.01.24.03. - would you like? [harlequin]

[apt]

(harlequin)
he had the box for 2 days now 2 whole days and he hadnt been able to open it. what is it grandma you sent me , what pretty little bauble and intricate little item have you delivered unto me.... 2 days the package had sat behind his bike in his saddle bag and then finally in his flat while he played with others. now however he is able to finally open it. sharp knife slides under the string seperating the delicate strands bugger the knot that intricate tie that tells him no one else has played with the package no one else has looked inside. he sits upon the table top cros legged the paper quickly shredding under curious fingers as he turns the box around and around . what treasure lays inside. grining he lifts the lid and begins to pick out the items

(nakhti)
shoulder leans against the door, trembling from the cold remaining from the time spent outside, how long it takes to work its way from his frame, so used to far warmer climates the record temperatures have taken their toll on the desert cat, inky hair drops to frame face, brow joining the placement against the wood, slow breath gleaning cinnamon and spice from deep within the flat on the other side - fingers being tapping, discovering a slow intricate rhythm against the wood of the door, crawling up the grain of the wood that's lit by the low hallway light, discovering some hidden pattern deeper within the whorls of halted growth... and he waits, hoping there is some light in the darkness, that the faint sounds within would mean there is an occupant rather than imagination

(harl)
slitted pupils dialate as they fix on the distant door. who would be knocking at his door. no one uses the door. hell even he doesnt use the door. predatory and deadly he unfolds crawling across the table. silent his body slithers to the floor. feet gl;iding limbs that move like liquid. he peers through that peep hole to what lays on the other side. a lock is disengaged then another. followed by the third in the door handle the chair slides out of place (the last resident was really parranoid)he opens that wooden portal to the outside world ever so slightly just enough for nakhti to enter.larger than life frame stepping out of the way.

(nakhti)
fingers graze across the frame, guiding his way within as a blind man's quarry, stepping into the darkness without hesitance, past the door, the other hand reaches, moving deliberately through the lightless spance between them to trace across muscular belly, hazel eyes lifting to where slitted pupils shine so faintly... even his gloves are still cold, unable to yet shake the chill, it would explain the presence at the door rather than the fire escape (Do I interrupt you?) dark brow lifting towards darker hair

(harl)
a smile a flash of almost fang eyes shine with humour good will and something else. something deep the thing that makes him go all warm and fuzzy at even the mention of his name. body shudders muscles extend and play as arms wrap around his silent lover drape over his shoulders like some living cape a foot closing the door behind him. as he drags you deeper into that almost pitch black space. (yes no maybe but i do not care) the carress of lengthend nails over cold material (your frozen) the goose flesh that plays on his naked skin at the cool embrace (come let me warm you with the fire of my flesh. )

(nak)
there's a resistance to the drag, if only to stop and pause, face pressing against chest, drinking the offered warmth with each slow breath, body quaking against the stronger, more primal form - the shadowcat will not admit he braved the frigid weather to not spend such a cold night alone, aching for a heat far deeper than anything an electrical unit can provide, gloves are cast to the darkened floor, frozen hands sliding over flesh before torn away to fling the woolen coat to the ground as well (...... so cold....) and return once again, attempting to find the most minimal of distances between them and wipe it right out

(harl)
your flesh so cold. he wants to both encase it in his own and withdraw from frigid fleshe result muscles tighten under that gliding touch as he pulls the smaller man closer. (now i will not be so cold) in just sweat pants it is a race to see if his body will thaw or harlequins freeze first.

he settles the issue the easy way. his body shifts and flows the muscles ripple as fur presses out from his skin growing taller and longer those fingers that held you so posessivly now are gentle. dont want talons to slide from deep within pads rending flesh that he holds so close. tail lashes as he picks the small man up holds him closer pressing warm fur and hot flesh against his body carrying him to the pile of pillows that silken pile of black whites and greys. he curls p over you around you. embraces you. long tongue flashing out to lick the side of your face. .

(nak)
desert animals were never created to live in weather such as this, no matter the availability of clothing and blankets and heat, and when fur spills against his fingers, they spread to smooth and slide within, combing through winter's coat, slow smile spreading as cheek rubs gently against it.... a breath sighs, as if laughter at being lifted and cuddled, but the sound will never form

back presses down into the pillows, legs lift to wrap around Chrinos waist, chin lifting into the warming lick, the rough tongue against soft skin, fingers still moving through fur as if to sculp the animal form that moves and breaths beneath

(harl)
his tribe decends from the humid rainforests that climb thier way slowly into the snowy peaks of mist covered mountains. he is no stranger to cold either. and more than willing to warm his partner with fur and flesh. that and he is trying to adjust trying to learn to function in this form other than war. black as the night lit by only the stars. views through some jungle canopy. his furr is long and warm the huge frame (well compared to nak at the moment huge) curls tigher. like a kitten wrapping itself around a ball of wool he draws you into a fleshy embrace muscles still shifting under sculpting fingers. as both settle into a comfortable position. again that tongue slides agains so soft skin tasteing his lover. drinking hi down eyes drift closed as he purrrs. ( are you warmer now) snuggling close. he continues to groom finding the place where hair meets skin at the side of the neck most enjoyable where scent lays thickest and taste strongest that which is nakhti

(nak)
fingers splay to comb and pull through long fur, spreading the oil through in the closest to groom he can in this form, soaking up the feel of pelt against flesh, his neck stretches, lifting into the snuffle of long breath against his neck, blowing through inky strands of hair, feeling the heavy purr vibrate through broad chest, there's a serenity in his smile, hidden by the darkness, while so many would fear to be crushed by such a beast, a form meant only for War, he finds a comfort in it, because it is his birth form

hazel eyes drift, even though he still keeps face tucked towards pelt in the curled embrace, drawing towards the table, the box sitting upon it, the lumps and folds of the items it contained (What were you doing?) asked in the darkness, and an acceptance ready for privacy, the question possibly lost because it was never seen

(harl)
subtle movements of body a quirking swivel of ear a low chirping sound produced deep in throat. will he understand the subtle differences of his tribal language. the common tongue as translated by his people. the living memory that flows back to when they walked the earth in current form. (from my grandmother) although it translates closer to from my denmother twice removed. she who whelped me.... a lazy arm so powerful so liquid fur and muscle a show of grace flowing as if to say would you care to look.

(nak)
even in the primal language of animals, there are accents, and his head tilts to hear, the rumble of purr, the trill of chirp, to deign in the differences between the way their Tribes and cultures would say the very same things, an arm stretches, so much smaller, so much shorter, fingers hooking beneath the table to drag it closer.... loathe to leave the heating body wrapped around his in any way

there is a lazy cast to his movements, the confident negligence inherant in all felines, fingers reaching to trace across the scarf, running the fabric through sensitive fingers - most of the items he leaves be, exploring only by touch, but the incense is lifted, drawn until the stick lingers beneath his nose

(harl)
he smiles softly there is nothign there that he does not mind nakhti seeing. that he does not care if it is noted the diklo (scarf ) is beautiful yes it is done in shades of blue and purple silver and gold thread runnign through it to sparkle like stars in an midnight sky silks and velvets a strange blend of the two the border is a circular patern of first the moon waking first to full and then waining to dark so that the 2 phases mirror each other exactly the centre a burnished sun of gold. splendid and beutiful it has a few creases where it was folded over the items in the box now however it lays flat for the eyes to see. the eternal twilight figures dance in the inbetween the night sky between sun and moon.

the incence is sticky and cloying strong. both delicious and spicy the sugarsharp scent brushes off with the simple touch of fingers. only a few sticks in all and a largeish block about the size of a fist(desined to have slithers shaved off it and thrown over coals) the texture is so fine that the most delicate of touches still comes away coated in powder yet it is durable and firm the block mixed with dragons blood the tang and vanilla soaked wood making the sticks itself a sweet blend such a familiar blend. (would you like?) the dialect the way eyes flow from sticks held in your hands to you. would you care for a stick or two hey he likes to gift you things. his control of the tongue in this half form is not crude, yet it is limited. in war it is not necisarry to make lengthy speaches.

(nak)
fingers - finally so warm - tap and touch along the length of the stick as if braile, a smile spreads in the darkness for his answer (yes) soft pads pulled away and rubbed together, spreading the scent on his own flesh, before lifting to stroke through fur, adding it to the smell already there, reasserting the sugarspike against what is Harlequins own... and his face tilts up, lips parting to taste what comes from long inhale (thank you)

(harl)
he just licks him again running his tongue slowly over his face as hansd so warm so large circle around his body. holding him close. pulling him closer there is to be no space between them the stregth in those limbs holds you as if you are ther most delicate of flowers. he feels both more fluid yet clumsy as if this form is not natural not him so feeling skin is warm he slowly shrinks back down to the half form the near man. his voice is gravely a low rumbling purrrrrr that flows like silk gliding like the fur that just before encased you in its embrace. "you are welcome" fingers that held you close before begin to kneed to work on muscles in the back

(nak)
the touch stays, feeling muscle shift and contract as the form changes, the soft smile staying in the darkness, obviously enjoying these other aspects of lover he so rarely sees, so relaxed in the manbeast's grip, knowing he is safe, knowing he will be cared for

but as those strong hands find his back, body arches, eyes falling closed, lips falling open, a slow tremble working through him... not from the cold, but from the touch that kneads against muscle kinked against the nght's chill

(harl)
especially when tension sings down his lovers spine a tension that he wants to kiss away to kneed until it does not exist to tease and torment until it flees leaving only the subtle shift of flowing muscles under fingertips. body continues to shift down futher those nails that threaten to bite the skin shrinking to well manicured selves no longer clawlike his body so much closer in size to that of nakhti now. a human body wrapped around his lover. it is not a tongue that darts out to claim you but rather lips that suck nip and bite a playful line along the jaw until they can claim lips to kiss.

.01.22.03. - apologies [harlequin]

[north jersey]

(nakhti)
smoke coils slowly towards the ceiling, incense wrapping itself around air currents, laced by the thermal drafting from the single candle in the middle of the low table, the shadowcat sits in lazy repose, stretched languid across the mound of pillows that create the couch, both arms draped like slender, muscular serpents crawling away from bare torso, legs clad in black drawstring pants drawn up in half curl beneath slight form, hazel eyes watching the dusky scents rolling and playing through the air as the colors swirl deep within

(harl)
a dark shadow stalking an even darker one . he moves slowly up the stairs body pressing itself to the door.

(nak)
a slow blink repositions his gaze, sweeping down across the room towards whatever it is that gleaned attention, the creak of a plank on the landing, the flux of shadows beneath the door, the new scent that's brought in by low-rent draft - or perhaps something far deeper, something that calls to what is coiled so quietly deep in the recesses of lean chest, watching the door, curiosity canting finely featured head

but still, he silently sits and waits

(harl)
breath ever so softly drawn in through parted lips, over his tongue and along his scences. that ever present taste of incence stronger now because of the one thats burning. the stray traces of smoke and the flickering shadows under the door enough to allert him that hes home.

ear pressed ever so softly to the wood. listening the very sound of his breath heard through wood. silent almost as much as the rest of him. that figure on the other side of the door the one that calls to him the one who makes his heart ache. he contemplates the lock he contemplates the lock he contemplates the wire hidden in the folds of his coat. he decides overall though its easier just to knock

(nak)
without. a. sound
he's moved to stand just within arms reach of the door, body pressed flat against the wall, head tipping as if to hear the thoughts and contemplations that exist just beyond the barrier of wood, fingers rest lightly on the brass handle, allowing the knock to echo into the small flat and into silence somewhere inthe darkness, moments breathlessly pass, anticipation growing and waning yet beginning to stir yet again

and that's when the door finally opens, the tiniest sounds of gears twisting to pull the bolt from its stay, the door swinging open on oiled hinges, hallway light flooding across the floor, yet the dusky man does not move from the shadows

(harl)
"naaaaaaaaakhtiiiiii" the voice purrrss from between his lips a cerresss with his voice more tangiable than any touch he could summon up. as he smiles into the waiting dark that is the others flat. grey wool again coat covering the clothes beneath. the open door the only invitation he takes to slide into the flat. spinning once he is inside to stare at the place where all the darkness seems to radiate from

(nak)
the door slowly closes, audible click resonate in the small apartment, fingers still poised just above the handle they reached to pull it closed, tanned skin and brass handle sharing the same dull shine in flickering light

he steps from where the shadows are darkest, weight tipping to lean against the door itself, barely entering the halo of soft, warm light, he moves as if to bar any escape, but there is something that radiates otherwise, maybe it is the regal lift of chin that tilts fine features further into painting and defining shadows, maybe it is the almost non-existant curl of lips that would express his pleasured amusement, the flame's glitter deep within dark eyes, some creature that has stepped out of abyssmal darkness, some demon that has answered a whispered, lyrical, purring call

(harl)
he grins at the click, do you think to keep me prisoner? then my dark lover. creature of the night are you summoned by my call from some horrible place where no light ever shined or has my call brought me to you?

darkness incarnate let me draw you into the light where i can see you. a hand is offered to that darker shadow. a summoning finger crocked ever so delicatly

(nak)
a brow lifts, and the smile slowly widens

what is a game of cat and mouse between two cats?

a step draws him out of the shadows, eyes narrowing slightly (have you brought your light into my darkness?) though the smile creeps ever present over soft lips, this creature stepping out of the darkest reaches of a soul, arm extending to let fingertips brush over the crooked extension, black ink playing across skin, as if some pull back towards the darkness which he leaves, the orange glow from the candle dancing over his features

flesh so warm, flat heated to the temperatures he's comfortable in, they brush and curl and tease the extended hand, but never forcibly touch

(harl)
intruiging? difficult to play and confusing as the roll of who is cat and who is mouse... silluetted in that candles light he lets fingers entwine when they brush together both drawing nakhti further out even as he steps closer. on the perifery that circle of light and the pressing dark.... soft breath mingling so close. mouth parting as if to kiss before teeth snap close an audable click slipping first from shadows and then the grasp to move to those cusions stalking, i am still upset with you chatting up some other woman.

(nak)
lips part, a breath drawn to taste the scent that rolls of flesh, even as it is severed with the savage clip of teeth

instead of following towards the pillow, he moves to crouch upon the low table, the smoke driving up over bare skin, the candle seeming to sputter and begin to extinguish by his very presence but that must only be an illusion, hands move, fingers splaying in the air, cupping and curling the rising incense about palms and digits, carefully watching the rigid sulk beneath his lover's skin

(harl)
sad and sulking glance is certainly one way to put it also deadly and seductive. his body sinking slowly into those pillows the play of leather against skin as it flows slowly over his body. his whole body screams touch me. his very demeanour the smell of lust that slides like a hidden scent just beneath the cinnamon spice. dark chocolate eyes so black it is almost impossible to pick out the pupil look at you. watch as your figure plays through the candle light the very movement or prehaps it is just you itself that threatens to remove what is left of the light.

he has no right to be jealous, does he? yet he is anyway. he know he shouldnt be why is he what has him so upset.

(nak)
it is a liquid grace that rolls his crouch, palms dropping through the smoke to flatten on the table, the incense lifting to pool against his chest before drifting over flank and away, simply watching the sensual beast lain upon his couch, his tail would lash invisably behind, slicing through the further shadows created by his blocking the meager light

his head tilts, lips forming words that will never be heard (Tell me why you hurt)

(harl)
"because your mine" the voice pours out hurt betrayed, jealous, loving, posessive and questioning. all in one his sweet tonal voice throwing all them into the mix. he stares at the dark feline that stalks him in human skin that, monster that crouches on coffee table. stareing at him with eyes that look onto the blackest of souls.

(nak)
and how much of the blackest soul sits exposed in the darkness? there is a moment's silent contemplation, and weight shifts again, some smooth extension that allow the creature to crawl over the small distance between the table and couch, a slithering movement that brings him to crouch above Harlequin's lap, linen pants whispering against leather

his nose finds its way to just beneath jaw, warm breath spilling over skin, the lightest touch of lips before the languid caress of moist tongue drawn across flesh, tasting not the barrier that exist between them, but instead the blood that runs in both their veins (What makes you believe I am no longer?) a collection of gestures formed between them as he pulls far away enough to look into the darkly swollen and burning eyes

(harl)
his back arches so flexible pulling him away from lips that carress even as it moulds his body to the one above him hands flashing snaking out faster than should ever be to pull him close. a rolling carress of his face along the length of the others (it is stupid forgive me?) pulling him close to nip at bottom lip drawing it out between teeth part hesitant part playful.

(nak)
there is a smile that wanders over those lips, a huffed sigh that could only be ascertained as laughter, breath expelled so much slower, if it could only be a purr, as faces rub in caress, arms crawling to settle around shoulders (...yes it is silly....) fingers crawling into hair (...for I will never let you forget...) lips meeting in response to the hesitantly playful nip to deepen into a stronger, assertive, kiss (... I am yours, just as you are mine...)

(harl)
"do you want to go to bed?" there is a grin in his voice as well as on his face although he doesnt really give nakhti the choice instead wrapping him in a hug and picking him up going to carry you there caveman style. warm body i want to hold all night long just curl up against you and a body of warm fur. his desires whispered in your ear he moves from living room to bedroom lover in hands

.01.20.03. - wicked games [harlequin-dahlila-grania]

[cymaa]

(dahlila olufemi)
Crunch. . . crunch. . . crunch
The exquisite sound of sand beneath ones feet is delightful. It may be this one tiny detail that made her feel so at home in the dark, commercialized club. She passes within easily, and take in tonight's press. Long fingers brush back trailing tendrils of hair as she manuevers around a few people to the bar. The music was sultry, and she can't help but move in its rhythm, while she walks. She could pass for decor here, her stamp of blood on features, face, and body. Black on her dusky skin and with her dark hair and mixed eyes make a contrast of proportions that draw the eye, or make one overlook her. Whats one more Egyptian thing among an egyptian themed night? Sliding up to a stool, she perched there, long legs crossed beneath long leather skirt, and ordered wine. Its deep red counterpoint to her dark, and she lit a slim black cigarette as she watched the ebb and flow of people like waters betwixt the banks of hr homeland.

As her face watches people, ears languidly listen to sound like fine wine, her mind trails over a recent piece she had seen. One that would fit nicely in her den. Pondering over the qualities of it, as she sits. The cigarette comes up, lips wrap around it delicately and a long low draw of flavored addiction before it comes away, and a long minute later smoke drifts lazily from her mouth. Setting it down in the ashtray at hand. The bartender here was nothing if not ideal. Fingers toy along the rim of her as yet untouched wine, slightly chilled and smelling of mild age and potent alcohol. Rich, dark reds were always so tantalizing. . . slender fingers trace a dance along that rim with perfect nails clicking the glass every so often.

(harl)
he decends the stairs slowly glass of wine in one hand the liquid half gone a rosy pink colour like the touch of a sunset just before the helios dies and the world sinks into nights embrace. he glides there is no other word for it as if feet dont quite touch the ground down those stairs. to the ground floor. the twisting writhing bodies and major dance beats once more summoning him. that and he did not find anyone that interested him upstairs.

a raver at heart his outfit shows this the shirt is a shimmering gold translucent and clining just right to show off the body that flows beneath it. black leather that looks almost painted on hugs his legs. and boots compleate the outfit... eyes dark like the darkest of chocolates look out from between strands of raven hair the khol that surrounds them adding to that dark depth.. he brushes one of the bangs from his face only to have it slide back over tanned skin a second later a twist of a smile playing on his features. now who and where and my my my how will one have fun

(dahl)
Finally, a drink. Its that perfect combination of deep red lips (rubies) that sip at the deeper red wine. Must be an expensive brand, because not a trace clings to the glass when her lips part ways with the glass. Even dressed down, dressed for the dark den this place was, she still looked upper class. Eyes are misty dark, blue swirled grey, and speak of intelligence as they roam exotic patrons and minute artistic detail. Still her mind hums around the scroll she had found. The one that would match her set so well. It was the visual, colorful story of the same that amrched up exquisitely arced spine. Black lines and glyphs told some tale on her. Can you read it? She can.

Setting her glass aside on its tiny napkin, and taking up her cigarette, inhaling the sharp, sweet cloven scent that flavored it. She smelled of her cigarettes and her abode. Sandalwood and cloves. A spicy, heady mixture for a spicy, heady woman. What would the Board say if they saw her out after work?

(harl)
they would probably be to busy drooling to really notice where she was, this decedant den of antiquity, to busy trying to hide the fact that they where staring and had been caught themselves in such a place to wonder why she was there...

those eyes deepest dark look slowly aorund the club as he moves finally from his perch on that last step. graceful and deadly he moves through the croud as if water flowing down a river the path of least resistance. bodys flow by with not a touch where others must force thier way through the crouds with an ungainly struggle he seems to simply walk. silken glide takes him slowly towards the bar skirting the edges of the dance floor. something had caught his interest something he had wished to see. a play of skin on a silken back he had thoughthe noticed while surveying the room. now turned from him or is that to face him.

(dahl)
She's not looking for anyone, in particular, or really at all. Its a relaxing time to descend from Corporate America and cut loose, indulge her other passions a bit. Shifting some, the softcreak of leather as her legs recross the other way and smoke drifts up from her cigarette. A dark half smile on her lips as she watches. Music and voices pouring into finely tuned ears. Just another face in the night.

(harl)
it is not the face he is interest no not with that much silver gleaming at throat and navel. how can she stand the stuff and with her colouring gold would look better anyway. silver is the colour for ice quens and nordic monsters. no she would look better in the burnished gold that is so reminiciant of the desert sun. the white gold of nooon days fire, the yellow that is sands in sunset. so it is with a slight amount of distaste that he circles her although the rest is much approved of. he knows it was here somewhere but where? eyes play across the croud he was sure it was here. then again the line of glyphs come into sight oh no it is the woman in silver. that smile falters for a moment before he can muster it again place it back into a genuine smile gliding towards the woman with the tattoos upon her back

(dahlila)
. . . And from all corners of the earth did the great Goddess, Isis, gather the strewn pieces of her consort and husband, Osiris, thereby to assemble them with the aid of Nepthys and Anbubis . . .
Mulling over the tale in her mind. Its colorful patterened story inked into papyrus and would complete her small collection for that one room. . . hmmmm. . . decisions, decisions. Tapping off a bit of ash from her cigarette and taking another long lungful of sweet addiction, she pondered, letting eyes and ears do as they will while she did. The very same story etched into black elegant inks on her back. Like a human scroll of ancient history. Exotic for the unenlightened, intriguing for the learned few.

