February 28, 2003.02.28.03. - hunger's wicked little games [judah-talibah][cymaa]
(nakhti)
how strange, that has has brought himself here once more - not for the reason of comfort or company or escape from the silence of his flat and the tempest of his thoughts, but because he has been toldif it were any other's words, Cymaa would be the last place to find him tonight, though he waits upon the very same gauze hidden couch of where they last spoke (you are blind with your hatred), wrestling with the call of desire and the satiation of need (you strike out because you are alone), finely sculpted chin resting on the flat top of bent knee (you lash out because you hurt), slender arms caging his leg as the low sigh breaches lungs (you know you should wait until the time is right to strike) and the eyes colored of sullied riverbeds search the bodies that stroll languidly past (why can you not shake the dishonor of allowing them to do it without you)
(judah)
There is a confidence that radiates from Judah. One might doubt that the tall man ever second guesses himself, simply by his gait and poise. He strides on bare feet towards that very same shadow caressed booth. His black pants hang far too low on his slender hips, threatening to fall at any given moment, for any number of reasons. His shirt is an earth toned brown, and it clings to his sun kissed skin snuggly, exposing the lower half of his etched abdomen.Sleek ... tall....elegant .. the Prince of Cat strides with long legs towards Nakhti, and it is with a cocked head and lazy bright green eyes that he regaurds the other cat. He does not sit, for the moment, instead an arm drapes quite casually across his stomach, dangling there listless as he stands towering above the booth.
"Good evening, brother..."
(nakhti)
the confidence, the poise, the sheer predatory presence which approaches out of the darkness, the crocodile lurking in ambush, the leopard waiting in the trees, the cobra poised on the burning sands - it is everything he should be, but the statue has been broken,and the sandstone pieces too jumbled to quickly repairit pains him, as well, to be in such a position, to be at such a lack of control
gaze stirs, drawing up the long line of black slacks which leads to the torturous slash of flesh, peeking from beneath the fabric before covered once again with the clinging shirt that reveals beneath its snug confines the etch and carve of lean muscle, finally he finds his way across spanse of throat, the pulse that flutters beneath curved jaw, and those bright, bright eyes, the words returned in a slow dance of one hand through the air
(judah)
There is the slightest cant to Judah's head as he continues to study Nahkti. A flickering of confusion and uncertainty threatens to overtake his expression as he slowly eases into the bench seat of the booth next to the other man. He has no regaurd or care for personal space; much like a house cat that refuses to accept that they are not going to be caressed and stroked at the moment they so wish it."What did you dream of last night ...." Such an odd question, yet it seems so very natural falling from the threshold of his plump lips. His arms cross over his lower stomach, lap, and he seems comfortable as one leg drapes over the other at the knee.
(nakhti)
there is no regard for personal space, just like the housecat asserting it's will for attention, whatever is in your space, is also theirs, at the very moment they wish conquest, and so the younger cat does not move away, perhaps there is some acceptance, or even some hidden need, to have another that would draw so close without second thought to what it is that hides beneath his skin, and slow breath so sensitive his senses for the lack of another, draws in what it is that coils from Judah's flesh, the tiny particles of information that cling to the dark waves of hairHunger.
the hand had moved to the napkin laying in wait, single word printed beneath sight's guidance before it draws up to the Prince again
(judah)
"Hmmmm" It's a soft sound that leaves his lips in a quiet hum, heard barely above the solid thump of the music surrounding them. He does not move, other than the soft flesh caressing tendrils of hair along his jaws and the resplendent green of his eyes."You've had time to think ....do you still wish to wage war with the dogs?" His eyes shift to weigh completely upon Nahkti; the dark son of Olympias and Amon is still .... waiting to read the written words of the man at his side.
(talibah)
One would assume she would dress to match this place. Appear in some vision of egyptian splendor that passed from the daylit world centuries ago. Be predictable. She is anything but. She comes here when her mind needs release from work. No tombs to retreat to, in this young country. No great ancient libraries, barely any good museums, in her opinion. So she comes to this club. . . but maybe beyond its too appealing sensation is the fact she knew who walked here. The first play made, and she returned for the enxt move in their strange, silent, game. Point. . .set. . . match.Leaving coat and shoes with the check, she entered in a whisper of lace. Black lace, from shoulders to waist tight and from there dripping to the floor. Something underlaid it to make it passable for polite society but nearly sheer. It creates imagination, it gives glimpses, it bares certain secrets to night's eyes. And her eyes? Seek a strong moon. . the player. . . slipping through the thrumming throng of the first floor for the stairwell up, to where they had played round one. . . climbing stairs in a silent whisper.
