as he, this perfect stranger, gives what she had requested of another

(mera)
~That she might be foolish for so readily accepting a drink that might be anything...at the least the news would tell her, at the least foolish. Yet if this creature-woman worries of such things at all then it is not tonight that it occuries. Another place, another time capturing her within its essence if she is not already caught. There is the briefest shift of scent adding to scent as her head tilts back causing long thick hair to tumble against thin linen beneath its coverings. The flowery (..sakura blossum...) scent mild yet potent enough perhaps for his acute senses to attune to the already heady mixture of spice and musk about her. That this giving-taking is all beneath the shroud of propiety is shattered or at least cracked by the greedy tone to which she consumes the mixed drink. Passing heartbeats-breathes gone before fingers fall away returning his arm to himself with glass still held...
now empty.~

(nakhti)
and for her reaction, the smile widens further, the first flaring peek of sun above sand dune colored skin, a glittered reflection finding its way up into hazel eyes before it's sheilded by falling lids, chest expanding beneath the tunic as breath fills his senses (...sakura blossum...) with this strange reward

the spice, the musk
the empty glass brought beneath his nose, lips parting to drawn creamed taste from the air which hovers above it - if only incense could burn so rich, the taste/scent held then mixed with the drain of what's left in his own glass.... and it is then the man-creature falls to crouch, the bar's property set into sand in makeshift cupholder, elbows resting on bent knees for dangling hands to clasp, loosely, ink black hair spilling on hunched curve of shoulder

never once have his eyes left her hidden face

(mera)
~One delicate foot stretches out from beneath the folds. The first sign of flesh other than the eyes themselves. Sandaled but bare beneath despite the cold weather out of doors crunching in rhythmic harmony to his own feet.
Fingers stretche outwards in a soft sweet dance to trace the outline of his features against the air.
Perhaps she is mute or perhaps the communication is already laid without wasted words. One finger curls under his chin to lift it slightly as if to view it more readily. Beneath the translucent veil a soft whisper as eyebrows lift once more curiosity sparkling in deep green gems.~

(nakhti)
his chin lifts (and whiskers flare) in motion that seems to anticipate - but not recoil from - her touch, there is a warmth beneath his skin, the sun that placed sandy tan upon his flesh seems to have instilled some remnant heat as a companion into the darkest night

brows lift in concert to answer the curiosity in her eyes

but there is no answer to the unposed question, save the steady pace of breath in and out of his lungs, there is not movement, save the bob of larynx in slow swallow, he only moves up, but not closer, a rolling lengthen of muscle framing spine, as if bringing his features into her focus though not enough to invade her space

(mera)
~Fingers pull slightly as if to see the other side of his profile only to finally (if slowly so slowly) drop away. Eyes of cast crystalline green intent on his own darker cast. ~

"Pretty."

~It is but one word which flows from hidden lips laced so sweetly with the cream and alcohol. Deep and rich though not so low as to be husky. It is the sound which matches her scent perfectly. Near accentless with the smooth precision of twirl that speaks of someone of linguist talent. It is a soft word nor does she lift her voice against the din of music and cacophony for him to hear but as anything must capture it from her.~

(nakhti)
he gives in to her whims, he submits to her inspection, even if only for his own amusement, though weight shifts forward as if to catch the single word as it spills from her lips - his own growing once more in the soft curve of smile

fingers lift to his lips, elbow tucking against the inward slope of ribs to drawstring pull at the topmost hem of pants, and his hand drops, until wrist is even with elbow, path draw from mouth to waist, then fingers reclasp as they were before

(mera)
"Ah but you take the word well..." It had been a test of sorts perhaps. To raise the ire of the fair faced boy and test the mettle beneath or patience without. Fingers pull away in his gestures to lay loosely against her lap. Voice a curving sweetness in harmony with the slowing music behind them.~

(nakhti)
the grin returns, and a brow lifts, as if to ask a question in expression alone, but then his hands move again in a rhythm of fluid gesture - she understood one, a test if she understands many in return for the test she provided him? - words strung together in a gestured dance

then once more, hands fall, weight shifts upon the balls of bare feet, toes sinking further into the sand

(mera)
~Hands come up to clasp against his stilling them and trapping them within her cool.~ "Do you not speak?" It is a question which seems perhaps cruel to one whose nature is such as he is. But, the intent is not rather simply genuine as eyes focus on his own.