So while she thought, her swirled eyes caught on the exotic dark one, the sleekly gliding one who moved about. While this place catered to the deeply different, he stood out some. Maybe its just the eyes. . .

(harl)
that stretch of skin studied so closely every swirl every line every minute detial something iin that look suggests he could draw it now both her entire back and the glyphs that mark it without a trouble. even in that brief glance before she can spin on feet the sound of leather drawing across leather as she turns the way that top flows and silver is once again exposed to eyes. like white fire burning at her throat and navel... a dark god long forgotten bast his mistress he moves with that predatory grave that attracts so many and scares others... dark and exotic a sweet blend of old european, egyptian and something else. something many dont really know the blood o the rom. and modern day club culture. written across his face in his eyes are the misteries of worlds mostly forgotten written across his clothes is the mistery of the bachinaal only now being rediscovered by the youths of this country.

eyes light with amusement as he looks upon her. that smile growing he has been noticed. and he knows it that glide carries him the last few steps that seperate them the distance halved then halved again... usually he would get closer but that silver is so cold the last of that rosy liquid a light and fruity elixir sweet wine stains his lips before empty glass is placed on the bartop. the stool next to hers claimed. .

(dahl)
She comes from the land of burning sands and blazing suns. The land of animal gods and bloody history. The land of myth, mystery, and history that even now lives on. It is not a light past, nor a pretty heritage. The strangely compelling man does not frighten her. In fact is more intriguing then not. It even draws her back from her musings some, enough that she titls her head to his side, not quite facing him, in a silent inquiry maybe, or just a silent acknowledgment.

One dusky tan hand lifts her wine to her lips once more, filling her mouth with the rich aroma and taste. Lips damp with it and licking them slightly, gathering it all in. . . but she doesn't look trite. Its all done in sleek, soft ways. Then the glass returns to the napkin beside her, and the aroma of wine, cloves, and sandalwood fills in the absence.

(harl)
such sweet scents all it is missing is the undertone of myrhhh so close to his own lover. he draws a deep breath bringing taste and scent over his pallete the essence of her drawn deep into his lungs. so sweet so nice.

he continues to study her with those dark chocolate eyes. he doesnt hide it his interest although there is sometihng dispasionate in it something not quite right it is not lustful male enjoying the view but rather someone studying a puzzle a rubix cube a scroll that he must decipher.

finally his voice however pours from between parted lips, stained with wine fine delicate and expensive. "hello" it vibrates an almost tangiable force that one could touch and hold a simple word that seems to draw on forever mixing and blending with the music. becoming part of it overlapping it to only become seperate once more as it drifts to her ears.

(dahl)
No, his watching her did catch her attention. She was used to the men of the various companies making eyes at her. Something about being foreign she supposed, since she was fairly conservative by day, but this one did not, thouh he had interest. . . how odd.

She listens to that wod. Her ears replay it in minute detail. Words, language, voice. . .its a beauty to her. Heaven for no one else but her. The sound that emerges from ruby lips is lushly foreign, like the speech of some long dead Pharoah queen who wandered into modern nights. Rich with its egyptian songs and play.

"Good evening."

(harl)
he is also forign or at least looks forign his voice has an exotic blend of so many languages so many cultures. although the liltng sound of the romani is sitll predominant. "yes it is, and how does the evening find you" oh daughter of the nile with words upon your back what secrets are enclosed within flesh and written clearly for those with knoweldge to understand. and why oh child of the delta are you wearing silver. is not gold the metal of your people? eyes flow to that necklace stop there prehaps it is peekaboo he wishes to play before the gaze slides back up to your face. tilting once more to the side studying you in that half light.

(dahlila)
How does it? Her two little vices being sated in a lushly sensual atmosphere, dressed as far from business professional as one could get. . . yes, she was feeling good. Letting her hair down so to speak.

"Relaxing. . . and yourself?"

Why does she wear silver? Perhaps because it goes so nicely with gleaming skin and black. Perhaps because it shines like the moon instead of beating like a sun. Who can say for sure. Nothing about her as it seems.

(harl)
"enjoying the atmosphere" eyes look not so much at you but through you as if he can see what is etched into the skin on your back from this side and if by staring at it long enough can come to understand exactly what it is that he sees... prehaps he shoould just ask but that would remove some of the fun prehaps although it would offer up the answer so much quicker.

(dahl)
She's used to the looks. Hardly notices them anymore. Its what comes of having strange markings instead of hearts and thorns and other too often seen tattoos. Hers had signifigance, to her, and were the lore of ancient blood and long tradition.

"Its easy to do in such a place."

Facing him a bit more now, as she takes a drink of her wine once more. The glass itself having only reached half empty. She's not drnking heavy tonight it seems. Nostrils flare slightly as she smells the richness beneath it. Sliding smoothly down her throat and then attention given back to the mysterious stranger who sat beside her with peering eyes.

(harl)
"i find it reminds me a bit of home" liar although a very good one. "i love the mix of old world and new beginnings" the club beats with the lifeblood of youth yet it is a palace of antiquity frozen forever in the past of some lost desert temple... a place where those like him where worshiped as gods. do you know an incantation of your own sits with you my dear.

(nak)
cruel

it describes the slash of smile across slender face, the curve of lips that draws a smooth expression between high cheekbones framed by sculpted jaw, shadow trails of long black hair dangle to his shoulders, lifted by the slow crawl of fingers that find their way through the midnight strands, body arching into liquid stretch which ends with arms unfurled above slender frame, fingers splay, hands opening themselves to the glittering stars in the night sky ceiling while his feet touch the desert sands below

his body a bridge between earth and dark sky

left hand with it's pattern of ink embedded within skin the guide, it begins at a point just below middle knuckle and sweeps downwards, he can feel the darkness crawling down his flesh, falling as rain from the intricately hidden speakers far above, over the loosely fitting silken shirt and the black pants that pool around his ankles, flooding into the warm sands that covet his toes as if answering his silent commands, the darkest army gathering at his feet

that is when he turns, slow, deliberate, grains of sand crushed and sorted beneath pivoting foot, slow, strolling strides taken to weave through the club's patrons

just what is it the devil seeks tonight

(dahl)
The place was well done, but its not home. Home are the musty, murky tombs with their glorious murals and tales. Scents of death and eternal life. Grit of sand and heat. Oh how she misses home somedays. Instead she plied her skills learned at home for corporate America, and collected small treasures of the past, safely hiding them away from tawdry, ignorant hands.

"It does not remind me of home so much as aids in remembering."

Mini seech for her. Words her trade, and life, but in her relaxation they were only wine to the ears, not pushed from the throat. No, her nameless companion could be any exotic face and she would never know the difference. Her world was built of history and myth. Taking up that delicately scented cigarette once more, but no inhale, just holding it, filling their space with its scent.

(harl)
"and where is home to you" child of the delta. the last left unsaid even as he watches her cat and mouse a game and war of words that pouring seductive tone to melt hearts and set fires of lust alight. that scented ciggarette raises slowly in the distance that seprates them a burning beacon that draws his eyes the subtle play of smoke in the air before it is swallowed by the darkness entrancings. the sweet smell tickling the back of his nostrils enchantment. and beneath it all her.. the simple movement of hand and arm as the hand raises slowly brining with it that burning ember.

there is another in this club prehaps he had been looking for him prehaps he can feel his presence or prehaps a stray glimpse over the shoulder of the one he talked to currently is enough to allert him of the others presence whatever it is that smile altohugh not changing seems to become more genuine softer somehow. eyes alight upon the silken figure that weaves like a deadly viper through the crouds. tell me eve was your serpent as sweet looking?

(nak)
thief

his ancestors stole the very breaths from babes, tasting innocent souls with each inhalation across viper's tongue, dusky lips part, drawing in the scents and tastes to slip across his tongue with each step, past each body, as if slowly choosing the soul which will be reaped before dawn

temptation

eyes a molten swirl of brown and green draw towards the bar, their weight skimming down inked heiroglyphs turning to the pinprick icicles of something with sharp hooves slinking across a grave, climbing into the depths of a forgotten tomb, yet he does not read them, he does not comment, a blink brings the focus elsewhere, drawing to the boy

torture

drawn by the boy, something changes in that sinister smile, a deviant warmth to the cruelty, an invitation to the aloof step, those eyes sweeping down the length of him, before the manshadowcreaturespirit melts behind a gathering of patrons, slipping away, the serpent slithering through the desert sands, searching for what dares become blessed oasis to shade and quench and cool what heat the relentless sun must have inspired beneath scaled skin

(dahl)
Oh how she loved a voice, loved words. The meanest face and if it poured out a voice sweetly rich and decadent she could die happily. He spoke and forlong moments all she hears is the sound, no words, no meaning. . just the voice. Then the words. Mind picking apart the words, nuances, sound, for accents, languages, rhythms. Its what she does. Student of tongues. Known in the small sphere of her world for her middle eastern mastery. Finally, drawing in some of the smoke that wafts between them and setting the stick aside she settles for fingers that toy absently with that flimsy little chain about her waist, even as she watches him. To answer? Oh that ruins the fun. . .

"Where might you think it would be?"

A game, a word game, a mind game, and every inch of it fun. Drink it up, beautiful man, and come play. What draws your eyes away? Lips drift up to a slight smile, a tempting smile that begs the question.

(harl)
from what forgotten place and time did you step forth, which gods do you serve and from what temple did you crawl are you the serpant that crawls on its belly to whisper sweet words like the slither of scales over sand? or prehaps you are servant to the shadowcat that stalks the night to steal the soul of the innocent. like the adder that hides in the long grass waiting within the welcoming embrace the posion hidden deep within the bossum of beauty. is it the birds eye that you cast upon us the ibis who governs over pens and inks or the hawk sailing across the day light sky. prehaps it is the mother and father you serve isis and osiris. that creation myth carried in so many cultures told in so many ways... are you from the hidden valleys and high desert sands or the green flood planes where the river spills her blood into the sea.

as a swirl of the croud steals the sight of his lover eyes drift back to the woman, it would seem he could get an answer on what is written there much sooner than he thought. that smile turns to her sooo you wish to play the game "are you from the upper or lower kingdom?"

(grania)
There is a hush that surrounds her, a quiet pensiveness, a aura of grace that soaks through every little movement: the tilt of head, the slide of hair, the drop of lashes only to raise again, the curve of lip into a smile offered the bouncer as ID and cover is produced.
The picture is determined to match the face, and ID is tucked into denim pocket of new lowrider jeans, sand underfoot scuffed by first step of leather boots. Poetry in motion, feline grace as arms are slid from coat to reveal bare skin under delicate silk camisole, a deep blue, much like eyes surrounded by darker then dark lashes, which are often obscured by the fall of blondish curls that slides over ear to tickle under jaw.
Music pulses and sings to movement, intrepreted by slide of foot and sway of hip, the roll of shoulder in subtle shift, the cant of head, and sparkling gaze, steps that weave and wander throughout the patrons, attention drawn, attention diverted, her own attention divided among all, fingertips sliding over statue, touch gracing glyphs along the walls - unread, but appreciated for the beauty within each sweeping line and mark.

(nak)
some maze is being drawn in the sand, this steady prowl, his very path a string left within wake to fall latent against the grains until it is whipped taught and deadly, wrapping about a stray ankle, striking from the murky Nile waters like some prehistoric crocodile dragging the unsuspecting wildabeast to drowning depths, like some secret which tantalizes even the most concert into the cursed depths of the richest tomb

there is a hunger in those eyes, a deep desire that ebbs and flows as tidal waves crashing over the blackest of hearts, and there is something more that begins to follow him, some call, some draw that weaves the sweetest scent of honey and myrrh clinging to dark clothes, lost in the liquid self-indulgent movement that aligns itself to the rainfall music, a dance of his own, lost in the pilgrims which cast themselves into this modern desert

but still he watches the bar, the occasional glance, the intricate and intimate stare

(dahl)
So he guessed the homeland, but a new question flows? Its not hard, especially sitting against such a backdrop, to know her ancestry. Not as if she tried to hide it. Oh the lips curl up a bit at his question, but silence still reigns, silence and scent and music. She disturbs the strung out moment, spun out like eternity, by slipping a hand around her glas, and taking a long, deep drink. Lips and drink match, deeply darkly counterpoint to her. Setting it back, nearly empty now, she waves the bartender over for a refill and then her swirled eyes flick back to Harlequin. If another watches them, she knows not, or cares not. His voice is more musical then the music, and trying to decipher that accent a puzzle in and of itself.

What shadow turned you out of its fold to torment this world with sweetly decadent sound? What god's grace did you steal to nie on fly amongst lowly mortals who jostle and fight the press. As much a mystery yourself, stranger. Eyes can say so much, but lips even more.

"And what do you know of the Kingdoms, stranger?"

A question for a question for a question. The game deepens.

(harl)
eyes that watch and dance and play the sweeping geastures of the other as he weaves his wicked spell through the crouds upon the sands. what is it you doo sweet lover in your seductive dance. who will you capture with your movement and your gaze, so that they sacrafice themselves up to you so willingly... eyes dance and flow watching for the stray glimpse of the figure that moves across artificial desert as much as they watch dalilah. prehaps more... "conqured in war and bound in peace thier history is to extensive to summ up in a simple scentence. are you born of the desert or the delta?" there is something there whatever language he calls his first english is just as fluent to him prehaps he grew up speaking both. the slight tinge of american of european of english and irish all blend into his it is good old fashioned melting pot with a dash of old world lilt to take the edge off. to give it that sweet tonal quality that can bring forth image of silken sheets and fur sliding across the spine.

(grania)
Something shimmers in crystiline gaze, something speaks of stories untold, of things most have never seen, of deeds that can never be undone, of desires that can never be fulfilled but by the grace of her hand. An approving eye slides over this, or that, only to fall away in curiosity of that, or this. Something continues to pull her eye from one thing to another, each devoured by heat and at times memorized by touch. The grace of fingers sliding over skin, touch of arm, brush against swell of flank, curve of back where hand rests to herald her passage among the sea of patrons, just as quickly removed even as the feel is memorized..stored, to be remembered another day, explored another way.
She has yet to speak (and in that alone she speaks volumes), lips have yet to do more then curve into slightest smile, and still she wanders, an ever explorative slink between shadow and light..

(nak)
what game it is he plays, some spell woven in the patterns on the sand - decadent, devious, and delicious with each step and sway, the slide of his body against another, bump and lean of weight that could only be deemed as seditious for it far exceeds a casual placement of hand or hip or arm or full press of form driven by the music's enchanting call, this deliberate cobra rising from the sands, emeralds glitter behind his eyes, venom could so easily drip from his tongue

but how the game wanes

hunger unsatisfied, craving uninspired, it drives him from the shifting masses, shadow slipping between bodies to find place at the bar, negligent glance allowing a further scrutiny of Dahlila's back, before those eyes drift across her shoulder to Harlequin with the barest ghost of a smile

and then he looks away

(dahl)
His words echo true and yet. . . its too much fun to play the mystery. A flicker at the others around them, brief, more a pause then an attempt to see any one thing. The swell and roll of his voice enough distraction for now. If only she heard such delightful things during the day, her job might be more interesting. That wash down her back, muscles rippling with a half suppressed shiver. . . indeed fur along the spine.

"I'll be kind. . . sun baked desert saw my childhood, though the banks of the Nile were everpresent."

What towns and cities did that leave? In the Upper Kingdom, quite a few. Oh so many riddles and puzzles. Why tattoo that particular story upon her back? Why weave amongst darkly decadent places when she lived such an upstanding life? One balck brow tilts up some for his answer as she eyes him over the rim of her bleeding red wineglass.

(harl)
that left soo many questions so many towns many places and all those in between. lost in the distant land that he has only trod upon once. for such a breif moment...

that smile from over the womans shoulder awakens one in his own hands raise about to flicker then pause int hier movements frozen for an instant about to sign. yet then that gaze driffts away and he finds himself again drawn to the woman the woman with her secrets the answers written across her skin

"how long have you been here my dear?"

(grania)
The common press, the careful slide of hand and body, the serpentine writhe of flesh as one dances with another, drawn into the movement as further careful study to contrast experience with memory.
Where one lacks inspiration, another finds it, where one is unsatisfied, another drowns in bounty. where riddles abound and answers are questions, silence under musics swell is her steady companion.
One asks, another answers, another asks, one answers, and soon such questions lead her onto the floor to join press and slide of bodies in motion. Grace incarnate, seductions mystery in every step that brings her closer to her (newest, recent) companion. Hands slide over chest, lazy caress, learned exploration of swell and curve of lean bodies press, brow lifting in amusement, head cants to the side as voice speaks in her ear, and finally a sound slips from her lips in form of soft laughter. Head shakes, smile remains, and she turns from him to dance alone.

(nak)
a drink appears at the beckon of gesture, glass raised to his lips and drained before flesh leaves the hard, warmed curve of the container, and that is when eyes slide over again, to her back, dark brow casually lifting in passing interest

his hand moves in a gesture again, some errant dance of limb in the air, perhaps his inspiration has returned, or perhaps he explains the glyphs to his unacknowledged companion

(dahl)
But she asks no questions of him? Thats not how to play the game. Wetting her lips slightly, before speech, wondering at the hand, she glances over her shoulder. Swirled eyes of blue and grey take in Nakhti down the way. No idea if he was who Harlequin looked to, hands moved for, but he was back there. One sinuous, sleek manuever, and then her head comes back to fix on Harlequin.

"Oh no, stranger. . . I answered your question. Answer one for me."

No more secrets, lovely man, with the deadly beautiful until you tell me something of thee.

"Your voice speaks of many places, but one must be named home. . ."

Picking up her cigarette, she inhales the cloven smoke and waits, eyes fixed on him.

(harl)
"what if my home is all places and none? then how should i name but one and tell you that it is my home would you wish the lie to spill from between these lips in a naming of a town or country?" hands watcht he delicate play of nakhtis own hands and limbs the serpents dance they weave even as he answers her. those eyes fixed on him the play of smoke in front of fave teasing the senses.

(grania)
One leads, another follows, one slides away, another chases, and still the slide and press of flesh and fingers and smooth of hand and thigh against anothers continues, while sleek movements carry lithe form toward the bar.
Soon slender graceful form slides against wood, tender waved over and lips purse ina moment's contemplation before he is beckoned forward, closer, and voice murmurs low across his ear the silken purred request. She leans away again, hands curled around the edge of bar, back arching in smooth feline stretch before relaxation settles and she awaits her service.
Shimmering amber liquid is set before her, and fingers lift the glass to lips, pausing as inhale pulls fragrent bouquet across her senses, sip taken, savored against pallatte before it slides away, single mouthful drained before clink of glass sees wine set back upon bartop.

(dahlila)
That cigarette finished, she snuffs out its tiny glowing light in the ashtray neary and slips her tiny purse over closer. Miracle of miracls it is a slim case of gold she pulls out, and opening it reveals a half dozen more of her favorite vice, neatly arrayed like tiny mummies in their case. She holds the case out to Harlequin as she takes one for herself. No words given yet, just that simple, motion. The gentle scent of the cloves cloying from the tiny encased sticks, and she breathes it in lightly. Sweet, but not as sweet as his voice.

(harl)
he shakes his head ever so slightly at the offered cigarette "no thankyou my dear but thanykou for the offer" the shake of his head such a minute geasture yet soo expressive at the same time as if in the smallest of movements he could communicate so much

(khepera)
The music is...alive!
The atmosphere is..unique.
It is a different world unto itself.

He was simply in love with it. There is a first time for everything. This was his first experience at Cymaa. A virgin to the sinful world, displayed before him. A stamp on his hand, he was old enough to get in, past the door man, through the volumes of black, velvet curtains..
and here he was..

Dark eyes, two deep pools of Obsidian, sweep over everything, drinking in the imagery the club displayed. The music pounded into his ears, seeped into his brain, into his body. He felt his muscles coil, seduced by the sounds, scents, and sights of supple flesh, beauty people, and the dance. He makes his way through the crowd, side-stepping with a perfect, almost prenatural grace. His body, lean, stream-lined muscle, an athlete's build. Brown skin, sun-kissed by Khephir's morning rays, ripple beneath black mesh and worn, soft leather. Dark shadows of tattoos graced the slow, sweeping arc of a spine, from the nape down to the tailbone, disappearing beneath the hem of leather pants. Another, more intriquing spiral, decorated his left shoulder, only made visible at close inspection of what the design truly was. Too tribal to tell. Too dark to see beneath the mesh shirt. Bits of jewelry, white gold, adorned in small hoops in his ears, and gathered around his throat, fashioned in thin ringed choker with a bejeweled scarab beetle as the pendant. His eyes, were thinly-lined in black Kohl, much like the style the Egyptians wore. It seemed rather fitting.. for a place like Cymaa.

(dahl)
The case clicks closed lightly and she slips it away into the dark recesses of her purse. Withdraws a gold plated lighter and gives life to her cigarette. Its a practiced thing. Taking a deep breath of its new smoke beofre laying it aside in the ashtray. Hands free and empty within her leather wrapped lap, drapped atop long crossed legs.

"So if you are of everywhere, stranger, what shall I call you?"

(nak)
there is something that calls him, something that plucks his attention away, myriad eyes pausing in their sweep across Harlequin to dive towards the feline stretch, the limbering of dancing frame, the savored amber liquid

disconcerting - he simply watches, silent in the heavy thrall of music

(grania)
The tap of nails on bartop slides within the confines of the music and press of voices murmur that hums throughout the room. glass is lifted again, slender fingers wrapped around stem to lift shimmering liquid to lips agaiin. Kiss of red against glass and wine slides down throat in smooth swallow with no less grace that spins lithe to rest back agianst bar, and allow dark eyes greedy examination of all before her.
Disconcerting his study, slow her smile as brow make slow climb toward strawberry curl, the arch of neck smooth that leads to tilt of chin, turn of head, meeting of silent gaze.