(nakhti)
the dark son watches him, studies him, with eyes as ready as his own to look so deeply they would see what has been so brutally carved across his soul, and his head shakes, the snaking shadows falling from head's crown brushing against the high curve of angular cheeksThe war with the dogs is the same as it has been for lifetimes before my own. I wish not to start a new one, only to see the Jackal children draw end to this battle.
the bitterness still throbs within him, as heavy as the soundtrack bass, as powerful as any heartbeat - but it is more controlled, now, the wound seems not as raw
(judah)
Judah nods, removing his attention and gaze from Nahkti, he sets his eyes upon the more intimate area of the second floor. He watches the dancers with their flesh bared so readily, he watches them offer up themselves to Gods and Deities they do not know....it interests him for a fleeting moment as slender shoulders lift and fall in a noncommittal shrug."So it has always been ... so it will always be." The man with the beautiful features (neither man ... nor woman...) repeats that which was echoed to him years and years before. So it will always be.
(talibah)
Bare feet quiet on floors, sand, and stairs, as she emerges at the top of the stairwell, midnight ink eyes already looking. Body already moving among the lighter crowds here, the more. . decadent. . air permeating everything. There was just something about. . this place. Maybe she had been hidden in her isolation too long? The bass of the lower floor a dull throb in the soles of her feet as she began her circulation of the second floor. . . she sought only one. . . her luck? or her chagrin, should she find both? Fate, it seems, is not without its irony.(nakhti)
there is a breath, so soft, so slow, and if it only could, it would hold the slightest connotations of a purr that should rumble in his chest, a sound colored with the blushing desert hues under which he was born, the mysterious and exotic, the shadowed and horrifying, for it would not be a purr to signify contentment, perhaps only a sound that symbolized his attentionWe cannot change what already is, only shape what will come.
he, too, watches the dances for that breif moment (how he can see the shadows of their spirits writhing in flames), as if he, too, had heard the very same words laced into his memory, the prophecies of a smoke-laden mystic, the burden of knowledge and secrets that have been handed down between generations should only one be so lucky to recieve them, breifly, his eyes linger on the pseudo-familiar form of the Kin, attention casually peaked
I hunger for what you would give me, Brother.
the undeniable urge to learn, to devour all that is placed before him, his eyes draw back to study the other, so focused and intense their gaze
though should she approach, perhaps that will not be his gift, tonight
(judah)
"Seek out your revenge. I will be there to help you. When this is done, then I will teach you, brother.....I will not teach you before this." His words are quiet and softly spoken .... his eyes are the only portion of his attention that cuts towards Nahkti.Judah perhaps seems quite fickle; at times he is aloof, and most others he is extremely intense, at the moment he lingers closer to the former. A waitress, scantly clad, leaves two glasses of ice water on their table, without so much as a word from Judah.
(talibah)
When her eyes finally pick out. . . Nakhti. . and . . . the Pharoah, she pauses. Fluidity stemmed, a dam placed in grace, and she watches both. She knows they know she watches them. Or rather she assumes such. Always assume the best (or.worst) of them, and be pleasantly surprised if your expectation is lived above that. The split second decisoon before itbecomes obvious they have surprised her, to approach the both of them, or to retreat for a night's round when they were broken down to their component pieces. Such a delicate dance. Finally. . . decision made, and merely seconds have passed before motion resumes. Face a stark relief, not unlike a statue carved of stone, perfect and composed. Its the depthless eyes, warm as inky desert night, that give it life. Decision made and the next move in the dance started as she approaches the two of them. Soon enough to see if her presence accepted or rejected. It did not matter to her one way or another. Alays Phineas for such games if she truly felt the need. . it was just more satisfying with her blood.(nakhti)
there is but a nod offered the words, affirmation in the lift and drop of carved chin, in the way flesh flexes across his throat and the jugular hidden beneath and the way each decisive muscle has chosen to work in wondrous cohesion in creation of such a fluid and divine answers in the littlest of movement - how strange to give so little an answer after his gaze had been so overwhelmingly intenthis head bows, this time, the brush of temple against the boned point of Judah's shoulder all the slow stretch and extension of slender body would allow, a breif caress in the fall of inky hair across fabric, when he could supply so much more, for while neither may hold any consideration for personal space, there are still some things he will not invite insult through
he eyes cast towards the approaching Kin, indeed their game must continue, but the water placed before him gathers far more consideration, and the hand covered with the blackened inks reaches to pluck it from the growing ring of sweat condensation beads weep to form
(judah)
There's a moment, when the other Cat's temple brushes his shoulder, that Judah's hand lifts to caress the midnight locks of hair which spill forward. It is a slow gentle caress, one reserved for lovers or family or both.Nakhti pulls back, however, and it is with a reserved sigh (....close to you) that Judah regaurds the kin. Cool and detached. Shadows bathe them both, and Judah eases back into the booth's seat, silent.