(nahkti)
warm hands still beneath her cooling touch, as if the temperature change drained the very motion from them, the flurry of smooth gesture in sudden hibernation - for which his head shakes in answer, the slightest pull to the side, the subtleness of movement which speaks volumes of prose in the simplest contraction of muscle

(mera)
"Difficult then..." Her hands fall away once more to rest once again against deep blackness of her curving lap. "...but not impossible." That he understood her own words let to further questions that would be difficult in the dark seedling of understanding between they two to grow at all. "Though your language , it seems, I know only pieces of..." Again that slight ripple of veil that hints (hope-sweetly) of a smile beneath. "The owner of this place could almost look akin to a cousin to you, you know...he has long sought after my name though I would not give it." Yet it seems these sweetly coated secrets of the most innocent kind are given to him. "Yet to tell you ..." ...this mute boy whom could not whisper her name to the dead or dread. Yet later perhaps she could boast in amused secrective tones that she had given away freely to one what another had to earn.

(nahkti)
shoulders tremble in silent laugh, whether or not it is a smile she delights him, there is amusement glinting in swirled irises, once more his hands begin their waltz through the air (I would only desire something by which to call you....) and even if her emerald eyes dropped to find some semblance of reason in the rhytmic movements, when they lift again, they will find the young boy's will not have feinted from intense gaze (... if it were the secret mine to keep....) the hungry smile over lips that do not yet part: they both know he could not tell it to a soul, they both know he would not

(mera)
"Ah perhaps you will have teach me this language that might as well be secret..." There is a sigh against the words causing thin material to dance against her lips from soft words and breath. Fingers wrap around his wrist directing to brush over the soft-coarse sand.~ "...for now perhaps though writing in the sand will have to do." Fingers trail over the back of his hand in a cool aftereffect even when they have returned once more to her shadowy enclove.~

(nakhti)
chin dips in minor ascention, the crouch swaying in half step backwards, creating room for this impromptu palette, palm opposite the still chilled flesh flattening to smooth a writing board between them, index finger stretching into pencil

amer. sign lang.
books

written quickly, upside down and backwards, leniency provided that this may not be the first time he has communicated in such a way, eyes lift from the unsculpted tablet, assessing, taking cues to continue when she looks up from reading what it is he speaks, and how it is she can begin to learn it, palm wiping the sand clean once more

secret
kept

(mera)
~Eyes in glittering depths watch his movements that are both mundance in communication and dancelike in movement. Fingers curl outwards to tilt under his chin lifting it once more. Her body arcing forwards so that the veil tickles against his cheek~ "Mera...
and I'd rather learn from -you-." ~The whispering rustle of materal against skin filling his senses as she leans back once more amongst the lush pillows. Nevermind that swirl and aching hearts of the mortals below their feet. She seemed unaware to the petty existances beyond her own deified world at the moment.~

(nakhti)
so easily and supply his chin rises as if a well oiled hinge, twisting in curl so that gaze meets once more, swirls of brown and green locking upon brilliantly clear emerald, a study, an inquisition, and before she leans away, his fingers move in tandem (Mera) for the lesson has now begun, the rest of the world fades away into the shadows of pulsing sound, and it is then that he manipulates the sand that genuflects before her toes

nakhti

(mera)
"Nakhti..." The word falls off her lips in a whisper as eyes follow his fingers. "...did They take your tongue so you could speak nothing but Ma'at in this life?" Eyes follow over his face then lower slightly in the dark brush of lash over colour to watch those fingers in tandem movement as they are.

(nakhti)
palm sweeps, as a smile grows, perhaps as secretive as the ones that hide behind her veil, tongue tip peeking from between lips to coax them back from white teeth

born

(mera)
"Ah this time you were but what sweet mistruths did you speak last time?" It is a question which can easily be left alone should he chose it. Her eyes have drifted over his shoulder past the crowds briefly only to return to him once more. "Soon it's time for me to go...before he comes to try to steal my name." Eyes dancing with the words as she leans closer to him once more bringing with her the sweet scent that had first caught attention before she even did.~

(nakhti)
it is a question he leaves well enough alone, answering only in two fingers tapping sternum, then sweeping through the air and away - perhaps it is not his fault, or perhaps it is of no consequence, now, the meaning deliberately obscure and left to her own designs, once more his touch returns to the sand

go wisely, m

delberation again in his movements, her name unwritten but for the single letter, and that is quickly wiped away, he expects the cameras though he knows not of their power, and the pretty young boy lifts the face which must speak what his tongue cannot, as if to wash his skin with the exotic scent as before he cleansed it with sound

(mera)
~Fingers curl around his wrist as she stands with him. Lashes having fall over those depths as she nodded to his message. There is the briefest of confusing moments as she leans closer to him fingers brushing against her face. Then lips as warm as her fingers were cold press softly to his own in a nearly (nearly as breath to heart) chaste kiss. The face so close as to reveal nothing before the veil has been pulled across once more.~ "Perhaps we will meet again here, pretty one..." ~The scent is left to linger on him even as it is tasted on his mouth. Lashes tickling over his forehead before at last his space is his own once more.~

[fade]

Posted by nakhti at December 04, 2002 12:00 AM
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