(harl)
"for now i am called Harlequin.' distracted yes his back to the woman and her feline grace all he can see is the play of emotions as they write themselves across nakhtis face. the intesne study that slides from him to another. lost for a moment in the movement a jealous lover that would covvet his gaze alone... or a curious individual that wanders what it is he is missing... "and you dear daughter of the nile what may i call you?"

(nak)
there is a slow blink, green and brown eyes, the colors of earth's deepest plunder and the riches grasses that grow from it, hazel wrapped and wrought into the finest of crystaline reflection, they fall away behind the lazy drop of midnight lashes... there is nothing more than the ghosting curl of lip, the absent shadow of a possible smile, and the dark brow mirroring hers' climb

(khep)
He continues a slow movement through the crowd. His head canting to survey more of the surroundings. He could gravitate to the bar, or a table, but didn't quite feel like sitting alone. Even though he came alone. Ruby would be mad at him for not bringing her. Not as if he could. She was not suited for this place, and the noise would have been too much for her. Still though, the thought bubbles a soft chuckle in his throat. He casts a side-ways glance to the dance floor, another option. He felt an moment of indecessiveness come over him, unsure as to where to venture first.

The decor of the club still held most of his attentions, enraptured by it. Dark eyes move upward, roving aimlessly until they fall upon the two massive guardians, the statues of the dark god, Anubis. A grin, turns the corners of his mouth, upward into a charming smile, and he does laugh then. The rich sound, vanishing by the power of the music, heard only in his ears.

(dahl)
"Dalilah. . ."

Gentle

Nothing about her seesm to fit that word, but her surname, it made it all come toegtehr so nicely. Its a pity she didn't give it. His attention strays and she wonders, but since he is a chance met person it doesn't bother. Instead she gives another moment to her wine and casually waits. Her full name? Perhaps it might be interesting. . .

"Dalilah Olufemi."

. . . Beloved of the Gods. . .

(grania)
Smile spreads and back arches in feline stretch over bar before simple rest of slender frame onto elbow and subtle shift of weight toward him. Lazy blink bleds to easy slide of darkened gaze over Nakhti, intimate a touch as if fingers had reached to discect the coil of muscle under skin under fabric under nail.. Brow lift mirrored, and slow curve of lips breathes life into softer smile to only be hidden behind glass, another swallow taken..

(khep_
A decision made, more like made for him. In the form of a pretty face, with bright blue eyes and blond curls. He smiles at the young lady that bumps into him, whether by mistake or not. He apologizes in a gentlemanly fashion, speaking low close to her ear, as bodies closed distance, so she may hear what he says. Whatever he added into his apology, it made her wide-eyed and giggling. Though, a couple of drinks would do that as well. She's had many. Her hand sneaks out to find his, dragging the youth off to the dance floor. He doesn't bother to fight it, moving up close behind her as they disappear into the swell of dancing bodies, to become one with the machine.

(*harl)
"dalilah olufemi" tasting the name rolling it around his mouth like some would a precious wine finally offering it up as sacrafice and prayer to the gods. "it is a pleasure to meet you delilah olufemi i am harlequin sinclair of the lyupis family

(nakhti)
hungry

it describes the look in his eyes as he watches, but what it is for - for her? for the secrets she may harbor? for the drink that is cupped against her palm? as her eyes drop, so do his, though he does more than disect muscle and bone, perhaps he looks to delve in deep enough to read what is sliced across her heart, as if judging the temptation of her soul, lips parting on breath to taste her, as she tastes the liquor

perhaps

but all it brings is another smile in this strange little game, which will breach the silence first, if at all

(dahl)
Of the what family? Her question hidden behind a little smile and wineglass. That was something just interesting enough to research. Hmmmm. . . ponder, ponder. A smooth sip, sliding down her throat, staining red lips redder with moisture.

"Indeed. It is, Harlequin Sinclair."

(grania)
Hunger, his vision screams, for many things, and none of the same echos in multicolored gaze. Her own reflects that, but in such honest proportions it is perhaps easy to see what it is she hungers, what desires dance under her skin Another shift of weight brings her closer still, and glass is set upon the bar between them. The silence is not broken, but single nail lifts to trail along his collarbone, lashes falling to mere slits through which darkened gaze watches. An eternity, forever in a moment and lashes lift to meet his gaze again. why break the silence and cloud the air with mere bantering when hand slides over chest, following lean muscled line, only to pull away again as fingertips touch waist. Smooth roll of shoulder leads body back to press full against bar again, second elbow finding top to brace lazy lounge.

(harl)
he watches the wine the way it swirls in the glass the way it flows down throat the slight contraction of muscles the flicker of tongue to claim moisture still staining her lips. "i have enjoyed our little dhance my sweet desert rose" the way the reminants of that drink swirl in the glass seem to capture his imagination his very presense flowing like the liquid as he raises to his feet. that geasture so graceful and sinful.. sedicious and sensous, eyes flow over nakhti over the one who tempts him and a frown forms ever so slightly. although it is soon replaced with that sweet deadly smile. "i am most sorry my dear but it is time for me to leave i have other places to visit this night and have already dallied to long."

he moves into the crouds to be swallowed by the multitude of people dissapearing as if never there. the gllimpse of gold a play of raven hair gone and out the doors as soon as coat can be colletected ((sorry i have to go vegie soup to be made and all that jazz will see you all around))

(dahl)
"Yes, indeed."

Watching him steal off into the ebb and flow of the crowds, with her piercing eyes. Languidly relaxed upon her stool, she goes back to her wine and her watching, mind wandering back to the pros and cons of that scroll she had seen.
Finally, her wine finished, she left money for her tab and slipped into her leather jacket. Gathering her purse, she slid into the crowds for the door. She had to work tomorrow.

(nak)
her single digit drags across the silken shirt, pulling and stretching loose fabric across chest, molding over lean muscle beneath, and he waits patiently beneath this physical inspection, diaphragm swelling with the slow breath, tasting the scents that roll from her skin with each blast of recirculated air

dark gaze flicks to the side, watching Harlequin move past, and away, and the smile that forms is untold in its meaning, a sinister edge in the gentle movement

a gentler, more graceful movement in the extension of long arm, fingers wrapping around the half-full glass placed between them, it is brought to his lips, held beneath his nose to allow its taste to wash across his features, and then it is tipped back and drained. completely.

(grania)
breath swells and slows and ebbs and everything is gathered and memorized with each passing moment. The movement of those beyond him slipping away is noted, the flicker of his gaze not missed, though her own has been drawn to the press of flesh against flesh in dance once more.
Sinister his smile, lazy is hers, slow the lead of eyes that pulls head around in easy roll on shoulders, brow a slow crawl upwards as eyes linger on fingers along glass, lips against rim, muscles of his throat contracting in draining swallow.
Long arm sweeps toward him, bypassing glass so recently drailed, nail a scrape across lips to gather missed moisture before his tongue has time to chase. pulled back, his touch tainted drop is brought to her own lips, suckled from flesh.

(nak)
how confident she is that he would have chased the touch, that her finger was in any danger of capture by his lips, and the white teeth hidden beyond, as if that, too, were some little tidbit offering for his hunger to consume, ready to be snatched away and bolted down his throat were she to linger too long

he does not pull away, nor does he follow the bait

instead the smile crawls into his countenance once again, the empty glass lifted in slight toast before it is set on the bar, and the man pulls away from the bar to disappear into the club's shadows, feet crunching on sand upon the dancefloor, one final dance, one final song, until he finds the door and disappears completely

(grania)
how confident she is, that his form can be memorized in the sequence of simple touch, that artists hands can sculpt and creat what the eye and fingertips have gathered. He does not follow, nor pull, and in her only the slight smile is returned, the knowing curve of lips that suggests she has all that she needed in such a very, very brief encounter.
Some find inspiration in the dance, some in the music, some in the press of flesh upon flesh... she? in the slightest of touches, the hunger of gaze, the desparation bred in every. single. movement. He is watched until he believes the dance to be over - and she knows the dance has just begun..

.01.19.03. - claiming eternal twilight [harlequin]

[north jersey]

(harl)
it had taken days to get the smell of sage out of his coat, he refused to wear it for the entire time so had spent most of it rolled up in front of his heater. a bundle of black fur lying in the middle of a downtown and downtrodden flat. yet finally he does venture out again... a hunger and a calling deep inside slowly brining him from his hidding hole and into the light, or night as the case may be. sends him walking with that silent easy stroll that attracts some and gives the others nightmares. a small smile as he begins the slow treck up stairs. hands pressed against the door a slight push up motion with his fingers as he breaths in deep through his nose. drawing in hidden sents and tastes. that smile grows and finally he rapps nuckles against the wood of the door

(nak)
smoke weaves and dances just on the other side of the door, and a warmth seems to throb through the wood, a slow seepage of whatever it may hold at bay inside - frankincense, myrrh, sandalwood - a heady mix that strikes out from some hidden shadow in the midst of ancient's bazaar, minutes pass, seemingly hours spent at the edge of anticipation's abyss, before a shadow flickers in the light beneath the door

the lock throws thick and heavy, slender form soon filling the dark space of the opening door, and a dark brow begins to climb towards the tousseled inky hair, then a smile crawls, slow and deliberate, ghosting over dusky lips (come in) as the space between the frame and panel widens, Nakhti stepping back, bare feet on the bare wood floor, there are candles and incense somewhere in the flickering shadows and lights inside

it was too dark last time for Harlequin to see, they did not spend enough time in the movement towards the floorbed in the back, but here is much like the room beyond, silks and linens drape the walls and windows, the makeshift bookcase tucked into one corner, the broken couch that's lowered itself to the floor behind the shin-high table - perhaps a harem would live here, rather than a bachelor male, but it is what he knows, what he adores, the desert luxury of his home, charcoal has been rubbed and smeared across the living room walls, the gathering of candles in the center haphazardly tossing light onto the portrait of a great catbeast - Bast

the lock clicks behind, suppled body leaning against the door, bare shoulders against the warm wood.... simply watching his companion (where have you been....) black drawstring pants hanging low on hips

(harl)
(out to see the family) he smile grows as he looks at nakhti. then eyes finally pass around the flat flowing over him then over his shoulder to take in the most minute of details exelent what a lovely little place. what had been glanced i the periferary in darkness and shadows is now enjoyed in what for him is more than ample light.

that movement the subtle play of muscles sliding under skin as he slides sidways that opening to let him into the flat. a subtle glide a hand raising to cup cheek draw fingers over chin (i missed you) and fainlly to step inside.... gaze rests upon thier mistress a sweeping bow for the painting. hey honour her where you can in his own flat he has a statue of unfired clay wearing her image. then there is the click as locks are closed behind him spinning on the balls of his feet black leather swimming around him like water. that smile grows wider as he steps close. so very close. hands play on skin a hand again raises to run along jaw, fingers over pulse curling in hair. lips lean in to steal a kiss (i really miss you)

(nak)
jaw sculpted out of the finest sand lifts, stretching into the grazing touch, as if to guide it into the darkest shadows beneath his hair, hazels eyes a murky twist of brown and green watching so intently as Harl draws close, a smile pressed against the kiss, before teeth playfully clamp on lower swell (i've missed you, too) hands warmed by the unnatural heat of the apartment dragging over leather coat, over shoulders and into raven hair, fingers curling to fists in their grasp

holding him so affectionately close

holding him against skin that wraps the blackest of beating hearts - how so many others shy away - arms draping around Harl's neck, forehead leaning against the other, still watching so intently from beneath the curtain of dark, dark lashes

(harl)
let me shine some light into that desolate place filled with the blackest of shadows. let me light up your soul so that it is not swallowed entirely by darkness.. like yet different there are so many simularities between them that a causal glance would easily mistake them as brothers. prehaps cousins. yet there a differences some so subtle that only close observation would notice others plain for the entire eye to see.

i will not run from you. and so his eyes say as he looks through half closed lids those dark eyes. sooo deep and dark like a livng mirror to reflect his soul. smile at you show you a roll of shoulders under hands let leather slip from them hands falling slowly to his sides as that heavy coat is drawn slowly. and then with ever increasing speed towards the ground. plays of black and red, like spilt blood over softest of skin. as it pools at his feet. arms hold his waist one hand playing against his skin the other holding something.

(nak)
hazel drops to follow the plummet of leather to the ground - shed your skin and expose to me the tender, bloody soul beneath - a strange glow appearing in the depthless pupils, a hunger for that which has exposed itself to him without pause or second thought, and once again the strangest of little smiles finds way to melt across his features

long limbs unwind as asps from around Harlequin's neck, slithering and sliding hands tracing the lines of neck and shoulder and down to flatten across chest, right palm snug against the fluttering skin just above pulsing heart, there is nary a consideration to how his ancestors so easily reached into countless bodies to pull the muscle free, sacrifices to the animal headed gods that held the world in their grasp... but he seems to have a satisfaction with leaving it right where it is

fingers a gentle tap against pect, weight shifts, lifting him in tiptoe stretch that's lithe and sensual against the Bagheera, long breath exhaled across just kissed lips, then the slender male slips away, bare feet soundless path towards the collection of candles in the middle of the floor, body folds, the sifter picked up as weight lowers into a half-crouch, fine glass stem sliding between fingers, cool swell of cup settled within his palm, a dark liquid swirls as it's lifted, flickering amber flames reflected in dark burgundy, held out in silent offer

how rare a sight that must be..... an open offer from one such as he

(harl)
barest of flesh my my he doesnt really like clothes afteralll nothing covers his upper body and he shudders as nakhtis gaze flows across his body as if it where a physical carress. the weight of it something tangiable against his skin something he enjoys so much.

and then hands follow his eyes. the sensation swim through him as hands play over his chest. that hand that rests opon pect as if to capture beating heart (you already own it my precious cat) eyes dark watch you watch that smile his own mirroring it. its hard to imagine him not smiling. like he always knows somerthing that everyone else doesnt some tragic trick about to take place and he ready to enjoy it all.

he breathes in the essense of of that breath the sweet taste of the shadow cat playing out across his lips as he breathes it in. tongue darting out wishing to taste to savour to drink it all... and then like some dark mist he is gone slipping from between fingers to pad silently across the floor to take within his grasp a glass the subtle play of light and shadow as he raises it and then offers it. head tilts to the side. as he studies you before he follows the bubusti across the interveening distance. sensual and predatory a gliding shift of muscle such deadly delicious force contained in most graceful of containers.

gass lifted from fingers with his free hand the other still clutching that item now visible.... a small bag. black velvet it would seem. flat not much larger than an inch square.... the drawstrings hanging from between fingers. that liquid is raised swirled beneath nose to scent it. even as he looks at you (and what is it you are giving to me)

(nakhti)
from within the glass the air shifts and changes as liquor swirls, bring to sensitive olfaction the taste of smokey fruit, an exquisitely sweet but dry wine

perhaps he anticipated the arrival

so slowly that arm drops back to his side, a negligent curl of muscle, bone, and flesh into comfortable balance, watching, waiting, candlelight dancing across tanned skin and obsidian ink, fingers moving in their graceful sign (Do you not trust me?) before completely stilling, a breath slowly drawn to fill his chest, and held for the answer

(harl)
glass raises to lips as he breaths in the smell the taste playing across his tongue... eyes alight with the challenge how dare yout hink i not trust you. yet you are a shadow cat freely offering something. liquid spills against lips. and is taken in a mouthful freely swallowed. as hands moves (whats not to trust) flowing across the interveening distance to once again take him in arms and to once again claim lips with his own... that heady mix of wine the glass deposited so delicatly on the small table as he moves towards you.

lips claim your own and a remenant of that liquid is passed between them... fingers circling his waist work behind his back to open that bag. and remove what lies within.

(nak)
the smile grows - dark and mysterious - as burgundy stains lips and smooths across tongue and throat

then he tastes it on his partner's lips, there is no collar to grab, so hands dart into raven hair as a cobra's strike, clenching as body twists to sit and pull Harlequin to straddle his own lap, suddenly devouring the kiss and striving to clean the wine completely from the even sweeter mouth - though as much as hold consumes it restrains, allowing himself to draw back as tongue's search finds no more wine leftover from the single swallow, the moist warmth of soft lick languid across lips to smooth away any vestige of stain

dark eyes slowly open to reveal swollen pupils, a satisfied serenity drawing into that cheshire smile, then a brow lifts, feeling the movement of fingers behind his back

(harl)
there is a graze as whatever it is slides slowly forth. silent and srpentine it unwinds slowly drawn along skin as he raises it up and up. lost in the all devouring kiss he stops his movements halted for ther breifest of moments before he can once again gather his thoughts sinking happily into nakhtis lap (i can spend my life here ) hands raise ever higher to play with dark hair. hands slide through it one each way dragging the fine gold chain with it. it smells of cinnamon then again everything that harlequin owns smells of cinnamon at least everything he wears anyway. and the natural sent of him from being held so close to his heart for so long... around his neck it goes. and is fastned even as he kisses your lips.

his body shifts subtly the bone structure the length of his hair the fine fur that flows along his spine. the way muscles elongate grow. hes shifting in your lap his teeth grow sharper and he bites through your lip. it would seem a deliberate geasture as he gives you an appologetic yet i had to do it look. as he places fingers in that small drop of blood. licking his lip clean afterwards.

that stained finger tracing the necklace the pendant that hangs from it. that mixture of spit and blood smeered over the dull golden gleam old it is or so it would seem and soft warmth of body heat contained within its small confines.

(nak)
long muscles along his spine arch and squirm at the tickle of chain and metal over skin, drawing him in slow movement ever closer to his partner, so convenient for reclaiming that kiss, to share a warmth between them that subtly crackles and burns like the candles littering the table and floor, hands move to a softened fingertip touch feeling the flux of muscle through the shift, as if to mold and sculpt it even as it happens, to create what it is Harlequin becomes against him

breath catches when sharp teeth pierce - the laziest of quivers running beneath flesh, a shiver of reaction within quick gasping sigh

blood wells and spills

and the shadowcat reacts, something darting into dark eyes to feel the silent ritual performed, the shudder rippling into a subdued bristle, an instinctual reaction because he does not yet know what it is that has happened, fingers fall, soon their tips grazing and tracing along collarbone, pausing to rest at what he knows should not be an empty spanse of skin, the knowledge dawning upon him what now rests beneath his own throat, the warm dull gold against his flesh

the question is only spoken by his eyes, by the lift of his jaw and the tilt of his skull (what did you just do, Harlequin.)

(harl)
have you ever noticed how extensive harlequins wardrobe is? yet how it does not seem to matter what form he wears how they still stay intact. my my my not hard to guess what little trick harlequin knows...

flowing from within nakhtis lap to stand hurt? what do you not trust me? the question the others eyes had asked him earlier now held there. maybe just the tiniest flash of pain but then again almost everyone does this little ritual differently and he well he just preformed it the way he knew to bind it to you it had to have a part of you... the way he moves the degected flow of larger muscles if before he was water now he is silk caught in the lightest of breezes... it would seem he was leaving hands scoop claws snagging that leather coat pulling it over shoulders that should be to large for it. swirling black as night red as blood deadly he circles like predator and prey claiming once more the space on his lap before you have time to adjust time to react fully. lifting the colar of his coat fingers guiding your eyes to the small stain like a spot of dark brown on the dark red. a small dried smeer of his blood hidden from sight by folds of leather. (do you understand)

(nak)
the emotion, the hurt, the dejection, how strikingly it is read in the language of muscle and flesh, already he rolls weight to follow and call back, the hand covered in patterend ink lifting as if to catch the cat that has become the shadow lifting away

though he freezes, as the coat is lifted, and the Bagheera returns, hands reaching to latch onto leather and pull him (possessively) close once more, following the path of fingers, and time slows to a stop as the connections click and the mytery unfolds as some bright stone turning over within his hands, fingers uncurl and stretch, gently tracing around the dark brown stain on red... pausing, breifly, as if to feel the life and magic still held in the dried blood, and without looking up, that hand then lifts, flesh sliding over the curve of jaw to cup Harlequin's face, eyes slowly closing

and the other hand lifts, blindly tracing the molded gold, the shape of the ankh, rewriting it's symbolism across his own flesh, as if rubbing the blood and saliva into the metal, and then it lifts to join the other at Harlequin's face, gently holding jaw between slender hands, and that's when those eyes open, gazing into the dark chocolate depths

he understands

and for the longest time he gazes, watching the way the candle's light reflects in those dark (beloved) eyes, as if peering into the Bagheera's very soul, reading some forbidden and ancient pictographic language that's spread across beating heart, judging the truth that is written, so permanently, there, and so slowly, he pulls back, looking at the man instead of the soul, an apology in the drop of his head, the curl of his shoulders - he will not regret his instinctive suspicions, but he so clearly regrets the hurt

(harl)
the geasture does not go unoticed the subtle shift of weight as he begins to flow forwards to snag with incked in flesh the subtle shadow the flees from his embrace. the way he flows back into his own stance once more....

then sinking slowly down into that embrace he watches as recognition, and understanding flows over nakhti as the geasture sinks in to what it is he has done.

eyes like the darkest chocolate. look upon nakhti. claiming his face as the other was claimed. reading deep within that look. raising chin slowly he kisses those lips claims them once more with his own the softest tenderest of kisses.... no do not appologise for it is nature. the hurt washed away within those encolising arms. with the knowledge that he was so hurt by his own pain his own hurt at what when you think of it is such a really small slight. .

(nak)
(thank you) the words mouthed into the gentlest of kisses, fingers moving in a slow crawl around the back of neck, he does not admit his fear at a rite worked without his knowledge, he does not admit how he knows such things could destroy him, because it is the nature of others to try to destroy the shadowcats - the tender touches between them speak only of the hurt wiped away by resumed affections, the depths of what such a gift would mean, knowing how important the pendant was

he would indulge in his hunger, he would allow hands to move over sokto form and strip the leather away, allowing himself this pretty flesh and fur canvas to paint with the oil of his scent, to rub his possession into muscle and bone with each explorative, devouring touch.. but he doesn't

instead there is an aching pause, a draw away, a small disance put between them, if only to speak, to give his hands the space to write in the air, asking what may be the most serious question he's ever posed to the other (Do you understand what it means to be with me?) knowing that to so many, what he is is but a mere legend, tales told to scare cubs as the sun sets (Do you understand what I am?)