(talibah)
One learns an edge when they spend any time around predators. A subtle wariness that keeps them on the edge enough to react to nearly any situation. Its especially true of kin more then your average person. Even more her. She knew, suspected or had heard tales. . of her family. She expected certain things. . none of them good. A sort of come what may attitude. Watching the two of them in their private moments makes her wonder at her own wisdom. . but whats worse is the need to explore the game begun with the one. To seek. . to know. . to hopefully not come away burned beyond recollection. . .Progress forward, in what only can be called a slink. Forward and on until she slows up before their table, facing the, one in shadows, one even farther back. Her greetung?
"Nakhti Amose."
(nakhti)
one he knows, the other a possiblity, and when the elder cat eases back into the booth's shadows, weight slips once more, allowing the gentle lean to bring but a breath between their shoulders, should his head tilt - as it does to look at the kin drawing nearer, as it does to drink from the icey glass - the tips of midnight hair will once more tickle across pale fabric, whatever pain possessed him, whatever ache rattled him, it disappears, as if pushed away by the close contact between the two catsit seems he has regained the coy demeanor which harbors too abundantly beneath feline skin
weight shifts against the back of the booth (the one I spoke of) when feet lift from the floor to tuck on the ample padding beneath lean frames, just beneath, and just beside him, blinking so slowly at the slinking woman who stands now before them as some unknowing sacrifice stepping to speak to the gods, gods whose eyes burn with the most unholy of dark powers and intentions
she greets him by name, and he responds (yes?) with a brow that slowly lifts, and a smile that may ghost across his lips
(judah)
Touch, brush, breeze, caress. Judah thrives in all forms of nearness. It drives the man that he is, and it sates the devil Cat beneath his seemingly normal, human flesh. He is at ease with Nahkti so close, and he seems to regaurd the woman the way a fat full Lion might eye another Lioness within his Pride. Aloof ... yet regal in his judging gaze.One long arm (...terribly .. so) reaches out and takes up the glass of ice water. He takes a hearty drink, leaving a ghost shimmer of moistness across the expanse of overly pouty lips. Glass in hand, in dangles perilously on the opposite side of Nahkti....the sweat rubs against the lean curved musculature of his thigh ...
In the stifling heat of Cymaa ... it is soothing.
(talibah)
He had shown her the glyphs for his name. Her linguistical skills had easily translated them, and mind had matched them. Now she offers her own first clue. Easy to decipher, the first. Its a ploy, a drawing out. . ."Seeker of Knowledge in Silence."
Once translated he would have her name. He may know it. He may not. He may have contacted the shadows of home. . . some of whom could tell some of her secrets even. . . or maybe known of her by mortal world reputation. Or perhaps, just perhaps, she was anonymous, blessedly unknown. . that would be a jewel.
His browwent up (yes) and this time hers does, with her words. One dark browcanted delicately skyward (Round two?). Eyes flicker to the other, the pharoah as yet unnamed to her, but sight alone enough identification. Gaze sweeps over him sweeps him up and then attention becomes Nakhti's again.
(nakhti)
through the close contact, through the comfortable zone with which he lounges in the stifling, welcome heat of the club, perhaps Judah can feel the tremble that begins what would be laughter if he had the ability to lend sound to the air escaping his lungs, the satiated Lion may watch her with judgement in his eyes, but this spoiled prince which curls and leans against him with touches that tease and tempt to offer more begets a cruel glimmer in those murky eyeshow easy it would be for him to turn to the other cat, and allow himself to be consumed, simply to flaunt Judah gets what he knows she so hungrily seeks, that knowledge contained within and on his flesh
the hand reaches for a new napkin, pen laying black symbols across it's fiber surface with ease (Talibah. You are a day late.) and slow enough for his elder to read before it's twisted for her eyes, the napkin travels across the smooth surface of the small table, suddenly expressionless
would her timing cost her the next clue...