(harl)
for longer than he can remember that pendant has hung around his neck.the pendant that now hangs so close to your flesh he feels naked without it yet somehow fulfilled to know that it is pressed against your skin.

hunger and desire feel him touch him flow through him. can i keep you. will you keep me.

the pause the distance that now seperates them a gulf much wider than could ever be expressed by the mere distance that seperates flesh from flesh hands dance in that interveening space even as the seriousness of his question burns in his eyes. "you are the darkest of my desires" his voice finally breaking the silence of the flat even before he did not speak as if to use voice in this inner sanctuary was some how sacralige yet it is a voice to be worshiped to worship with the rich tones poor from modified throat a husky purrrr to both entice and seduce as eyes that have bled into yellow focus on you slits narrowing as he takes your question seriously. "and i am the light to guide you back"

(nak)
the way he moves at the husky words, the way he seems to lean into them even with maintaining the space to allow hands to talk, it is as if the voice were a palpable caress that washed as desert rain across his flesh, bathing in the rare sacriledge of sound that enters his own den (I am darker) the words slowly woven into the air, thick as the incense cling of strange foreign scents (I am stained by the shadows, I am the cat that reclines at the devil's side, I embody the darkest of all our ancestor's sins. I am cursed. I am hated. I am feared.) something between them coils, a static connection suddenly brough to life, the pressure in the room seems to rise as the slender man begins to grow, body lengthening, features sharpening, becoming even more eerily exotic than the manbeast that sits within his lap

(I am metis. I am Bubasti.) even that talons that begin stretching from fingertips do not reflect the candle light, the black pelt leaking onto his skin voidal, devouring the low glow of flame as the elegant war-form of the shadowcat crouches in this tangled embrace, a frightening grace in the deadly handpaws that now dance in the air (I will claim the light you harbor, I will covet it to guide me, I will possess it as mine) long tail sweeps the ground behind him, tip curling in cadent sway, the dull gold ankh brilliantly gleaming in short fur

(I will make you mine. For eternity.)

that is when the beast stops, a chance given that never has or will be given to any other, ever again, long daggertipped fingers curling, the softest of fur brushed knuckles against Harlequin's cheek, it is the proverbial last step before the greatest fall, a chance to run because to be with him means to become as stained

the first further curls, talons biting into flesh, thick blood seeping across palm - to bind it to you it had to be a part of you - and as the fingers unfurl, the hand is held out in offering

if the Bagheera stays, now, the Bubasti will never let him go

(harl)
he rides the body as it grows the way others would a wave rising and falling with each shift of muscle each movement soft flow of skin and leather against the now furred hide eyes narrowed to slits stare at you watch you yet it is a throaty laugh that bubbles from his throat the sinister sound so out of place with him. yet it is also joyful the sound of an adult laughing at the pronouncement of a child. "did you not think i knew what you where shadowcat. no neither hated, nor feared not by me" the essence that which is them crackles between them grows like a dark shadow around nakhti.. that mystic power that is secrets manifest. no this feline beauty is both dark and seductive and most would find it also intimidating.

compared to yours his coat is the black of night. the subtle play of moonlight in darker shadows. the places between... yet nothing will ever be as black as the shadowcats the hidden spots can almost be traced by talons that gleem white when they slide from within sheethed fingers as his form grows heavier larger and more dextrous. the simularities are both more pronounced both selines children and more different when they are in their war forms. the room grows smaller the energy raises the dark power that is nakhti and his tribes history of stolen secrets is balanced and leveled mingled in the rush of power that pours from harlequin, the light as he called it. yet there is a darkness there too something just as sinister (you are not the only ones to walk in shadows yours only go there more willingly) powers mingle in a skin tingling charge of electricity that can raise the hairs on thier body. so much power in so small a place.... he looks at you as if considering your offer does he leave now while he still can while it is still safe or....

talons slice across his own palm in a geasture that mimmics yours. hands rasing to mirrror each other blood mingling in that slow sensaul flow of power as ruby liquid drips in to mingle at thier feet. palms pressed together. that mingling heartbeat slowing the sinking rythm matching.. (prehaps i am yours but you are mine).

"both light and dark mingle that we can walk between the dark of cahlash and the bright of rajah we will dance with nala torn between our two fathers. alll under the light of our mother." gaze sliding out the window to the light of the mooon that shines down upon them "let us hunt forever in the twilight for the secrets of both sides"

(nak)
blood pools on the floor between them, talon tips click together, fur mingles, liquid life forms a glue between their hands as fingers twine and clasp into tightest of grips, heartbeats melt together so that it flows between them, joining them, making them a part of each other - beneath the witness of the flames, Seline glowing pregnant amongst the glittering stars in the night sky, two greatest warriors - one the fluid reflection of silver light upon the darkest shadows contained in the other - tying themselves into the most intimate of knots

the laughter did not phase him, in brings a curl to dark lips, whiskers flaring in their pleasure, something stronger than affection glowing in murky eyes

Harlequin is perhaps the first - and only - he has been completely honest with, something he felt strangely compelled to say before they entered this bargain

free arm lifts, a graceful slide of wrist over furry shoulder, wrapping around long neck and pulling the other chrinos feline close, their clasped hands dropping to the side, but not unbinding, forheads touching in caress and rub, rough tongue, startling pink within the blackness uncurling to comb through the fur on Harlequin's face, smearing across scent glands to taste him, their mutual claim solidified in loving grooming

(harl)
although nakhti may feel most comfortable it he war form after all it is ths one in which he was born it is not the most comfortable for harlequin.

he watches nakhti he watches that deeper swell of emotion brings forth one of his own. even as the eyes flow over the entire body the furred form the carress of tongue the mingling mix of scents as his own lashes out to taste to mix and slide along furrrr the rumbling purrrrrr for both of them rumbling from deep within his chest. he enjoys the grooming the very luctury of the others tongue against his skin. there is soo much more you can lick and groom and ooooh cheeck pressed to cheeck mine scents mingling mixing and flowing against each other (yup mine) again that tongue darting out to taste and tease. mmmmmm a most fun night

.01.11.03. - coffee and chiefs [rosa-harlequin]

[atlantic city boardwalk]

(rosa saks)
It's late, and many of the shops have closed. Of course, many are already closed for the winter. Few people come to Atlantic City for the beaches in the winter, and thus few are interested in purchase kitschy little jewelry boxes covered with shells that someone collected in the caribbean, or sand-dollar necklaces, or even t-shirts that say "My Grandmother Went to Atlantic City and All She Got Me was this Lousy T-shirt!" Even those that remain open through the long, bitter winter months are usually closed by this hour, but the lights at Rosalie's are still on. Neon splashes warm crimson across the salt-encrusted planks of the Boardwalk, gleams off the few remaining piles of dirty icy snow that have clung to the nooks and crannies where the water winter sun does not quite reach.

It's late, and it's cold. The brief spell of 40 degree weather has passed, and the temperatures are falling again. The weather is not as cold as it is in the interior of Pennslyvania, where she was raised, but it is cold enough to make her wrap herself in her warmest sweater, cold enough to keep her away from the wide picture windows that leech heat from the waiting room no matter what she does. Cold enough that she has turned on a pair of space heaters to supplement the ageing furnace.

Need to get that replaced soon. The absent thought filters through her mind as the furnace groans momentarily, then kicks on at last. She hates spending the money when she's still paying back the mortgage on the building that financed the renovations, but there's nothing to be done about it. Her graphite pencil moves in her hand, and above the sketch of the church from her dream, she scrawls - furnace - quotes - as a reminder.

Her hands pass over her face, and she tries to shake herself away. It doesn't quite work, so it's another trip to the coffee pot, another brimming mugful of bitter black. "I can get a straight job. I've done it before. Never minded working hard. It's who I'm working for." she half-hums, half sings along with the Gilliam Welch CD playing on the stereo, in a thin, not-quite tuneful voice (there's a reason she doesn't do karaoke) and returns to the sketch pad open on the front counter, angling her slender body as close to the space heater as she can get without setting herself on fire. Elbow planted against the counter, open hand cupping her cheek, she continues her desultory sketching - doodling, now, really - and waits for the last hour and a half to pass so she can go home to another sleepless night. "Everything is free now. That's what I said. No one's gotta listen to the words in your head."

(nakhti)
there's something that drew him so far down south, something that drew him from the warm confines of his flat, or even the heated interior of Cymaa, something that was able to get him all the way down into Atlantic City, to the nearly deserted Boardwalk, to the boarded up businesses and those that have roughed it through the thin season of travel

the black woolen coat is pulled tight around slender frame, the soft gray scarf wrapped as an adder around his throat - so different than the clothing he has worn for the past few days in the jaunts through the Barrens, these are street clothes, these are expensive clothes, from the neatly stitched leather shoes, to the finely tailored lambskin gloves that wrap his hands, shadowy tendrils of hair flicker about his cheekbones, tasting and touching the sharp angles that construct his half-exotic features

within the strolling walk, there is something else that tugs at him, his curiosity, it's the form within the familiar windows, beneath the famliar red and white neon sign, and it draws him to a stop, his head tilting, hazel eyes watching her, before venturing to withdraw a hand from the warm cave of coat pocket, gently tapping on the door

(Rosa)
The tap at the door rattles the little bells set above it, and were it not for those (in the summertime, they chime constantly. In the summertime, the shop is packed, and she hires another two tattooists to keep up with the demand. In the summertime, she makes enough to pay the mortgage for the rest of the year. The winter months cover the bills, barely. If it was summertime all year, she might start dreaming about investments and retirement. If it was summertime all year round, she might expand.) she might not have caught the gentle tap over the quiet music, through the fog of sleeplessness in which her senses float.

Rosa blinks up at the bells, and then her eyes focus on the darkness beyond. Stifling a yawn, she drops the pencil to the sketchpad and straightens, the walks out from behind the counter, heading toward the door. As she walks, she rubs her hands across her face and head, in a vain attempt to restore some semblance of alertness before answering the door.

It's not locked. She's still open. And so she reaches out and swings the door open, scooting back and holding the door with one arm outflung to permit him entry. "Hey - " a tired smile, and a moment of hesitation as she sifts through her hazy mind for his name. It's on the tip of her tongue. It's on the tip of her tongue. It's on the damned. tip. of. her. tongue. (She forgot her cats names this morning. Stood there over their bowl as she spooned the warmed catfood into it, and drew a complete blank.) " - Nahkti."

Relief runs riot over her features (that was close). "C'mon in. S'cold outside." And indeed it is, as a stray wind dances off the ocean, salty and clear with that strangely compelling scent of ocean-rot, the primordial soup of life. "Something I can do for you?"

(nakhti)
he may have seen the open sign, but she seemed busy, and he didn't want to interrupt, even if it was just to spread some sort of salutation, and his steps, even in the expensive shoes, are silent across the tiled floor, a soft smile ghosting across his features (Hello) turning to face her completely even if he knows she cannot understand the language of his hands, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out the notepad which sprawls beneath the neat handwriting

Wondered about the Chief.

he realizes that he never returned, as he said he would, and there is something that may resemble an apology writ deep within those color-swirled eyes, eyes that actually look to her, and study her, now, the lines of sleepless strain that peek about her lips and temples, and the darkening circles that pool beneath her eyes when the light shines just right across her face, and that's when his attention intensifies, focuses, as if peering through some break in the clouds for however long it may last, and a hand reaches out, fingers almost touching her chin

for a silent moment, he watches her, dark lashes drawing closer together in the slightest narrowing of gaze, question igniting in its depths (something is wrong...) but it is discarded, perhaps out of politeness, perhaps out of patience, but he has been around her enough to know how she normally looks, and something strikes him wary, even if it's forsaken for his previous 'something' she can do

(harl)
he had been working the casinos the fools so quick to throw thier money into the mechanical monsters and give it up to the greedy owners of the flash buildings that he wonders if they will even notice the few extra bucks that go missing after he has walked passed. the accidental brush of a stranger. so much easier than working an actual carreer. but now he is bored enough money for this weeks rent and the food. and a new shirt like that one he saw at lucrecias last week now that was nice. for a moment he actually contemplates getting some proper work before breaking into a fit of giggles. dancing merily along the boardwalk. that predatory grace and feline agility flowing with every step almost bouncing along the railing that seperates land from sea. the narrow slippery ledge may as well be a footpath as far as he is concearned...

(rosa)
Her eyes narrow to focus on the words neatly etched across the notepad, and then winged brows rise in question. Though she does not say the words out loud, no doubt he can see it in her eyes, in the faint cloud of confusion that darkens them before understanding dawns. "Of course, Chief Two Moons Merikka." There's a distracted gesture, of her hand, graphite-smudged fingers gesturing toward the interior of the shop. "I have that somewhere in here. It'll take me just a moment to find the file. Come in, come in."

When he reaches out, and his fingers almost touch her chin, she lifts her head higher in an almost sharp gesture, then offers another wearied smile as salve for whatever offense he may have taken. The smile comes easily, a gentle curve of her mouth, that somehow reaches her eyes. The door falls closed, the bells ring, and the cold sea-tainted breeze is banished once again. She shivers - belatedly - as the last of the chill coils through the weave of her heavy sweater and reaches skin below, and quickens her step back toward the counter and the space heater.

"Coffee?" A glance toward the coffee-pot, in the booth beyond. Half-full, it is, and fresher than it should be at this hour of the night. It's bitter and black, a thick brew, and the scent fills the air. She sinks to a crouch, and begins rifling through the files on the shelves behind the counter, lifting her voice as she searches. "There's some paper cups over there, you can help yourself, if you'd like."

(nakhti)
it takes more than a lift away from his touch to offend, and that shows, perhaps he has been slighted for what he was in much more severe a way, he knows she is not of his people, and the aversion to touch is not seen as an insult, the slight smile mirrored just as easily as she offers it

then he (instantly) busies himself in finding the paper cups, and pours himself a cup of steaming liquid, the gloves removed, both hands wrapping around the cup to warm them in return to the counter, in claim of a stool, the careful perch of delicate balance that doesn't even shake the stool beneath his slight weight, drinking the coffee probably too fast than should be healthy for an unburned tongue (it heals)

waiting until she looks up again, and the hand covered in deep black ink moves in a familiar gesture (thank you)

(harl)
up on that railing it is like when he walks the rope, off in his own little world, his own private playground, a place where none may enter none can intrude it is just him and the rope, and yet one does enter,

running pitterpat with catfeet all through his soul slidding fur along his spine. a purrrrrrr bursting from between lips before he even realises it eyes scanning for what he can sense what he can taste and smell.

that tantalising sent of myrrh, mixed with something else something more exotic a blend of herbs and spices that seems to follow hiim always. and under it all that wich is just him, a smell like the dry wind of noon as it sweeps over a desert dune. the promise of ice in frigid breeze as seline rises to shine her cold light over darkened sands. the feeling of silken fur lurking just beneath the skin. the musk of a predator. frozen between one step and the next like a mime or a statue placed so delicatly on the frozen perch he draws in a deep breath, that bass rumble getting louder. he has been here and he is close. feet make no sound as he slips from railing to wooded way dark eyes scanning the boardwalk

not seeing him he starts his search following the 'taste' of him. and so that is how he finds himself heading towards rosas shop that place where he got his tattoo eyes fading as he relies more on hs other senses focuses more on the smell so hard to follow with this stuffy human nose. hardly noticing where it is he has found himself till he pressess a hand to the glass pausing before entering

(rosa)
When he returns to the counter with coffee in hand, re-entering her peripheral vision, her gaze flickers over and up. She catches the gesture, and offers another quick smile that slips away as easily as it comes. "Of course. You're welcome." There's something soothing about his silence, she half-recognizes, as she returns to the file. He is an image (the shutter of the camera, the sweep of a pen) captured but still moving in her mind's eye, some half-blank slate, some page written in a language she does not recognize, upon which she must focus to understand.

Faint color rises to her cheeks as she considers that - unworthy, all have a voice, find the truth in the subject, do not impose yourself and your view upon them, and every other little conviction she manages to hold, still, but the impulse is always there, the undercurrent of self that subverts and transforms the other from living breathing flesh to a moment of light and dark captured on the page, and he seems to exist on the cusp of that.

Ka-lumph.

The file (she found it) interrupts the musing trail of her thoughts. She rocks back on her heels and lifts it up onto the counter, rising a half-second later and opening it. "Here." She need shuffle only a few pages aside before she finds the thin stapled copy she made for him: a history of Chief Two Moons and his herb company, accompanied by Xeroxes of the few photos of the place in its heyday, which she found in the archives on or the web. "That copy's for you." Sliding the papers from the file toward him, then closing the manilla folder.

Glancing up - the ringing bells, the wheeze of the hinges not noticed before - gotta oil that - Rosa offers Harlequin a weary smile as he enters. "Evening Harlequin," she murmurs, passing another hand across her face. At least she didn't lose the thread of his name. "How's the tattoo healing?"

(nakhti)
there are times when one knows when he is being studied, or being thought about, ears burn, ears minutely ring, the scents pouring off another changes in some little way which pinpoints exactly what it is that is going on within them, so deep inside, that they don't even want to exactly admit what it is that creeps and rolls through their thoughts

the inked hand reaches for the paper, leaving the relative comfort and safety of the steaming cup, drawing the papers closer for the quick, intent study of the images, before those eyes snap upwards - the scent of cinnamon, the scent of oils, the familiar skin beneath, but it is the spice that always grabs his attention, the spikey sweetness that one can never mistake - and it draws a smile, no ghost, but the truthful smile which belies, perhaps, what it is he is thinking about deep within

obviously, he remains quiet, his language only gestures towards the other male (Hello. Harlequin.) and then those eyes, those soul-searching, soul-dissecting eyes, return to the papers at hand

(harl)
healing? try healed but he cant say that now can he. his voice is still that sensual purrrr although it seems to have lost a bit of its tease since last time.maybe its because hes fully clothed "it is coming along quite nicely the scab finally came off yesterday man did that itch like crazy"

or prehaps it is because the other in the tattoo parlor distracts him...

head tilts to the side as he looks at her the smile creeping over his features a dancing meriment in his eyes. yes hes in a good mood tonight and the way his glance cannot seem to stop drifting over nakhti doesnt hide what has him so happy. it is a concious effort that stops the purrr from again tumbling between parted lips as he basks in the presense of him the feel of his presence... body finally flowing that slow sensual glide carries him quickly across the distance between the door and nakhti circling behind him slowly a sweeping carress of fingers over the back of his shoulders tracing the intricate design he knows is hidden beneath the material of sweater. and then down one arm only pausing at the wrist. that inked in wrist with its intricate designs etched into the skin. eyes rising to once again study rosa (is this her work?) the question not spoken as he looks at her studies her. admires her. stepping away in the last. she is not one of us to hang alover each other may be distressing.

(rosa)
"They do that." She replies, in her quiet voice. The tired smile deepens briefly, lilting amusment echoing across her features. She lifts a slender arm, fingertips lightly brushing the inky tattoo - the dragon, coiled in shadow - etched into the flesh of her scalp. "Imagine this one. I had to sleep on my stomach for two weeks."

Harlequin pads quietly (moves with such effortless, bodily grace) away from the pool of cold air that ever-lingers by the door and the windows, and across the gray slate floor to the counter. Hazel eyes - bruised with sleepless, watering as she stifles another yawn - follow his progress. As he comes behind the counter and circles Nahkti, Rosa ensnares her own coffee mug, delicate fingers wrapping around the cooling ceramic, soaking up whatever warmth remains, and steps back to make room until she can lean against the wall behind. "There's coffee, if you'd like some. Cups and creamer and sugar beside the pot." Half-a-glance in that direction, eyes flickering back to the pair. Another smile. "You two know each other, I assume?"

(nakhti)
there's a flex of shoulders, a gentle stretch of muscle which brings what ink is hidden beneath coat and sweater up towards the tickling trace of fingers across his back, and a smile wanders serene across his features, where he did not find offense in her avoiding his touch earlier, it seems he finds a quiet joy in the touch that has been graced to him now, a glance to Rosa, the smile fading to some sly, demure thing (Yes we do)

but its the way that his hand turns beneath Harlequin's, some return of the touch, as if even without looking perhaps he knows there is a question there, but the ink is old, it is foreign (I know what that's like) his hands move in a dance all of their own, looking to the other man to translate the words for the woman that cannot understand the gestures that include reference to the dragon coiling itself across her scalp

(harl)
"where family" mmmm coffee. eyes move to measure the distance as if to decide wether the effort to again move that far is worth it or if should continue to lounge where he is finally the caffinated goodness wins out. so it is with a certain level of reluctance that he leaves his post beside nakhti to where the coffee pot is kept it made with both a lot of cream and sugar the almost syrupy liquid sipped at delicatly. stray traces of the mocca liquid licked delicatly from his lip as he turns to look at them both watching hands flickering in reply to nakhti even as that voice wraps around them both. "slow down i cannot keep up" his signing finnishes much after his words.

body moving with that sensual predators grace to again fall into a crouch against the bench another sip of his coffee. "he says he sympathasises with you" a hand raised to indicate the tattoo that can only just be seen from this angle.. .

(rosa)
"Family?" The slow rise of a skeptical brow - faint, so faint, but present - which ebbs into a rueful half-smile. Her parents: their belated interest in Judaism, their attempted insistence that she have a bas mitzvah when she was seventeen (seventeen!). The ravages of adolescence, the extended trauma of early adulthood, and the memory of all that contained in the singular curve of her mouth. "All families should be so close."

The amused glint shines through her eyes, despite incipient exhaustion, shines through the exhaustion and banishes it, for a moment or three. "It was an ordeal." There's no pain in the memory, online the lingering sense-impressions of youth and desire. She leans back, the upper curve of bare skull against the smooth wall behind, half-caress of the treasure (and treasured memory, her teacher, his hands still steady despite his age) that she cannot see without contortions and three-way mirrors. "I'm still not sure what possessed me. Some half-formed, mal-formed notion of rebellion, the need to be different, or something. And I like the way it looks. Who can quantify motivation, anyway?"

(nakhti)
a smile curves again, it is knowing more than sympathetic, some strange understanding of what she put herself through, and, perhaps, there is an element of amusement within it, as well

he remembers his own motivation, he remembers the hands of his mentor soft over the skin they pumped ink within, their motivations would mirror each other, in another world, some rite of passage from an unmarked juveline through the beaded curtains as a first step through adolescence and into the adults they seem to be now, a momentum that began in the incense riddled shop on a forgotten street in Cairo, the ink spilled from his back and down to his arm, time marked as the passage of sands in an hourglass, falling until they mounted and tumbled and gathered about the slender bones of his wrist (None can) for it is a mystery of a whisper each of them can hear, alone, there's a scandalous look towards the butterfly (intimately) know to fly across Harl's hip - even if he folds to crouch, it is as if the dusky man could see through clothing and folded flesh to see it anyway

there's a gesture towards his back, then hands held to quantify the amount of ink that covers his shoulderblades, sharing the information with Rosa for what she cannot see or know about

(harl)
his own brow raises slowly as an almost mocking smile spreads slowly across his face placing the coffee beside him on the floor he leans forwards rising with the motion before sinking down again a wave flowing gently through the interveening distance. arms wrapping around nakhti from above enveloping him in a hug as he brings his chin to rest on his shoulder. breathing in the scent of him the way the sweet coffee smell on his breath mixes with the smell of his hair his clothes his skin. watching as it stirs the small hairs on the side of his neck and the longer ones as it plays gently against his face a breathy whisper "it is the families we make that are closest. often more so than the ones we are born into" just a tinge of something there not quite anger almost regret yet also a happiness that is in his voice carried in his touch in the ability to share nakhtis presense.

"sometimes we need to mark ourselves to show the world we are different even as we understand it inside. or prehaps it is a mystery that one still has to discover?" glancing at the paper nakhti holds as if thats a mystery he would like to discover himself.

(nakhti)
the soft chuckling laughter is almost audible, some sighed breath that could only approach holding sound, and somehow there's an impossible stretch and lengthening of slender form up until the backwards embrace, his jaw tilts, laying out the expanse of throat for Harl to draw the musky scent from, some twist of myrrh and frankincense and foreign oils and things that speak of ancient mysteries were one to only get so close, it's in his skin, in his clothes, wrapped up in the air that hovers just touching his body - it's something that seems to absorb the other male, drawing him into the depths of the shadows that crawl through the Bastet's hair and inks and even in the darkness of rich hazel eyes

(There is truth in that) from the delicate movement of hands, it is only something that can be whispered, murmured somewhere in the darkness, a bond much deeper than blood, perhaps explained in that semblance of silence to Rosa, perhaps only agreed with his partner, then the fine line of jaw lifts, an indication back the collection of ink in her scalp (How long have you had it?)

(rosa)
"Indeed." Half-a-smile accompanies the quiet voiced agreement. "Though I've found that those families usually fall apart. You're tied inextricably to the natural one, the one you inherited when you were born." Amusement, though fleeting, an a faint dismissive gesture of a slender hand, stained and calloused and scarred, the fingers, by ink, by heat, by chemicals and tonight smudged with graphite from the pencil with which she was doodling absently, the images from her sleepless, inevitable dream. There's time there, wisdom, loss perhaps, lingering but accepted as part and parcel of the whole. That much serenity she has achieved, and despite the drawn pallor of her features, despite the lazy tug of her weary smile, that, too, shines on through. "Though I'm not sure I'm trying to show the world I'm different, anymore. I suppose - "

"It's more that I'm the same." There's some truth in that, some inchoate truth in that (words are such empty vessels). She lifts her gaze, and it encompasses the whole of the ceiling (look up - original stamped tin uncovered during the renovations.) and somehow, by extension, the whole of her shop. "This is mostly - well, partially - just a job, anyway. Some way to support my art-school-drop-out self." There's no bitterness there, either. She remembers those days, and the way the world opened, and the - a sudden inhalation (Burning man. Reality no longer flat, but a pool into which she could dip her finger, the concentric circles that spread outward, wide, wider.) - memory, no more.

"As for this," her hand rises from the mug, touches the coil of the dragon's tale visible to them on the right side of her skull, beneath the faint shadow of new-growing hair, sunk into the skin. "Eight years. Nine soon. I got it when I first moved out here and starting working for the owner of this place."

(harl)
head tilts to the side, watching, mesmorising, every geasture of the two of them drunk down as if it was liquid studied as if a living creature an peice of art a philosophical problem with no solution all in one and finally he just kisses nakhti lightly on cheek "sometimes the one we inheret is not worth it either" now however he is tired and has to go a yawn almost cracks his jaw, its looking at rosa she just looks so tired. "i will leave you two to converse but me i have to go." a lingering carress as he slowly disentangles himself from nakhti

(nakhti)
(You have a job, that is what counts.) softly smiled as Harlequin translantes for them (a job that you love) he speaks of the passion that he knows is contained within her art, the flash on the walls that is not the generic panthers wrapped in barbed wires and flames, the intense study she granted his arm upon their first meeting, it seems he understands that passion, and it is something that burns deeply within himself, it feeds the ravenous hunger

there's a nuzzle of his head against Harl's jaw after the soft kiss, some warm affection that is shared between them, the ghosting smile of another type of understanding, then a smooth dance of his hands (Goodnight Harlequin) before they reach once more for the papers she copied for him

You are open tomorrow, yes?

the pad revisiting the space between them on the counter, fingers gently swirling it so that she may easily red, he has not looked at the sign, it is a query in response to how late it is, how tired she looks, for there is also another issue of business between them

(rosa)
"It's a job that lets me use my talent, and support myself in the things that I love," she blinks, and draws in a breath, then offers a surrendering shrug. "...and I suppose I do love it too, sometimes." Rosa's eyes follow Harlequin as he rises and leaves, and she offers him a wave and smile in farewell.

Then she steps closer, head canting to the side, watching the movement of his hand as he writes. Lashes lower as her eyes sweep across the notepad. "Indeed. I'm open tomorrow." She steps around him, gathering Harlequin's cup in her free hand and taking it back to empty in the sink before throwing it away. The dregs of her own coffee follow, and the mug clinks quietly as she places it in the sink. She'll wash it, tomorrow. "In the morning and early afternoon, and then again later in the evening and into the night." The words are offered over her shoulder as she rinses out coffee cup and lifts the carafe from its cradle, turning off the burner. "Want more before I toss this?" She saw how he consumed it. Art has taught her both patience and observance.
[fade]

.01.07.03. - by the light of candles [harlequin sinclair]

[jersey city]

(nakhti)
weight shifted on the fire escape, one hand flattening against the glass of the window, he's crouched, now, hunkered down in jeans and the thick charcoal gray sweater, dark hazel eyes peering into the flat, shadow tendrils of inky hair flipping about his face in the late night breeze this high off the ground, knowing how meticulously clean it is within, watching for a darker shift of shadows to bely whatever may be inside

minutes pass as he waits, silent, before fingers gently rap on the chilled glass

(harl)
*he sits in the middle of the floor of the lounge/dinning room of his appartment sparten by choice he travels light used to living in a caravan where the most of his posessions where clothes and costumes. the furniture is spartan but good the table wooden chosen more for its honey colour and soft grain than any idea of decour matching chairs 2 in total complete the setting a small candellabra in the centre unlit for the moment both pressed into the small space near the kitchen almost up against the breakfast bar that seperates it from the lounge living area a day bed takes up most of the lounge done in what appears to be white velvet the other a stray scattering of cushions litters a third corner for if he ever needs to entertain more than just himself or prehaps it is just to catch the afternoon sun as he lounges around . the floorboards have been scrubbed clean and polished till they shine the flicker of candle light somewhere deep in the flat the only illumination highlighting him in shadow rather than light. he sits in what appears to be a small chalk circle. a new pair of clothes placed in front of him as well as a small aray of knives and rope and what looks a bit like a whip (ala indianna jones style) coiled like a deadly viper upon his lap eyes closed he hums softly to himself.

((i hadnt meant to send that)) eyes snap open at the sound of knuckled on glass head swivilling slowly to stare at the one who would dare to intrude upon his teritory upon his privacy death lurks in those eyes as he rolls slowly to hands and knees. that is until eyes light upon who it is that dares the snarl that mared/hightened his savage beauty melting away into a smile as he flows to his feet crossing the small distance between them to touch the glass a hand rested on chilled surface before he slides it open "come here"

(nak)
even in the darkness of the night, even lost in the shadows of the depths of which he travels, finally the candlelight begins to dawn on his senses, and it draws hazel eyes across the polished reflections, towards what's hidden just out of his view - perhaps there is something important happening, perhaps there is someone else there and he is interrupting, there's a slow creep across the fire escape, repositioning himself for a better angle, and it is then that he can see the faint outline of the familiar form

head tilts, studying the still form that veritably glows in the low candlelight.. he waits, precious minute and moments passing, until he knocks again, slightly louder this time, glass rattling beneath the knuckled assault

and that's when he's heard, and the figure looks over, and a smile ghosts across his features, reflecting the savage beauty of the protective creature inside, fingers spread a flattened spider on the glass between their hands, only moving once the inside hand pulls away to open the window, lithe body unfolding to creep within, straightening bare inches before Harlequin, lips parting to taste his partner's scent, his clothes reeking of pine scent and the woods, not the normal city they reside in

(harl)
nostrils flair ever so slightly as mouth opens a breath drawn in as if one would drink his very soul down. the slightest flicker in his eyes as he looks at you a strange look a considering look.

"you went playing in the woods without me?"

an almost hurt look not that he doesnt do it all the time as well yet that was a mistery he had wished to share and explore together the two of them. how could i protect you if you are alone?... . funny both feel protective of the other... how could i be your voice even as you are my shadow? not spoken but there is concearn there. hands reach around him barely more than a breaths distance away to again take hold of the window to slide it closed. to once again leave out the cold and trap in what little heat the small tenobi running in his bedroom can provide. the flat smells like vanilla and cinnamon that sweet mix that is so reminiciant of him very him. (most of his clothes smell like that) and something more just on the edge of feeling like warm furrr tantalising as it lurks just beneath his skin. as arms slide down around you pulling the glass back into place he finally lets them touch you hold you pulling you down into the pile of cushions the range of fabrics and colours done to tease and tantalise the senses deeper into shadow and further from what he was doing..

"and what can i do for you tonight nakhti" there is the purrrrr upon your name as if he is unable to pronounce it any other way as if only in love and lust and dark desire can it pour between his lips an almost forbidden fruit which he desires....

(nak)
he sees the distress, and hands reach so carefully to touch the face that draws closer as the window slides closed, perhaps there is a twinge of regret that so briefly flickers in those rich, hazel eyes (i was only curious) but it is lost at the sudden smile from being tugged onto the pillows

bodies tangling in comfortable sprawl, an affection brought on by the intimate touch of long lengths of flank and thigh resting against each other, the arms that tangle to regain the lost warmth, drowning in the stimulating sea of pillows and silks and cinammon and vanilla - a moment is spent simply absorbing, redefining the scents and touches that are the athletic form so very close to his, there is only one thing missing, and that is taste - the deficit quickly corrected by the sudden capture of soft lips, a consuming kiss that speaks of the apology (so rare, he would ever apologize) for going there without Harl

only after he is satiated, only after he has drunk his fill of sensuous kiss, does he pull back, and only far enough to allow his hands to move between them, spelling out the words so the Bagheera can understand them (i had something to tell you)

(harl)
his face rolls almost instinctivly against the hand that touches his face a caress of skin against skin oils mixing scent left behind, i am yours and you are mine, (no need to appologise) . eyes flicker flash along the length of his body that consuming presense of him drinking it in through his very skin. a distraction, a most enjoyable one as they not so much fall into the embrace of flesh and fabric but sink languidly into it for the breifest of moments the world revolving around nothing but the touch of thier body the feel of his presense and the warmth of his scent then taste of lips soft and sensual yet consuming as if one would devour the other this one quite happy to be devoured the purrrr is felt more than heard as hungry mouth drinks it t down only to have it broken to soon yet not soon enough (one must breath occasionally) . and he pulls back shadows dancing over skin shadows moving in flesh he watches as he forms the letters and then the words still mouthing them silently to himself sometimes copying the movement as if to better capture the sentence the structure to help him to understand.

"what is it you wish to tell me" first spoken in romany (a deal is afterall a deal) and then again, in english hands move as he speaks practice practice practice the words formed whole in most cases spelled out in others yet he is getting better (intense lessons that took up almost all his money and his own private tutour that now sits with him in his flat)

(nak)
if only he could purr, he would, he would let the sound rumble between their skins, just as the Romany lilts between them - but all he can do is smile, soft and sly, and even affectionate, and offer the flicker of his fingers in the candlelight (who is it, that we met in the woods the other night? who is his....) there is a pause, as he searches for how to spell the word, and does the best he can (...Pena?) gaze lifting in question

(harl)
he looks at nakhti for a moment considering on what would be the best way to answer this. a single hand running lightly over nakhtis thigh small strokes finger light as if reluctant to break his touch yet doing so to try and sign at least what he can even as he knows nakhti can hear him practice makes perfect " the man we met is my prala, brother" the way he says brother is strange not brother the way some would call a friend yet not brother the way some would call family lacking in definition he is frustrated at his own efforts of expression as shown in his own signs.

"Ra'gon like me is Romani he is of the same family as i lyupis, yet he is rikono, dog, so even as we are related we are not." frowning for a moment this is causing confusion to him too a conflict of interest nothing comes before family yet the dogs are not to be trustedf. "i take it you have met either justima nadja or justima gemile? pena or sisters."

laying back into the pile of cushions eyes flickering lightly to make sure candle still burns (even as he sees the illumination) and that wax is not dripping everywhere (no not my nice clean flat) only to have nakhti again consume his attention like a dark flame drawing the moth to it. he smiles as he looks at you a smile reflected deep within chocolate eyes. "that however is a question you said you wished to tell me something"

(nak)
he watches, carefully, only reaching once to gently correct the gesture or letter, a subtle prompt so that learning is rewarded with the lingering touch rather than harshly reprimanded, nodding to absorb the information, before beginning the musical language of his hands

(Ra'gon..... and the woman wore bells, the other slept in the trailer with nightmares whom I did not see..... they are children of the Jackal God... Anubis.... and he knew me as Bast's..... in the forest, they spoke in Romany when knowing I was near, thinking I could not understand all of what they said, even after, at times, when they had invited me back to the Vardo after I followed her ) it is a half-truth, he could only pick words and construct intentions from tones of request and secretive hush (He requested something of her..... in regards to you) the signs have slowed, a reluctance in them, when exchange of information is so fluent for his kind, this, for some reason becomes difficut - as he understands the ties of family (They do not trust you....)

the gaze averts, breifly, perhaps doing his own check on the candle, out of his respect for another's territory, already learning and well aware of the habitual cleanliness which is so like his own, finally lifting his gaze, finding the darkened pools which fill the depths of Harl's irises (... because of your closeness to me.) and the hands break from their space of words, the left reaching to run fingertips along the Bagheera's jaw, tanned flesh and black ink finding their way to smoothing against warm skin, whatever else he could say is written in his eyes, there is another regret, there, as sinister as his tribe is known to be, there is a hesitance at coming between his partner and his extended family, a sorrow that swims somewhere in the depths of hazel (I do not trust her around you, Harlequin, I do not trust her further intentions.)

(harl)
eyes follow his hands the deliberate dance as they weave thier magick into the air of words and geastures. meaning hidden to those who dont know who dont understand yet he can see it read it and knows the dance even as he ruins some of the steps, his voice is low deadpan and flat gone is the teasing lilt that fills it the sultry tones to inspire passion and set one burnning with lust. no his is the voice of the lost child

"i know they do not trust me" none of the rom trust me i am impure imperfect tainted by gaje blood yet the steel barb came from an angle he did not expect did not contemplate one he had no idea about or for from deep within his soul it wells up like pain rearing its angry head to slash at exposed flanks his carefully constructed sheilds holding against the wrong threat. walls come crumbing down around him a block castle destroyed by the careless swipe of a vicious child. yet it is not nakhti he blames as anger replaces pain "they are rikono what do they matter to us we will steal thier secrets and dance away slipping off so they grasp nothing but shadows when they try to hold us"

nakhti who had held him with nothing no promises no threats no bond other than a simple desire to be held nakhti who even as he is weary of, yet honourable would you like to one of the folk? your reluctance to tell him however your protective nature and the way the darkness swims in your eyes like a threat when speaking of her makes him beleive you. "then it is together we will face this threat her threat. never alone" i am yours already nakhti she cannot take that away from you, sitting up he draws you into an warm embrace into a sensual slow kiss hunger and desire forgotton only comfort and comunication expressed in the press of lips tinged by the salt of tears against yours a communication of a promise she will not take me away from you.

(nak)
he watches as the barb sinks into his bedmate's side, he can see the flash of pain that wells in rich chocolate eyes, he can see the tumble of the castle from well-built walls to haphazard blocks, how sad he is, to know what broke the barriers - of all the secrets that would come into his possession, of all the dreams he would mold with his hands, of all the tainted whispers that would be divulged only to his ears and his soul... perhaps this is one he did not want to learn

the touch is so soft, the devilcat's connection with the tanned flesh as if he stroked the finest sand sculpture and feared to scratch even one grain off with knife-blade talons, but rather than the honed edges of claws, it is the soft pads of flesh, the even cup of palm, he watches not the play of their bodies in that single touch in the flickering dancing flame-light, but rather the interlock of skin cells in that intimate touch, the smear of scent from his inked wrist against the lower curve of Harl's jaw

there is a look in his eyes, an intensity that says what he cares not to remove his hands to sign (I will help you make it right.) for whatever it may take, whatever shadows must further darken his soul and steal the light from his pelt, it is the price his ancestor's paid, and it is one he has already accepted, already convinced but not questioning his motives of why he chooses to help, or what price it will claim from them both - he did not attach a single string from the first moment they met, and he will not now, he has never asked more than what was openly and willingly given, nor does he return more than is expected, there is something they will both gain from whatever pans out from this singular moment

but that is the future, and for once, he is not thinking of it, rather absorbing himself in the now, in the touch of lips that consume his, in the comfort that flows through the simple avenue of touch, whatever it is that burns between them like the flames that burn at their backs, and the soft touch of hands that cup Harl's face, thumbs a slow sweep to gather the tears that had spilled, siphoning them into his grasp, collecting away the sorrow he can veritably taste upon the other's skin

(harl)
the line has been drawn, cross this and we have battle, yet it is not a war of warriors fighting for survival but rather a dance deadly in its grace in its beauty of espionage and secrets who can learn the truth and who can better manipulate the others into what they desire it is a cunning smile that spreads beneath nakhtis lips that sweet smile of the hunter who has decided which member of the heard will be brought down its meal chosen watching content in the knowledge that the creature is already theirs. this is what the cats live for the great game of life where secrets are the prize...

and they already one step ahead because they know what the dogs desire and who thier playing peice is all that needs to be contemplated now is the next move.

yet that is a future concearn a future worry. feirce defenders both predator and prey they move with the instinctive understanding of how the others body will function play of muscles against each other as the scent marks ones skin the claiming of each other as oils mix (mine) roll of chin against arm and then along flesh cheek to cheek jaw sliding along jaw till one can nip gently at the back of the others ear. drinking in that scent of hair and skin as it plays gently against his face. all will be alright .

there are no strings to bind them yet what shackles will each place upon themselves to help the other, an understanding held between the two that burns in both thier eyes in every touch and carress of skin. beware world for you have slighted us

thri will be no more tears shed over what has passed for the here and now he will live not the past or the future. the tears collected from upon his face crystal and shinning like miniture stars reflecting the light before they are lapped up with a silken tongue my sorrow burned away in the touch of the flowing body he now possesses, is possessed by. only to kiss lips once again this time light as a feathers touch a thank you

(nak)
there is a languid touch in the kiss, something that is indeed sinister that lurks and finds its way into the passionate caress of lips, it reflects the hunter's smile, it is the curve of expression that speaks of something dark and dangerous, the patience to lurk and wait and strike when the time is right - the smooth and subtle twitch of lips of blood that burns from centuries of scorn, and the revenge that instill's itself as naturally as breath

they hurt what he cares about, and because of that, he will see that they burn

it's spoken through the possessive grasp of those tears, it's spoken through the opening of his hands against the silken lick that clears the salted drops from his palm, and as they pull apart, in that minute distance, hazel eyes lift to the Bagheera's (It will be made right.) they watch the glitter of the smeared away tears that shine as stars upon the gentle swell of cheekbones (I have the patience of the embers that shine in the night's dark sky, I have the venom of the cobras that slither across my homeland sands, I have the determination of the desert dunes that slowly consume the cities, I will harness the power of the winds that chip at the timeless pyramid tombs of the Pharoahs)

his thigh lifts, rubbing against the lean muscle of the other's, the snug pull of weight against his own, closing whatever distance there had been between them, making two bodies one, save the thin barrier of winter's clothes that dare come between them, and in the thanking kiss, one hand drops to begin the deconstruction of the defining and confining structures of clothing, if he could, now there would be a soft, purring chuckle from deep in his chest, the murring sound that speaks volumes of his intention and the promises that suddenly find their way through touch (I will teach you to never suffer again for what you are) the grip of sweat's elastic falling away beneath nimble fingers that seek the warm skin beneath, touching the upper wingtips of the butterfly inked forever into flesh, sliding up along the hills and valleys of muscular stomach to find the flat planes of chest beneath the wifebeater (But not now) and his head lifts, teeth closing on lower lip before the tenderness of a kiss wipes the indensions of that breif grasp away (I want something else..... now) a want, a possession, a demon's craving that boils and burns between them (... I want to make you forget all of that)

(harl)
for a moment he considers it jut the briefest of moments as he surrenders flesh to his touch clothe lost to be replaced only by flickering light of a candle and beloved seline as she cuts her way sythlike through the sky. dark like shadows dancing over burning skin as he arches self into the carress. the play of fire and ice as his touch mingles with te frigid air forces goose flesh from his skin so it is relctuantly that he rises to his feet flowing silently on bare feet through his appartment a single hand trailing behind him fingers locked with nakhtis as he guides him to his bedroom (there are things i too desire and you well you can fulfill them all) that seductive sway entering every step a content smile and a loud purrrrr as he shuts the doors between living and sleeping the warmth captured withing the smaller room. drawing nakhti to waiting bed.