(judah)
His mother touched him so. Royal lineage bathed in blood and secrets. How many times had she caressed the soft tresses of his hair ... the angled line of his sharp jaw...chin...he reads the words just before his lids close slowly. The music (Ambient...Dead..Can..Dance..)has shifted and it allows the King of Cats a moment to retreat into himself, an action so rarely enjoyed these days and nights of late.....The hiss of snakes, the snarl of Jackals, the sweet rumbling purr of cats.....all of it overwhelms his senses as he sits so silently with closed eyes, enjoying the music and the company at his side ... and perhaps even the Kin so boldly standing before him.
It is with slow hesitance that his eyes finally open once more, pupils shrink and swell as he fixes his eyes (so .. green...) upon Talibah. Judah is set back within the dark shadows of the booth, the oddly bright colour of his eyes seem the focal point for any attention cast his way.
(talibah)
Better to be bold, then to cringe. They held mystery, and so did she, little storehouse of blood and magick. Gleaming warm eyes flicker between them, boldly. The lucid green of Judah hidden in his shadows, the toying gaze of Nakhti. She could almost seem to enjoy it, the cat and mouse. . .Reads Nakhti's words, and a soft purring laugh, thick with that accent. No, definitely not native to this country, and most definitely from the land of burning sands and ancient legacy.
"I hope you did not wait long. I would never be that predictable."
Countermove. Did it work?
(nakhti)
if only he could purr, if only he could allow that sound to rumble through his chest to bestow the depths of his emotions to the conversation, but he will always be reserved, he will always have that barrier between any that he communicates with, so perhaps it is only pheronome scent which discusses the amusement which trembles electric beneath dusky fleshonce more, that dark brow lifts (I did not wait at all.) and his weight settles backwards, drawing further from her, and closer to Judah (You missed your turn.)
now it is she whom will have to wait for more
(judah)
His keen sense of smell shifts towards Nahkti and his eyes wander the expanse of the other mans person, it is with great reservation that he tears his eyes from the cat man and returns his gaze to the woman kin. The faint pink of tongue washes over his lips, moistening them, and soon he's lifting the glass once more to his lips. He reguards their game of cat and mouse with faint interest ... at least it seems such on the surface.(talibah)
Whether he thought she would be bereft at his withdrawal or not, she merely smiles at his retreat into shadows. Ever the manipulators. A slight, flippant shrug at Nakhti's movement and she cants her head slightly watching them both."Pity. Perhaps Phinease will have more interesting games then."
One thing made plain in her voice, and body language. She did not seem to think she needed them. . . and made that plainly obvious.
(nakhti)
there's a smile that grows across his lips, studying her reactions to his movements as if scripted, this is where his head tilts to lay across Judah's shoulder (Oh Talibah, his games are interesting indeed.) writ in the smug, knowing, curl washing across rose-tinted flesh, because as much as she may think she does not need them, he knows, he blessedly knows, that she cannot exist without them - a fact as plain as the scarred flesh he saw across her back, and the independance she tries to boastone arm lifts, snaking itself to curl around the other cat's neck, fingertips light brush along the stretch of throat, climbing into the dark locks of hair, his jaw tilts upwards to allow those lips to turn and hide themselves against the elder cat's neck, a slow breath seeping out to warm the flesh he's found as if they were truly words spoken and promised across the steady flicker of pulse beneath lean jaw
but that's when he draws away, slow and seductive, peeling himself away from the closeness with the man, and taking himself past the woman, bare feet padding lightly and silently across the lounge's floor
(judah)
The nearness is gobbled up emotionally by Judah, swallowed whole and guarded fiercely. As the other leaves he arches a brow, curiously, perhaps questioning whether or not the Kin will dare toy with him as she does his younger brother in blood.(talibah)
Whats life without a little danger. . and what good comes of not being willing to take risks? The best things come from those willing to tempt fate some for them, and so she returns Judah's gaze, echoing him, facially. Calmly standing there, even as she knows just how fragile the footing is. Adrenaline gave her strength and the come what may attitude gave her boldness."Did we amuse you, Pharoah?"
(judah)
"...somewhat..." Comes the whisper reply breathed between his lips, barely heard above the mystical sounding hum of the music surrounding them. ".....intriguing....slightly..." His words are nonsensical it seems, and are not placed within complete sentences. "Do you intend to stand the entirety of our conversation?"(talibah)
A smile, curling and languid with his question. As much invitation as she needs or reads into it, and herself slips forward, slinks forward, to slip within the shadows where Nakhti had so recently sat, to join the Pharoah, in conversation? Would see how things turned out. . ."Do you intend to have a conversation with me?"
Perhaps a very valid question. After the give and take between her and Nakhti, a conversation would be wholly unexpected. Only kin. . to their cat. . .
Posted by nakhti at February 28, 2003 12:00 AM
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