.01.07.03. - stalking [ra'gon-nadja]

[pine barrens]

(ra'gon)
His adventure in the scab was more or less uneventful...that being a gracious spin upon what he really thought of it. His stride was carrying him through the thicket of the bush on the outskirts of what he considered the kinfolk village.

(nakhti)
there was pleasure to be found, here, and that may be what brought him back - he cares not for the happenings that have been reported in the village, and perhaps the affliction of knowledge is what draws him, but rather, there is the pull of a walk, a stroll, an easy stretch of legs in something other than the close quarters of the cities

he is, after all, a child of the earth, and of nature, no matter how dark the parts he was born in

a trail chosen, at random, something that just leads away from the pinprick glare of the village lights

(ra'gon)
His nostrals flair with the captured scent they endeared. Eyes shifting about, narrowing upon where he knew she would be found. Obviously the little Pena was lurking about. Another scent as well enraptures him just as he sets to lurch upon his hunt of them. He blinks..."Baaast" He mumbles to himself

(jastima ves'tacha nadja)
Its a swirl of bells and her little laugh that heralds sound after scent. Its winter, yesbut she will not give up her skirts. . or her bells. She did wear a jacket today, though she like her flamboyant shawls better. More fun to dance with. Raven hair loose and shining, hazel eyes bright and devilish, feet moving in that graceful stride dancers acquired from years of practice, she walks near the village.

(nakhti)
the steps are slow, measured, and silent as whispered death, perhaps there is the slightest crunch of errant snow beneath the chosen hiking boots beneath the wrinkled, broken cuffs of the jeans enveloping slender body, the corded sweater hangs thick around his torso as sole barrier against the frigid air, hands flatten and slide into the frayed pockets to gather warmth from tanned flesh beneath

leaning, always learning, like a starved calf it's mother's milk there is always the relentless crave for more, and now it is the forest that captures this ravenous attention, considering what he feels, what he learns, and what it is even that he thinks in this stroll beneath the naked branches of the trees

(ra'gon)
Slow and deliberate his now piercing gaze swept. Both eyes ablaze while there are attempts to locate the birth of that scent. He grumbles "Bast..."

Slinging his head round towards the avenue of his pena's persuit "Nadja?"

(nadja)
"Ra'gon?"

Twinkling eyes alight on him as she rounds a bend and voice in the woods becomes flesh. A quirk of a smile, as she dances to a stop.

"I didn't know you were out here too. The vardo was empty."

(nakhti)
bells and a grumble, a whisper and a snarl, a delight and harrow on the senses, and with a blink hazel eyes lift from their study of the path before him to look ahead (Baaaast) towards the sound of footsteps weaving through the filtering trunks - it does nothing to pause his walk, merely following

(ra'gon)
"Ssssshhh Pena..." He covered his lips with a single finger that he pressed to them. Though the imagery lost on her as she was afar and in the dark, it none the less comforted him. Again his surveying gaze swept the forest.

A moment later he stalled...broke silence and let out a call.

"Come Pena...Come before the Child of Fertility finds you"

(nadja)
Well, lets just scare th girl. This is the one who doesn't want pups anytime soon, after all. Gemile still hasn't let that die. Her twinkling steps carrying her up to Ra'gon, she looks around for whoever it is he's referring to.

"Can I speak now Prala?"

Soft, sultry whisper. All her whispers sounded like that, in her trained voice.

(noah)
Heavy paws left wide prints in the snow, as predator, stalked through the forest of naked trees. The bright, blaze of a crimson-gold fur did little for camoflouge in the grey-winter world. But the wolf's great hulking form, like that of ancient dire wolves of old, was enough to scare off most predators and prey. Nostrils flared out, warmth breath cuffing out in thick mists. Cold blue eyes, with their hawklike perceptions, kept a constant vigil, upon the land before him.

(nakhti)
for ages past superstition has surrounded the cat blackened by shadows, stained with the darkness within which they lurked - souls stolen, breath claimed, children swept away in the night - and perhaps now, as body bends to twist and melt into midnight fur and whiskers, the snow itself seems to crackle and pull away from the heat of thick pawpads, melting from damnation's fire, cringing from the taint that seems to cling to non-reflective soul

the man that walked the path becomes the shadow that stalks it, wraith thin body opening itself to the scents that coy smokily on the air, the feline weaving through the trees as if it were a part of the cast darkness itself

(ra'gon)
"Of course Nadja...but with softness. We are not alone here in the wood" His eyes were all about and not once laying upon her

(nadka)
"Are we ever?"

The Barrens had hardly been a lonley place of late. All those gaje coming and going to their little religious gathering. Of course if they were even the least bit open to some song and dance, tales and tricks, she might like them more. But it was convert convert convert. So highly unlikely. Still, her own hazel eyes, not as good as his, peering about, ten falling on him, then looking about once more. Voice not rising above her sultry whisper.

(nakhti)
it's the darkness that stalks them, the deliberate snap of a misplaced twig, a chuffed breath on the wind (or is that another...), velvet ears swivel to capture the whispers in the night - just as his ancestors had done for generations, perhaps there is amusement in his eyes to make the wide circle around where they stilled

(ra'gon)
"The eyes of Gaia are upon us. What they see is not as important as how they percieve....Pena"

Casting her a hastened glance, slowly he turns, head high..even in homid his certain senses were beyond rival and comprehension.

"It plays its game." Whispers

"So..." Causual and cool, his gaze upon her there as she stood. "You have swindled another Gaje? How much did you manage to pocket?"

(starling morningmist)
Features sharp in the flickering glow cast by the fire. Rising, dark hair swaying forward with the motion. A single feather fluttering from one of the thin braids adorning her hair. A single half step forward to toss a stick into the fire. Squinting as sparks rise and vanish in the dark. Absently rubbing her cheeks through the jeans to try and bring a little life back to them after sitting so long.

(nadja)
"Another gaje? Think you I can only manage to swindle one?"

Sweet sweet affront in her words. She was good at what she did, as much a swindle as a little smile, tease and leave. Holding herself back from him, as if the very idea she might only swindle one a grave insult before that sparkling little laugh and a kiss falls like silk on his cheek.

"You'll just have to see. I have it tucked away safely."

Yes imagine where she tucks away money in her skirts and blouses. Might make one imagine delightful things, with her devilish, tempting air.

(nakhti)
the steps stop, haunches settling onto the frozen ground, long inky tail wrapping around and over its paws, and deliberately listens, one ear on the conversation at hand, and the other swiveling to listen behind for what may sneak up out of the darkness

(noah)
The wolf slows down to stop near an old deer trail. Large head lowers to the ground, sniffing and blowing at the snow. Familiar scents tickle at his nostrils, and unfamiliar scents soon follow after. His head lifts up, ears rolling back on his head before flicking forward again. He starts off on a new path, speed picking up in his heavy gait, as he broke into a light run.

(ra'gon)
Usually his hand would be tempted to reach, touch and tease her delicate frame under those coarse tips that were fraid. But not this eve. Now his candor to her was neither personal nor indifferent but full of cause. Full of effort. His eyes glistened under the faintest sliver of Luna's shafts that sliced through the canopy at last.

"You are familiar with our Prala Harlequin yes?" Romani was now flowing freely from his lips.

(starling)
A turn of her head sending the feather to fluttering again. Looking back at the collection of cabins with narrowed eyes for a long moment. It was warm inside, but she was comfortable enough near the firepit and not as cooped up feeling. Chocolate gaze dropping to the log she had sat upon for so long. Sure the impression of it's bark would fit perfectly the marks on her cheeks.

(nadja)
The lyrical toungue of their blood slips as easily off her lips, a melody of sound for others, words for Ra'gon. He wasn't playing the game. Obviously their watcher had him bothered.

"Indeed, though only from that one brief meeting. Why do you ask?"

(nakhti)
ears flatten, breifly, in irritation, grasp of their native tongue vague, at best, though one part of his attention returns to their conversation, regardless, and the other listens to the far off gallop in the woods

(ra'gon)
"He lingers with a servant of the Mistress Bast. I want to know why. Though we must acknowledge and respect the power of her Diety, we must also remember they no longer serve Isis but have fallen into service with Apep. It is as our ancients recall it. Tread with our Prala...discover his alliance with the servant of the Goddess and tell me. But beware Pena...do not trust, even the slightest, the infamous Cats of our Ancients. They are beyond our world, they are lost in the Darkness of Apep. You will do this for me?"

(nadja)
Still letting her words drip into the night in Romany

"Need you ask? I am still working on your other task as well, but can certainly see to our Prala. He seemed to want to spend more time with me."

Its not arrogance. She knows that men usually like her, those who have eyes and hearts to look that is. Harlequin was romani, of a sort, and she was nothing if not a shining example of purer lines. Besides, what man didn't like a little song and dance?

(noah)
The wolf's gait slows down once more as he was drawing closer to the origins of the scents. He stops once more, head dropping to sniff around at the ground, trees, long enough to hike a leg up to mark his scent on a few of them. Before he pads off once more.

(nakhti)
a word here, a word there, not enough to string together any semblance of a plan or conversation, perhaps he only enjoys listening to the music of their speech, familiarizing himself with its pattern, a curiosity at the hidden urgency in the request, but nothing more... he is still but a student of their language

(ra'gon)
That if nothing else causes that brow to stretch. High and arched it races up. A slow deliberate suckle to capture his breath.

"Is that so?" spits in English before and with obvious reluctance dismisses any attempt to rebuke it by sliding effortlessly into his native lilting tongue

"Remind me what other endeveor I have placed upon your undertaking Pena"

His hand slipping to tickle across her arm in a gentle slide before returning it to his side.

(starling)
Turning on the toes of one foot to take that half step back to the log. Bending in midstride, hair swishing forward, feather dancing, to snag up the shotgun left leaning against the log. Movements smooth in stepping over the log towards one of the cabins with the gun craddled in the crook of one arm.

(nadja)
Unlike some, her words stay within their language for now. Pity the gaje who could only liten to its sounds, while exotic and sultry from her, were still no more then the wind without knowledge.

"Why the list of items you wished. The hand of a murderer, the herb sage blessed for ritual. . . and there was another. . . oh Prala, I've forgottne the other herb. I am sorry."

Just that hint of mortification in such a failure. Could hardly procure his items without knowing one of them.

(noah)
Words carried on whispered conversations, in a language he was not privy to but was hearing quite a bit of late. His head lifts up, ears rolling forward, perked at the language spoken. Every now and then, Ra'gon's english is plucked up. The wolf falls back into a prowling gait once more, one heavy paw carefully placed before the other. As he makes his way towards them..

(ra'gon)
With a vigorous shake of his head, his voice booming in their native language "No, fret not Pena..this I ask of you now is more important. Though find me this hand of a murderor...make your haste however on these new efforts."

His gaze steals away only shortly "I must depart for only a moment Pena...Only a moment...I shall return"

(OFF WORK HELL YES! Rushing home LMAO!)

(nakhti)
pity the foundering fool, indeed, to hear a language's intricities is one thing, but to fully understand it's beauty and depth is entirely another, and perhaps it mourns him, now, to know what he is missing, even if it were not about the words they share between them

footsteps walk away, but only one, and that brings the lurking shadowcreature from it's hiding, stalking closer as Ra'gon breifly moves away

(nadja)
A laugh, sparkling in night air, and romany pours forth once more

"Of a certainty Prala. I shall be at the Vardo."

And as he dashs off, so like him. They said she was flighty. Her swirling bellsong starts once more as she begins walking back along the path, retracing her steps for the camper. She is not blessed with Prala's senses, only human after all, but does not fear the night. Seems cut from it, with her duscky skin and blacker then black hair that twirls about her waist.

(nahkti)
Vardo... it is a word the creature knows, and it keeps pace with the woman, now just at the edges of night's vision

(noah)
The sound of the bells caught his attention. He had a good idea of who it was. The sister of Gemile. He starts to pad off again, moving along the same direction he smelled her head in. Best to cut her off perhaps, or just scare the hell out of her. Either way.. He was trailing her now.

(nakhti)
there's a swivel of one round ear towards the steps that parallel his, not as quiet, heavier, stockier, it lacks the supple grace of his kind (dog) regardless, the midnight shadow continues it's trail of the sweetly jingling woman

(noah)
The wolf continues padding off, heading back to the Vardo to wait for Nadja..

(nadja)
Oh the secrets the night hid from those who could not see them. She's hardly silent as she moves, intrinsically graceful, light on her feet, skirts sweeping through snow gilded path. Occasionally the eyes glance about, but shadows and darkness make shapes and movements of everything at night. Like a great swirl of activity that only started when the sun went down. She softly sings a little song in romany, to pass her time in her walk, and fill the otherwise Barrens silence with something more comforting.

(nahkti)
secrets, yes, secrets, the lifeblood of others, the scourge of some, which will it be to her.. jaw sharply sculpted lifts, at the words drifting through the still night air, as if to better hear them though hearing makes up for the lack of other abilities, and the creature's pace quickens, just slightly, closing the distance between himself and the unaware woman

(nadja)
Not that long a walk back to the Vardo. Ten, fifteen minutes at most, and she is not hurrying. Should she? Did the watcher truly wish to attack some woman in the woods. . . perhaps foolish confidence. perhaps more to her then meets the eyes. Who can say what a romani kin to Silent Striders is capabale of. Gypsy magicks are hardly not without their own tales.

Song wends its way through the night about her, sultry, lilting exotic words of a wolf in its pursuit of the moon. Made her smile singing it.

[the vardo:
to Nakhti: ::High above the clustered huvel of what could easily be mistaken as nothing other than a cheap KOE campground, the massive Roadrunner in all its cartoon splender ripples from the flagg pole infront of the 36 foot Intruder. A huge camper with side pop outs. Its side door closed, yet it's awning is pulled down for shady comfort. Cheap lawn matt runs the length of it, while a collaspable bench and portable stove accompany the decorum. A few lawn chairs from the 70s are strown about as well. All shades upon the windows are drawn shut.:: )

(nakhti)
what would the assumption be that the animal hungered for flesh and warm blood, would it be insult to it's naturally dark nature, it's instinctive predatory ways, the ravenous cravings that drove the blood through healthy veins, perhaps it hungers, instead, of the knowldge of where it is she sleeps

and the creature stops, just outside the Vardo, melting into the shadows next to a dormant tree

(ra'gon)
The journ from his sister's path was short, only parting the misty veil between the worlds in which they lived. The moment to spread a word with another who lingers on the backside of the mirror, once given he releases and emerges near the vardo in a single instant

(nadja)
Just shortly before her own musical steps come back into their little clearing. Her soft, pretty song twining about the night, as she near dances her way back to her home. No lights within yet, but shadowy form.

"Prala?"

Song interrupted.

(ra'gon)
"Yes" English slid from his tongue past his lips as he neared the door to the vardo.

(nakhti)
Prala, Vardo, Pena several words he already knows, and others he is learning, the animal remains in the shadows outside the camp, quiet as death's stilled breath

(nadja)
"You left so abruptly. Where was it you went?"

She still speaks in gypsy tongue, maybe preferred to. It was her native tongue after all, and after english all day, it only takes a small reminder to set her back into its cadences. Slipping across the clearing towards the Vardo and him.

(ra'gon)
Quiet perhaps, though the scent was there even for him. Strong and near. His shadowed orbs slowly swivel within their sockets cutting through the night.

Again his tongue lilted away in the same language she gave.

"Death's Breath...I have been communing with it. I am here now..though.." Eyes narrow and slowly his hand rises, index finger extending and there he points in the darkness

"Child of Bast..."

(nakhti)
that last part, in any language, in any time, from when the dust was created at the feet of the Pharoahs until the snow falling just last even - there is no mistaking that, the point, the three words, the tones that tell perhaps more than the specific choice of phrasing ever could

and the shadow melts from the darkness, pulling away from the trunk of the tree, the lean slink of figure in a walk that speaks of the royalty that once flowed strong among their ranks, proud and not at all unnerved to have been spotted, the animal moves into a shaft of moonlight, the silver beams seemingly absorbed by whatever lurks beneath its fur, rather than how it should be naturally reflected

it blinks, watching them, haunches sinking to the ground once more, shoulders straight and chin lifted as if Bast herself watching over her people, this nightmare having come to life, midnight tail wrapping around its paws

(nadka)
Finger points, and she pauses, body turning some to look where it gestured. Between the Child of Bast and Ra'gon was Nadja, paused in her path to him and the vardo. Hazel eyes peer, but no wolf, no cat.

"It followed me?"

Still letting speech flow in romany, especially knowing one watched.

(ra'gon)
Nodding once while gesturing for Nadja to slip forward and close, returning his attention upon the silky feline.

(English) "I first thought you spirit, but now I know better. Come closer once servant of Isis...Come mingle with the hands of Annubis"

(nadja)
Does not take much to set her back in motion, set that high silvery bellsong going once more. Perhaps more quickly moving to meet Ra'gon, if only because she had been surprised to see a cat, midnight shadow emerge behind her.

(nakhti)
there's another slow blink, and whiskers on the right side of his muzzle twitch (I had thought you smelled of the Jackal god) in the slightest of sly smiles, that's when the creature flows forward in a combination of strength and weight's momentum, shoulders rolling with each confident step, tail weaving a slow dance in the air behind slim haunches, accepting the invitation into the camp

it walks until within but a few feet of them, perhaps a touch if either stretched, sinking to sit once again, large eyes above angular cheekbones watching the Strider and his kin, and an ear flickers (hello)

(ra'gon)
Brow slowly arching, his eye traverses to Nadja then back to the company. His tongue slapping in Romani "Do not trust this one, but this be the same I saw with our Prala"

English "I must give you warning though, while in my company and that of my family we shall adhear to the old custom. Because you once served with honor one of the Pantheon of Ra under Isis...you are welcome, but know to the others you may encounter all but enthusiasm. Tread wisely here amongst those of us who know only rage"

(nadja)
A startled glance up at Ra'gon still speaking romany.

"This is the one you wish me to find out about?"

Before her face drops back to study him, curiously, face falling back to its normal planes of devilish thoughts and smiles.

(gemile)
"Who? Wha? STOP STOP!" *Uttering feverously. Sweat beeding upon her brow, hands grasping tightly threating to rip the ends of her pillow.* "Nooooo" *Sultry protests escaping her dreamy lips. Each breath bringing quivers to them. A sudden jolt and she was upright, her eyes wide open, mouth agap followed by a huge sigh* "Thank god" *No one would ever know about that dream*

(nakhti)
those unnerving eyes lift to the startled expression on Nadja's face, a slow ripple going through fine ebon whiskers (why are you so surprised?) as if the slyest of smiles, perhaps it did not need to know the words, there are other ways in which the creature seems to understand her surprise, but at the English words, polite attention is turned back towards Ra'gon, this familiar stranger from the paths the other night

it's chin shifts, in what may resemble a nod (i understand) all the communication he is able to offer the two bipedal creatures, all that he knows will be clearly understood, and perhaps it's expressions would begin to speak of something else, offered towards these two that extend their hospitality, but ears swivel forward, chin lifting, hearing the hushed desperate sounds from within the Imperial's walls, weight shifting to look around Ra'gon and towards the aluminum siding, before a glance back (that did not sound positive)

(ra'gon)
Blinks and nods to Nadja in response, head canting to the side.

"I believe I hear your sister waking inside. Another dream?" Lips parting evily with a knowing glint.

(nadja)
"You know what I think will cure those dreams. . "

That almost laughing little smile enough words. The innuendo plain. No sometimes it wasn't as much fun to be subtle and she laughs. Trust the cat, okay, but not at least enjoy being herself. Would never happen.

"Think you I should go check on her?"

(gemile)
Clamouring from benieth tussled sheets, she stood and streached. Brows furrowing, her slender hands came down to rub the sweat from her face as she made her way out of the back bedroom and into the small bathroom.
The cold water bringing reality back into focus a bit more as she splashed it upon her face. Eyes wide, catching her image in the mirror as she then steadied herself.
...just a dream... or two... means nothing... must be Nadja's cooking...have to speak to her about that....

(ra'gon)
"I am sure she is fine" Again in Romani "Would you like me to introduce you to this..." Hand absently jesturing towards the cat.

(nakhti)
dreams... that inspires a slight tilt to the corners of the muzzled mouth, how interesting dreams can be, especially when you may hold and manipulate them right in the warmth of your very hands, and while that is temptation in itself, the large, thin cat stretches to stand, gaze resting upon Ra'gon once more, an almost imperceptible narrowing of hazel eyes (your welcome appreciated, until we next cross paths, Jackal's children) the fluidity of grace carrying the animal back out of their sight

((I gotta git for a bit, thanks for the play!))

(nadja)
"It seems it is not necessary Prala."

Quirky little smile. She'd know soon enough. Harlequin would yield up something she was sure, perhaps several somethings if she did her job well.

.01.04.03. - shadowplay [harlequin-damien-ra'gon]

[pine barrens]

(zoe saldana)
In. . .Out. . .In. . .Out. . .

. . Deep seated breathing of her nightly meditations. Anyone who could have watched her would have easily imagined her in some Tibetan retreat or a dojo. Perfectly composed, utterly radiating serenity, both from her mental exercises and her recent brush with some higher power. Those eerie milky white eyes, that some knew had been grey only a week ago, stared at nothing, yet she was minutely aware of everything.

An ironwood staff lay beside her on the log, a talisman of the Elder Garou's making hung around her neck, and the spirit of Batsto flittered about her dreams. No ordinary woman, so far out in the Barren's wilderness. . .

(harl)
*for the most part he had been leaving his bike out there at the camp site, under the trusted eyes of the dogs, so you can understand why every few days he is stopping in to make sure its still there. yesterday he had picked it up the need for transport riding over the desire for something a little safer than his bike plus the idea of nakhti pressed firmly to his back as they tore up the freeway appealed to him. so that is how it came about that the two of them move along one of the many roads into the barrens speeds slowed a little to deal with lack of traction and winding turns.*

(nak)
he is stronger than he looks, this slender boy-man with arms wrapped around the one guiding the bike, long shadow hair firmly tucked beneath the heavy helmet, long coat left behind for something more fitting to the forest environment - he is learning much about the bike, while balance is never an issue, learning the intriciacies of weight ratio to turns, especially on slippery gravel roads, has been an adventure in itself

there's a smile behind the windsheild glass, feeling the rumble of the bike's engine beneath him, the sheer power obeying Harlequin's hands

(shadowplay)
Watch... Me... Watch... You...

For the most part, the watcher that had come upon Zoe's meditations may have well have been a ghost. Silence reigned as the wind howl whipped through the lonely haunted demnse of the barrens. It had only been a short passage of time, this observation of the blind, but when time was something that was prolifically spilled into your hands, then even the shortest amount of time could seem long and eeriely painful.

(gabe)
~Breath in.... Breath out..... good girl~

The thoughts rolled throught he elders head as he slowly, softly... silently moved through the undergrowth. The world was his to control, the rage beaten back to almost a whisper as the healing salve of the evenings 'endevours' had flushed him to the point of near peace.

Step... Step...

To each their own as the wolf made man slowly moved through the darkness. Moved through the silent sounds of the deep. Moved through the passage of the depths of understanding and entered slowly into the outter ring of the camps 'interrior'.

He stood down wind, silent as the oak from which his name had been cast down from, but it was not for Zoe in which this night he stood silent as the tomb. Nah... it was for the unseen presence of one that would dare pass through the gates of wards and bourder guards of the spirit realm.... To enter the path of the elder unwelcome and without announcement. Woe be unto one so shallow and without care that the soul of the beast be so little to dare risk being send into the the depths of neither hells furry or the damnable shadow of God's lacking grace! So be it... for you are here and I am but the answer of the prayer to which you have sought.

The wind speaks to those who listens and the spirits of the warded world know many who would make buisness quick and pass without transgression less they fall to the more powerful totems which stand in ready to guard the charge of the rightful heir of their patronage.

(zoe)
. . . It was that trace shiver, like the hairs on ones neck rising, that said someone watched. Of course, here that could mean so many things, but by now the small animlas of the wood didn't tend to cause her too much trouble. Heightened, attuned mind and body, with an almost supernatural sense of intuition and without her eyes, more in tune to other vibes.

The breathing stays the same, but her lotus position eases, and a hand falls onto her staff. She'd yet to do any training with it, but instinctual to look to defense. . . because she could not smell Gabriel, nor felt any overwhelming sense of Rage to alert her of Garou.

"Who goes there?"

Quiet, calm voice, merely stating a question to the night and silence. . how odd. . .

(harl)
*lol sheer power harlequins bike its probably lucky it doesnt fall appart with the combined weight of the two on it (not that either of them are very heavy), yet in its own way its still powerful hell it still runs at least and esaier than walking out here.

he was lothe to leave his long coat at home the grey warmth that usually surrounds him yet cannot have it flickering back into nakhti for the entire ride so instead he finds himself in leather pants and waist length jacket black on black on black till he almost blends in with the night and the bike. a small backpack tied to the seat behind nakhti containing some more suitable clothes. finally the bike crawls to a stop engine idling for a moment before it cuts out entirly ( i think it died) right at the end of the gravel road the abandoned public access and carpark empty at this time of year (who wants to picknick in such horrible weather or at such a time).

(nakhti)
(artistic license and descriptive drama, dammit!)

there's another smile as the bike shudders and coughs to a stop (me, too), the slim form peeling itself from Harlequin's back until hiking boots crunch on gravel, gloved hands wrap around the helmet and lift it from his head, shaking the plastered black locks free, and there's something of a glint in hazel eyes looking back to his friend

lungs fill with the clear, clean air, in turn filling the heavy, corded sweater that swallows his lean torso... he's the stranger, here, so he doesn't even begin to think of straying far - not that he would - though his curiosity is already beginning to get the better of him

(shadowplay)
Normally those that Watch do so for the express purpose of merely observing without interaction, however, unlike some the blind child may have encountered in her time etiquette had not fallen to the wayside as it had in much of modern society. A question demanded an answer and as such she recieved one.

"Damien."

The voice was young, perhaps only barely mature in timbre, and obviously male for all the lack of baritone overtures. The voice was gentle, cautious and just a little more than slightly curious.

(gabe)
He stood... Quiet... stern, and silent. he knew of those who were there. He knew of those silent and passing so close to the outside of the realm of understanding that all would be known to he who was LUCKY enough to have set up the watch before leaving.

Thinking to himself. ~Sometimes it pays to be careful~

yet he stood. Listening to the wind as the wind had a voice and as the female child of the long ago brethren of the Star... she knew... He smiled to himself as he watched though the preditory within him began to grow and the low... near silent but audiable growl of both protection and claim of territory slowly began to eminate from his throat. Though in this form it would only sound like a man growling from deep within... expressing his pressance before falling silent to see how things would progress.

(harl)
*he wasnt hicking in what he was wearning no that was just for the walk through the city, leaning back ever so slightly as nakhti dismounts before he too steps over the bike grabbing the bag with his spare clothing in it. he begins to peel of the layers. underneath the jacket is a plain black long sleeved top wool prehaps tightly woven and tightly fitting till the point that one can see the definition of stomach and peircings underneath. boots slip off for a moment to be followed by pants, a pair of comando style fatigues retreived from the bag quickly pulled back on, (has no problem with the nudity but its damn coldi). contemplates the jacket for a bit longer before tucking it also into the bag placing both it and helmet securly on the bike. taking two steps towards nakhti desire to give him a hug before they slip into the woods. only to hear the inevitable crash as the kick gives way and the bike falls to the ground cringing he turns to look at it before shrugging his shoulders in that espressive roll and slips into the trees. feet slient even in those heavy lace up boots

(zoe)
. . . Not one, then but two. One known, one unknown but any slightest inclination to tension vanishes barely before it could register. Body moving some, orientating for voice and growl, curious and composed. Blind she may be, tiny, not much to think she could defend herself, but she knew her own strengths and what was around in protection.

"I've not met anyone named Damien, but then Rhya Gabriel has many acquaintances. Are you a friend, then?"

(nakhti)
there's a smile ghosting over his features, some demure shift in shadows at the change, and the sidestepping approach - his head whipping around when the bike crashes to the ground, and the grin spreads further, but there is no laughter that responds to the smooth shrug, only silent amusement glittering in hazel eyes, carefully picking his way through the forest after Harlequin

(corran)
* out for a run in his lupie form he turns and heads for the elders Territory. Fleet furred feet eat up the ground as he approaches. His markings black, white and gray, denoting a mixture of blood that pretty much rules out pure breed he's still an impressive animal to observe. If observing such an animal was easy.

He pauses at the edge of the claimed territory and gives a short howl requesting intrance. It echos though the cool night air and rebounds off the trees. With him comes a feeling of calm and support. Not the endless vista's of rage thatr accompany most garou*

(shadowplay)
"Not of anyone of that name, per say, no."

The diembodied voice, as far as Zoe was concerned in her blind state, was still some distance away from her: whether out of politeness or wariness, it was difficult to dicern. There was a pause at the howl and a shifting of careful bootfall to her far right that never strayed behind her as if the male was attempting to sneak up behind her (as that would be considerably impolite to do to a blind person).

"I was looking for something, someone, but found you instead."

(gabe0
The smile slowly rose to his face as he heard the welcoming howl of announcement.

Placing his fingers to his mouth the Elder decided to answer in kind with a blast of three short, loud whistles.

Having fully given himself away he stepped fully into view of the campsite. Casting his gaze to Zoe and toward the sound of the smaller voice he stood waiting.

(corran)
*he heads on in then. Sniffing as he goes. Circling a bit so he comes from downwind. Catching the scents of those present he slows. New smells. So he approaches slower. Nearing he lets his acute hearing and smell paint the picture for him in the dark pine barren night*

(zoe)
. . . Days of barely seeing anyone and in one fell swoop everyone converged. How lucky could one girl be? The holw meant at least one other, and she knew gabriel was near, could likely have pinned him down if the new voice hadn't called her curiosity. Slowly adjusting to her right, following that new one's sounds. Head tilted to catch new sounds, even as the wolves came on.

"So it would seem Damien, but then I was hardly lost to need finding. Perhaps I can help you fidn what it was you sought."

Polite. This new one was polite, unlike others who had come upon her like this. For that she gave back courtesy given her. . .

(shadowplay)
Long raven hair escaped in wind-whipped lengths, unbound against the teasing lick of the breeze. There might be something remotely familiar about the figure that was clad in the dripping shadowplay of the Barrens' vista, but nothing, perhaps, more than a teasing sensation that elluded the memory for the time being. Compared to the large Irish man the secretive male the accompanied this impromptu gathering was of a spare set build. He raises his hands, pressing his fingers together lightly into a steepled gesture, and rested his chin on the upheld fingertips.

"Perhaps."

A certain catch of wariness rippled, but his tone remained ever placidly polite in conversational tones directed towards Zoe. Prior, his dark-eyed attention had rested fully upon Zoe, but now wavered to Gabriel and sought for any indications of hostility that was a want for brewing in such a man as he.

(corran)
*He approaches into sight distance of the camp. Well sight for the wolf. He's still in the trees and the shadows. Sniffing. Watching. Listening.

That gentle feeling of support and calm flows over them. A familiar feeling for some. Not so much for others.*

(harl)
*a ghost of a smile flashes back over his shoulder as he falls back a little just a leasurly jog through the woods. eyes pciking out the details of the night easily. for the most part content to enjoy the cool night air and the sounds of the forests, the lack of human voice in the night chorus... the path he sets has them spiraling out from where the bike is left an ever expanding arch that eats up the distance. yet finally he must talk. "so do we go play hide and seek with the dogs or is there prehaps sometihng else you wished to do out here" his voice is a sultry purrr some will recognise the tease the temptor like warm velvet absolute decadance... lithe body turning to beter see him as pace slows again, that playful grin so childlike so delighted.

(gabe)
Standing the large Irishman slowly stretched his arms across his chest and folded his position into a stance of ready guard and authority.

Looking out with those piercing crystal blue eyes he focuses upon the newest 'intruder' to his realm.

"Come forth and be recognized... Damien"

(zoe)
. . . An interesting situation, once again. She had brought more disturbances to Gabriel's quiet camp since he had insisted on her staying there. Standing out in the clearing of it, while Gabriel took up his position near one edge, and Corran approaching, while damien held to another side. It had the feel of a wheel which turned mysteriously around her. No need to turn towards Gabriel. She would see nothing now, and could hear each word, every inflection. Instead, she still faced this Damien, her newest acquaintance.

"Or perhaps your search was more ambiguous and it was meant to end with me?"

She was a StarGazer, was of a more mystical, metaphorical bent then some, and tended to see things in strange overall themes. Eerie eyes intent though unseeing, hands lightly holding her staff as she waited for the mystery to unfold more. . .

(nak)
he follows, quickly, lithely, silently, as if he were only some shadow trailing the other, some billow of smoke that danced in the air latent from exhaled breath, and when Harlequin stops, his brow lifts (a game?) followed soon by defiant lift of the fine lines that sculpt his chin

there's a slow drop of his shoulders, a smoothing of the sweater's thick weave, the cant of his head in thought before a sudden step forward, closing the distance between them, guaranteeing their sight of each other in the darkness beneath the trees (what kind of game should it be) an exhaled breath the only response to the sultry purr

body drops away (perhaps both) whatever warmth that began to grow between them brutally replaced by winter's chill as the boyman dashes into the trees, the bulk of sweater streamlining into black fur, the breifest of sounds carries back to Harlequin is the thump of padded feet on frozen ground - and then silence (catch me if you can)

(shadowplay)
Movement that could be vaguely discerned as an inclination of his head as bootfalls take him several steps into what bare illumination highlights the campsite in a flicker of long shadows and hellish red auras compliments of the burning logs and licking flames of the campsite fire. The tails of a midnight longcoat whipped desolately around his legs, the length toyed with by the whisper of winds that cavorted through the local trees.

"Fate folds its cards in strange ways indeed," was his only reply to Zoe while his dark-eyes survellience of Gabriel remained unflinchingly. His pale counternance was a contrast to the pure monochrome of his clothes stained all the darker by the cloy of nights shadows.

(harl)
*eyes widern ever so slowly a hand reaching up to caress that face so close to his when there is nothing to grasp but shadows. they each knew what the other was well knew to a certain extent yet neither had seen thier other forms.

the sound of padded feet;. his smile grows into a grin his body flowing clothes dissapearing the large black form giving chace his own padded feet almost silent.*

(kimber)
Tonight she was jogging...
Sure it was late...and dark. Dangerous in the woods alone...but it was a release...she liked the endorphines that shot through her body as she moved through the barrens. The way the ground felt under her running shoes with each step..the sounds of the night, in the woods.
She didnt feel like she was a target out here, although many would disagree. Breathing deeply as she jogs...
Long underwear under the running pants, a large green t-shirt that hangs to her knees, a down vest over it...her auburn hair pulled into a pony tail...natural auburn highlights streaked throughout.
Natural look, no make up, just as natural as they come.
Moving up the trail she keeps her eyes peeled in the dark for the twists and turns of the trails...
and jogs...
www.metropolischronicles.com/kimber

(nak)
slight, lean, and mercilessly hungry - for knowledge, for food, for game - it drives the wraith thin form through the trees, some new trail found by feline eyes, the glorious stretch of muscle and breath blasting from the physical exercise, blending into the shadows beneath the trees, the dappled moon does not even reflect off his fur, it is dark as an undiscovered tomb

(harl)
*he is not as lithe but just as agile the dark furrr flowing over lithe muslces as he gives chase. a black shadow chasing a shadow. if it could grin it woud. letting nakhti set the path but gaining quickly

*weaving through the dark of the trees it slips beside him body guided as much by touch and sound as sight fine whiskers allerting him to the closeness of trees as he swerves at the last second just off the path the other follows. moving with the grace of the creature in whos skin he now runs. along the length of a fallen oak its branches long fallen to rot the decay stopped by ice. he leaps body carried through the air throwing himself at the other.

(corran)
*He remains there. watching. Sniffing the air often*

(nak)
but the twisting shadows beneath the trees are used to his advantage, somewhere he had feinted to the side, somehow he had been ready (the paranoia of an ancient spy), and the long, lean (hungry) cat rears up, forarms spreading wide to catch the hurtling body, a silent whuff of breath as they hit the ground and roll, long tails whipped by centripital force, his body curling under to spread hind toes against the soft warmth of Harlequin's belly (gotcha)

(gabe)
Standing he watched the stranger slowly move into the light of the fire. Taking a deep breath the scent of the man carried with it no clear marks of an enemy. But also it carried with it no marks of a friend either.

Watching the scenses of his birth sharper, crysper, cleaner than that of even the most average garou he watched this stranger with concentrated gaze.

Trust was not easily given nor was it won in this wood without great effort.

"Aye... indeed."

(harl)
it has been so long since he played since he was able to do such a thing rolling with the body fighting for purchace of skin and fur only to eventually find self brethless. pinned the other sitting on his stomach.

tongue darts out to lap at face a smooth long stroke followed by a nip on the nose. purrrrrrr vibrating deep in the furry chest

(zoe)
. . .Where Gabriel was so very wary, Zoe was at least more forgiving. Maybe its a woman's heart, or maybe just hers, but Damien's words incite a small giggle. That silvery youthful sound that few had heard or coaxed out of her, that belied the too old mind in a too young body. Noah and Simon while during snowtime play, Corran in a rare moment of humor. It lilts in the campsite held at bay by the meeting of strangers, easing and a bit lightening.

"That it does Damien, that it does. But I've been rude. I am Zoe."

He was already here, already within the demenses of Gabriel so no need to be further rude, and offered one small hand in greeting. He did not come bearing malice, had shown no rudeness. . for that she gave a modicrum of benefit to doubt. . .

(corran)
*he turns and pads around the clearing to the right. Coming closer to Zoe but watching as he does so. Soft furry foot falls swallowed mostly by the trees. Though those with sharp sences might precive*

(gabe)
Watching as the outside pressance of Corran decided to finally enter he would have smiled if something deeper inside his heart told him that this stranger was still one to be granted no degree of slack until proven worthy.

(shadowplay)
A flicker of a glance in Gabriels direction before his attention returns to Zoe's outstretched hand. Had she been a man (had she been able to see) he perhaps would not have accepted the offer, but she was both a woman and obviously incapcitated by blindness so he relents. He breifly takes her small hand in his own bird-boned sculptured one, skin covered by a leather glove for protection against the biting winter snap.

"A pleasure, Ms. Zoe."

He doesn't keep her hand for very long, more just the gesture of taking it as was customarily polite, but there was no linger carress or any indication for alarm that he may be of the mind to attempt anything nefarious. He releases her hand and steps back and away from her as she sits within the domain of the campsite's licking color.

(gabe)
No sign of traditon, no sign of respect to one of obviously greater station... This was no Garou nor Kin. That would be easily decided by now.

Was this a mere mortal?

~Perhaps~ he thought as he watched the man. Quick to touch, or show any signs of intended agression. Quick to make a way into the world of more unknown.

Finally he decided that he didn't care... he had answers to be gained and little time to waste.

"Lass, if you are able we should leave."

(nak)
when the rolling world stills, when the empire is theirs alone, the lean cat rises above the pinned - Harlequin broader, thicker, the heavy, boxy skull that smooths into muscular neck and shoulders, and Seline's light glints over the dapples just barely darker than his blackened fur - then the one that pins him, slight, silhouette glow along angular cheeks and sharply sculpted ears, the slender neck flowing through shoulders and the slight weight which holds the larger cat beneath him

that long muscles flexes, dropping, a liquid shadow that draws them close, whiskers flaring in a language all their own to tangle with Harlequin's, then there's a blink, a wrinkle of sharp nose beneath the cleansing lick, the closing of one hazel eye more than the other, a heaved breath that could only be construed as the beginnings of a laugh that will never be heard (ewww.... cat slobber)

one paw lifts, pads at the end of long toes spreading across Harlequin's brow in continued pin, pink tongue so bright in contrast to the highlightless fur reaching out to smear from black nose, through whisker hidden scent glands, across eye and to ear - returning the affectionate feline bonding

(zoe)
. . . Offers a smile. She would rather talk to the wary Damien then have the all annoying Luc inflicted on her again. While Gabriel and Corran merely watched, like hulking, skulking guards, she got handed the role of mediator, it seemed. How ironic. . always a woman it seemed.

"So what has brought you so far out, Damien? Do you seek to see God like those of Batsto Village? Or merely wander like others?"

Head turning, she acknowledged Gabriel's comment softly. Yes, she had places to be, things to do. . .

"Of course Rhya."

(shadowplay)
"I seek no God, just a man, or perhaps merely his companions if I must scrape the bottom of the barrel..."

He steps several paces further back into the play of shadows along the edges of the clearing, inclining his head to Gabriel once.

"It seems, however, you have other business I will leave you to..."

(corarn)
*As Shadow play steps back into the shadows he rises and moves to the edge of them. The perceptive would see his lupine form there, just shy of the light.*

(gabe)
"Tred lightly and be forwarned."

Trust was neither gained nor warrented but this one knew more than one should and without proper reason should be dealt without hesitation and without any form of pity or grace.

Stepping forward the Large Irishman looked down to the blinde child of a lost line.

"It is time."

(zoe)
"My apologies Damien, but I do have things to attend to. Perhaps another time."

. . .Quietly polite, the manners ingrained risign to the fore, as usual, as she inclined her head towards where he slipped back, before turning to join Gabriel. Uncanny to see her react as if she could see, but using other senses in place of eyes. . .

(corran)
*He pads on out and into the light. Lowering his head and showing differance to Gabe and walking up beside Zoe. The intensity of that calming supportive effect lets her know of his approach and he gently lets his furr brush her fingers*

(shadowplay)
"Another time," he replied with a vague hint of sadness issuing like a tangled vine through the words as he took several more steps back into the darkness of the Barrens. It was not as if, in all practicality for some, time was of the essence.

(harl)
face turns to his whiskers twitch as the blend mix skin tingling as senses etxtend till he feels like he is trapped in a box and totally free all at once... fur fstanding on end as the long wet tongue of his companion forces it against it to clump eye closing as the purrrrr deepens louder. flowing out/through them... he twists finally after the affectionate display body wrthing underneath his angles almostunbeleivable as he slips from beneath paws from confinement pushing to feet. running his body along the other pushing against it cheeck to cheek then shoulder to shoulder a flowing line all the way down to his tail only to come back and do it on the other side before leaping once again into movement his feet taking him deeper into the woods.

pausing but once that feline smile growing tongue curling as he tastes the air. eyes reflecting a dark green like frozen fire. (are you comming) a flick of the tail and hes gone

(gabe)
watching the man he was given pause...

"Wait!" he called after the man.

Moving several steps toward him he paused.

"To whom do you seek?"

(zoe)
"Hello Corran"

. . Stroking the fur by way of greeting, she listened as Gabriel called after the retreating Damien. The soft smile still holds on her tranquil lips. Much like she used to be when first arrived to New Jersey. Not as burdened as she had been not so very long ago. . .

(corran)
*He chuffs softly and leans into the petting. Hey, he's a hound. It feels nice and Kimber won't let him in the house in lupus. She claims he sheads*

(shadowplay)
"Jukebox," issued the reply of the figure now emerged in the shadows, but still with a visual outline available. "The caretaker, one would assume, of the mentally retarded man he calls Decker."

(zoe)
. . . That earns a slight stifled giggle. Oh she liked damien better already. Her opinions of Decker not so very high either. Listening with a brighter smile for Rhya's response. He wasn't much pleased with the Get of late either. . .

(gabe)
"You........." The thought crosses him as he speaks low and for only a moment.
"I know you.... that night...."

He caught himself before saying to much more. There were more reasons than he had to count to cast this one out into the depths of the chasom of the shadow of true death.

"Take thee back to the city for you shall fine not those you seek within this place."

(corran)
*he tilts his head listening. Sniffs commiting the other mans scent to memory and looks up at Zoe and seems to check her over for injury*

(nak)
as much as it is an escape, it is an allowance, body arches, toes flex, and there's a serenity in the full body rub between them, muscle vibrating with the purr that will never sound, it's so loud from his companion, mixing the oils and scents in their furs

a browpoint lifts, muscle smoothing fur above one eye, muscle bunching to explode after the flicking tail when the chase begins again

(shadowplay)
"The wilderlands are not the sole demnse of your ilk, best that such is remembered in time." It sounded, by no means, like a threat. He made no threats, it wasn't of his nature, merely one that advised caution where caution was due.

"Out of respect for Ms. Zoe, however, I will accept your directions if nothing more."

(corran)
*He tilts his head to the side and thinks it might be better to do something out of respect for the elder Garou than for the kin. Nothing aginst Zoe or anything but she generally doesn't rip peoples arms off and beat them to death with um.... elders have been known to do such.*

(zoe)
. . . See? One caught more flies with honey then vinegar. Damien was polite to her, because she was polite to him. Curious though why Rhya had reacted as he had, she merely waits within the camp, still the same Zoe Corran had seen days previous, whole and unharmed but for her unnatural blindness. . .

(gabe)
"Out of Respect, aye... but nothing more... For the wilderlands are the demnse of my ilk."

He would of gruffed, he would of huffed, he would of snarled and made plain the true placement of who was what in this land were he in the true form of his 'ilk', but as it stood he only watched the man slowly decend into the depths of the growing darkness.

He would of killed the man where he stood if he knew it would of done a damn bit of good... but he knew better and knew it would of mattered little. Besides.... it was easier to send him off to mess with those who needed to be messed with more than he.

Turning to Zoe he smiled, nodding his greating to Corran and offering a 'don't say anything about it' glance as well.

"Tis time we test the bounds of this Village."

(corran)
*He nods. A rather human geasture from the wolf but he was born human and all. He'd go with and take a bo peep*

(zoe)
"Perhaps I missed something Rhya?"

. . . Would not push, but it never hurt to ask a simple question, one brow arcing with her question, startling expression on her. . .

(gabe)
He slowly nodded to her and smiled.

"Perhaps... but we have pressing matters before we worry about that."

(zoe)
. . . His smiles only reach her in his words, but she heard them nontheless, offering her own, though still curious why he had been so hostile in the end. Later, would be time enough later, after this mystery was begun. Nodding with his words, accepting for now. . .

"That we do. I am curious to knoww aht has happened since I stopped being able to see the news and papers."

(harl)
it is his turn to lead the chase, moving on silent feet his path angling to the areas he know roughly belong to the wolves pace set to just stay ahead of nakhti slowing occasionally letting him draw ever tantalisingly closer. the small game trail almost burried under snow. again a lip curls back to taste the air a deep in breath bringing him the scents of the forest

(shadowplay)
It may take years of practise to move so silently, so quickly, through the underbrush of a roll of forests, but time, as Gabriel now suspected, was something that more than spilled adeuqately into the strangers hands. Away from the campsite his wanderings took him, his form now well and truly lost and at one with the inky darkness that seeped through the cedars and pitch pine, coating the supposedly haunted vista with an ominous air. Away from the campsite and into the path of the frolicking wildcats.
(corran)
*he walks beside Zoe. Letting the tips of his fur brush her hand and kinda doing that seeing eye monster sort of thing for her as they go. Content to remain in lupus for the moment. His already hightly acute perceptions were even more snazzy in this form*

(gabe)
"Let us be off. For the Village is several miles away and we have much ground to cover."

Looking to Corran he nods to him to be at her side in case she need further assistance than what she would need.

Moving off he heads toward the village.

(corran)
*He Chuffs and leans over. Letting her find the furr at his neck. It's long. It's WINTER. IF she takes hold he does that seeing eye monster thing even better. If she don't he doesn't press.*

(zoe)
. . . Between Corran, hearing gabriel's movements, and her staff, she moves with relative ease, albeit carefully. Its hard not to be wary of ground you could not see before your feet tested it. And this was her first trip outside Gabriel's campsite in many days, aside from the night with Noah, and then she hadn't had to do much walking. Fingers curled in Corran's fur with one hand, other one wrapped about the staff, they make their way. . .

"Have you learned anything new Rhya?"

(nak)
there's a silent joy, a quiet exhilaration, the long and low stretch of body to ground, easily tailing the other feline, but as heads lift to taste the air, the pace slows, wary, a quick movement to bat at Harl's tail in the only communication he has available, the run breaking to trot and then falling into a careful walk, whiskers twitching to feel the air (there's something close) hazel eyes prowling the darkness

(gabe0
Moving through the trees a song of the Mortal world comes to his mind... what is it.... oh yeah.. "on the road again"... Stepping through the darkness and on toward the Village.

((OVERTIME 17-17 ball game))

"Aye lass.. but i'd rather not say anything until we get there and I can look into it personally."

(corran)
*he looks up and cuffs softly in the language of wolves* ~WS~ Anything I might be able to help with Rhya? I am a Theurge.

(zoe)
. . . Even accepting his directions, she somehow manages to do it with that curious mix of meekness and strength. She was an odd bundle of contrasts some days, or nights, as the case may be. . .

(gabe)
He paused and looked to the Theurge.

"I know lad... but from what I have learned you just might get that chance."

Waiting till she was alittle closer he turned once more and kept moving.

corran)
*he wags his tail gently and softly leans aginst Zoe's legs leading her around a rock*

(zoe)
. . . Corran's subtle directions shifting her path, avoiding the more painful of obstacles. A thud into free standing objects could be rather painful after all. . .

"It is good to be out and walking again though. . .I used to take long ones nearly every day before."

(corran)
*He listens as they go. Useing those wolven sences to keep a figitive look out, but more with ears and nose.*

(gabe)
The trailing wood finally opened upon the paved path that would lead them through the wood and into the Village. Time would be able to be gained here in this part of the journey, but it was as they approached the village and nearer to the township graveyard that he was given pause and reason to check things more closely...

But that was still several miles off yet.

(zoe)
. . . The path a relief, even if she enjoyed romping through the wilderness. Now it ws just easier to walk where few things obstructed the way. Making a better time, with a better pace as things become more smooth for walking. . .

(harl)
a swing at his tail a slight brush of silken fur against silken fur. head turning to look at the other feet comming up short. the wairiness filling him a deep breath senting searching eyes looking in the shadows. searching the dark on edge low to ground a shadow hidden in shadows

(corran)
*As they near the village he steps a bit to the side and SNAP reassumes his breed form. A tall man dressed in hiking boots fit slip fashion. Dark brown pants and a tan shirt under a dark blue leather jacket with pressed dimond patturn on it. In one hand is a tall Iron wood staff shod in iron with leather grips. He twirls it once and steps back to Zoes side gently offering her his forarm. He looks around the dark lime peel green eyes alert*

(shadowplay)
Near silent the bootfall whispered along around him as he traversed the Barrens in quite a different direction than what Gabriel and Co. had taken. The longcoat swirled around his legs slowly, occasionally flicked up teasingly by the winds. A long, pale figure stooped in unforgiving blacks wandered these woods tonight.

(nak)
jaw drops, allowing his tongue to touch the air, ears swiveling forward (perhaps it it a sense) as head draws towards shoulder in glance to the right, paws a careful sidestep to bump haunches with Harlequin (over there) the shadowcat, black as night, black as the abyss, black as secret's tainted death creeps towards a tree, shoulder pressing into rough bark, peering around it curiously at the man in black

(harl)
shoulder rolls against shoulder head bumping his in silent achnowledgement before nodding towards the tree itself towards the branches above . such a human geasture from a form so sleek

while nakhti presses himself to the wood harlequin climbs a slight click of claws on bark as he assends climbing up the way some would walk on a vertical... black fur and green eyes watching the figure from his higher perch. silent

(shadowplay)
Creeping-crawling: a disturbingly large spider wrests itself from the shadows of the longcoat, visible like a star or movement across the black material as it proceeds to climb its way slowly towards the man's neck and face. The boy-man, for he looked no older than perhaps sixteen, raised a gloved hand and brushes long fine strands of raven hair back over one shoulder, freeing it for the spider to take perch, as that seemed to be his ultimate destination. He pauses at the faint scrabbling sound of claws sinking into the tender bark of pine and birch, cocking his head to one side and dark eyes slip-sliding across the shadowed scene.

(nak)
long tail sweeps over the frozen ground, deathly still save the slowest draw of breath, watching the young man intently, muscles twitching through shoulders and back, intently curious seeing the spider take its perch

(harl)
eyebrows would climb if he had them that dark gaze drifting over the man below the way the spider crawls the closeness he seems to share with it. and to think before that he thought it was attractive. muscles relax slowly ever so slowly ready to move paused on the edge of action he watches silent waiting,

(shadowplay)
A flicker-flash of glowing red for a minute passage of time that then dulls as quickly as it shined through the bleakness... he pauses, stooping down and touching a hand to the game trail under foot.

(nak)
there's an inhalation, a slow deep breath, and senses expand before what would be brows on a human wrinkle in thought

(sense primal nature on damien)

(harl)
he too draws in a deep breath a teasing breath to bring to him both the sent and taste a combination drinking him in through olfactory senses adding it to the sight of him and the sound

(shadowplay)
There was the faint tease of the scent of lily of the valley winding on the wind that whipped past the crouched figure. He was uncannily silent and almost unnaturally still with the press of age wallowing around his figure.

(nak)
those brows furrow further, if such a thing is possible on a feline to frown, pink tongue slides along a canine in silent thought, and his head lifts to his companion, whiskers flaring as black lips draw back from bright teeth, tongue curling up between canines to show only the fang-like appearance in the dappled moonlight (vampire) the sole way he knows how without hands to make the signs

(harl)
his own brow furrows at the silent conversation, the hidden meaning only guessed at if it what it means and even then not truely sure what to make of it. wishes they where somewhere they could talk... yet he is reluctant also to give up the chance this is almost as much fun as teasing that one who wears warpaint. waiting watching for now content to watch the stranger below.

(shadowplay)
He rises smoothly from the crouch and wipes his soil dampened fingers along the material of the longcoat and then continues his slow gaited walk through the trees of the lonely barrens.

(nak)
hungry for knowledge, ravenous for knowledge, as the slim dark figure walks on, the shadow melts away from the tree with but a glance up to his companion, carefully stalking this newfound prey

(harl)
he moves through the trees branches with as much ease as others walk the ground feet silent on his wooden walkways. climbing lower slowly decending so better able to follow. the shadowy figure until he too is on the ground walking with the shadowcat pacing him while stalking thier prey

(gift: silent stalking)

(shadowplay)
Whether he is aware of not of the preadtors stalking his passage through the barrens he gives no indication either which way. Silence and unnatural flowing grace, moving through the haunted pines.

(nakhti)
shoulders roll in smooth sweeps with each step, where Harlequin uses his gift to be silent, the shadowcat naturally moves as quietly as a tomb, even over the gravel and dirt and twigs and latent ice, there is not a sound that comes from the generations of spies and haunters, he follows as a part of darkness itself - though has no doubts he has been noticed

(harl)
*(you doubting my abilities to stak you silently without gifts?) his opinion one should never be to careful and that is the main reason he employs his gifts, that and a stray twig could be thier undoing. like liquid patches of the night the two cats stalk thier prey. long and sleek the heavily muscled form of the big cat moves like water across the earth, padded feet touching the ground lightly spreading to absorb the impact and the sound. (not that he needs it cause hes cheating) falling back far enough that darkness will hide him. following with nose and ears as much if not more than sight.

(shadowplay)
"At least have the common courtesy to show yourself," he states, pausing in his movement, his soft voice and expectedly tainted by the youth of his looks, but still it was entwined with the heaviness of a long passage of years that brooked no want for games this night. He'd already dealt with the Elder Fianna who'd made no bones about what he thought of his presence out here in the wilderlands, he had no wish to continue a little charade with whatever else may call the Barrens home.

(nakhti)
there's a tilt of his head, as if nodding to some silent conversation within himself (courtesy enough), and the cat moves smoothly through the brush, even when it combs through non-reflective fur the branches do not rustle, pads spread on the beaten path the vampire travels, two steps taken to reveal himself and haunches sink to the ground, sitting as Bast before her people, angular head held high, slender shoulders evenly settled, tail sweeping to wrap across his paws, hazel eyes the only glitter from the large, thin feline silently watching the man

(ra'gon)
He had left the vardo and passed briefly thru the Gaunlet to traverse only momentarly a short cut through the penumbra. Exiting in the Barren's wood, his eyes adjusting for the night began their scan for a particular root.

(harl)
he looks to nakhti leaving it to him what they should do for now eyes searching in question before nodding when his descision is made. willing to take his lead.he watches as the other flows forwards stepping into the others sight. watches and listens to him show yourself implies only one. yet he is reluctant and he could be wrong. letting him draw ahead he reverts to human form from one step to the next the human face pushing from under fur as it shrinks back into skin into clothes.
the feline grace carries over as the young man (is he much older than you appear) steps into the clearing comming to stand next to the other cat head tilting to the side as he looks at you.dressed in fatigues doen in shades of black white and grey (there for fashion not for camoflage) and a black woolen long sleeve top so tight his body can easily be seen beneath it the flat plains and smooth curves of the lithe figure the slightest of bumps due to his navel peircing.. a necklace shows through dark hair like ravens wings framing olive skinned face and chocolate eyes. he doesnt say a word just comes to rest next to the cat

(shadowplay)
Curious... He cants his head to the side in an all too feline gesture and gazes down at the miniature Bast-like creature that broke through the undergrowth and sat regarding him in a similar nature.

"Thank you." He was ever polite, even to the animals, although this particular cat seemed to show an uncanny intelligence as it had understood the request without the aid of any... coersive... means. He lifts his dark eyes to the young man that followed shortly thereafter, unnatural stillness settling over him as he regards the addition to the 'little party' in a moment of silence. He slowly inclines his head, a vague welcoming nod for Harlequin.

(nak)
the cat's head tilts, at the gratification expressed, at the mimicing and familiar cant of head, as if some polite assertion of further understanding, and when Harlequin stops beside him, there's a shift of weight, the tail flicks, weight moving to sweep around them and curl, instead, around his companion's ankle

there is curiosity in its regal gaze and posture, but no hostility

(ra'gon)
::Though hearing was impaired, his nose was uncanny. That residual scent lingered high on a swift downwind. The strange brother had just recently passed...yet another scent accompanied him upon that gust coming downwind. His eye instinctively twitched and casted itself to linger towards it. The origin of that draft, up aways abit. He pondered only a moment should he attempt to engage with him or continue with his present task of root searching he had intended.::

(harl)
an eyebrow raises ever so slightly at the lack of greeting for him too, as hands drag delicatly through nakhtis fur scratching gently behind his ears (that place thats just oh so hard to reach) before flowing down his spine drifting off at that point where one would have to lean down to go lower part acknowledgement of his presense part lovers carress the geasture is a familiar one as if he has shared much with this cat the way he touches him in that almost casual manner there is no hostility no anger nothing but an burning curiousity barely hidden in green eyes.

(shadowplay)
He raises dark gloved hand up, steepling the finger together and resting his chin on the soft tips as he regards his stalkers for another silently contemplative moment. His midnight eyes float from one to the other, seeming to gaze at them and then through them as is seeking answers on another more spiritual level before he speaks again. If nothing else, the lack of hostility was appreciated. He'd already had enough of the pompous grandstanding violence of the Fianna child-Elder.

"Why, may I ask, were you given to following me?"

One his shoulder the oversized spider creep-crawls through several whispering spider-web strands of raven hair, lifting its front legs up into a postured stance, it's venemous nature all to apparent to those who knew someting about arachnids and nature in general.

(ra'gon()
::His mind made set, a compromise of sorts. His feet began him slowly towards the origin of the gust. Having decided not to intrude should the strange prala be..well entertaining privately...and thus give him leave to finish his searching. Though if it seemed to the contrary, he would be polite and call before his advance through the night after spotting him::

(nakhti)
hazel eyes flicker towards the spider, chin lifting as head seeks to remain under the fond tickle of Harl's fingers - it knows about arachnids, and it ventures no closer

in fact the animal seems rather protective of the human beside him, very tip of it's tail tapping thoughtfully against the ground, calmly and curiosly watching the man with his animal world companion, and in a moment, there is a movement that is strikingly decisive: whiskers slowly flare (curiosity) in a silent answer

(harl)
eyes watch them both the spider and the man head tilting as if to beter capture the words eyes moving as if could see the movement on them in the air. the movement of the cat at his side captivating drinking it down (sensation junkie well almost) finally turning back to the one who asked the question
"mere chance meant our path shadowed your own" his voice is sensous soft like velvet. like the fur under his fingers. purrrring from between lips

"and what brings you out into the night all alone"

(shadowplay)
"You have an exceptional form," he speaks again, addressing the creature curling it's tail protectively around the legs of the young man beside him. He spoke to the cat as if he was absolutely certain that it could understand his words, not making the referral to Harlequin as if he through the midnight cat was a mere pet. He then looks over at Harlequin, canting his head to the other side curiousity reflected in his own look and stance.

"I sought something; someone."

(nak)
there's a leisurely blink of hazel eyes (I know) or two (thank you) seeming to appreciate being treated as a highly intelligent creature and no mere familiar, and an ear flickers back and forward again (who..)

(harl)
it is not a pet but rather an equal that he treats nakhti his is the familiar embrace of someone who has shared many an intimate moments. he smiles as the cat aknowledges the compliments. "who did you seek? prehaps we could help" for a price of course.

(shadowplay)
"He is not, for all appearances, in the Barrens, I believe. Should contacting him become more difficult I will merely press my attentions on his companions."

He rolls a shoulder in a very bare shrug as if it hardly mattered in the end: given time and persiatance he would find what he was looking for. It was not as if he was beggard when it came to Time as mortals knew it.

(harl)
"prehaps... prehaps not yet if maybe we can at least direct you where to go next in your search." curiousity and all that wanting to know now more for the sake of it than actually trying to be of any true assistance although he will offer that as well to a certain extent. his eyes dark like richest of chocolate look at you watching. . "what made you think they could be found in the barrens"

(shadowplay)
"Those of his ilk always tend to gravitate towards the more rural locations."

He gently stroked the steepled fingers back and forther under his chin, strangly unblinking eyes keeping a careful vigil over both man and cat.

(ra'gon)
::Again his sense of hearing impaired, he relied solely upon his nose and eyes once again. Halting his approach with the first relevation of them had finally settled upon his eyes. Wishing to utilize two senses instead. With a cant of his head he watched the two shadowy forms twist and contort, they seemed neither hostile nor or a intimate sort.::

"Prala?!" He shouts from afar.

(nak)
the tail flicks and plays across Harl's boots, the length of it a gentle buff against as it toys in idle thought, carefully watching the man as carefully as they are being watched, until that angular head twists to look back across a shoulder at the sudden hail from the darkness (prala?) blinking before looking back to his two companions

(harl)
his haed tilts as the words came drifting out of the dark turning slowly to look in the direction of the voice. his voice pitched low looses a lot of that sultry tone but it is still there like an overtone... the words ringing out in romani loud clear. "how can i help you brother" before he turns an apologetic shrug all he offers to both nakhti and the stranger"

(shadowplay)
His eyes slide inthe direction of the new voice and he takes a single step further back into the slip slide of cloying shadows cast by the overhang of trees and cloud hazed moonlight.

(ra'gon)
::Struggling to hear clearly for any response to his call. Brows narrow as he does indeed hear something..but intelligible to him it was not.::

"Prala? I am coming closer to hear you better" Shouting

(nak)
the sleek cat continues to sit, silently, now watching this brother that approaches them, though occasionally the gaze switches back to the vampire - whether out of concern or courtsey is not clear

(harl)
how much dignity can one keep while yelling through the forest. he almost growls he finds his "cousin" infuriating mmost of the time yet call out he does again in romani "We will be here brother " turning to nakhti wispering for him "the wolf is family in his own way" and then a little louder "it is family that approaches i am sorry for the disturbance"

(shadowplay)
The shadows spill over his pale features offset by the monochrome clothing, longcoat flapping loosely around his legs and his raven spider-wilk hair caught up and licked by the breeze. He remains disturbingly quiet, as if he were but a statue left to grow moss and vines in this haunted place.

(ra'gon)
::Again hearing only muffled unintellible noise he indeed moves forward as he warned. Drawing up the distance that seperates him from them in the same silence in which he saught him originally before. Though the scent he encountered upon the gust of downwind was not the same coming from the now obscured in shadow second form. Confused, his step faulters in stride as his pace slows. This allowance given to himself is taxed wisely as he slowly advances. His nose working hard to justify the oddity before him...seeking, searching for the slightest shimmer of the first he encountered with the downwind. Finding it..though sensing it low upon the ground his eyes narrow in search of the third person he now had to account for.::

(nak)
there's a flicker of one ear, a slow acknowledgement (allright) of the hushed words between them, and it seems a growing trend among the creatures swathed in black, the black cat and the black clothed man both infinitely, patiently, still and silent, there's the knowledge of the pharoah's hidden behind glimmering hazel eyes

(harl)
he falls into a crouch sitting on his heels comfortable content like the human counterpart to the living statue that sits next to him the body pressed against his ever so slightly at hip and shoulder. protector protected who knows which they see each other probably both.

(shadowplay)
...watch me watch you...

He remains silently observing the arrival of the new comers on the scene.

(ra'gon)
::Settling only a few yards away from their collective place, assuring himself this distance was agreeble with his impairment while still remaining unobtrusive should they require his departure in hopes of retaining privacy they once shared between them.::

"Hello Prala..I do hope I am not intruding, if so I will leave you...." His eyes strain to the forest floor for that scent he kept sensing on the downwind.."Three of you?"

::His eyes narrowing to pierce the darkness till the silhouttee of that rather large black cat came into his vision. Blinking once, twice. Mouth falling slightly agap and wide he simply gawks in amazement as well as confusion

(nak)
when Harl crouches next to him, the long tail sweeps across the ground, then recurls around his companion/partner's hips next to his, the slightest lean of shoulder against shoulder, there's a look in his eyes - regal - at the overt amazement of the newcomer, a lift of sculpted chin - he knows what he is, and he knows the impact it has when others realize it

(harl)
"are you hunting flies Ra'gon? if not then i suggest you close your mouth a little"

arm snaking out in that delicate way to again scratch the cat again more a lovers touch a carress, rocking forwards onto his knees almost like someone offering suplication. about to offer prayer to his god. or prehaps with his god. before sitting on his legs laid back relaxed or at least seeming so hand running over that tail that snakes around his waist.

(shadowplay)
A rippling chuckle from the young pale man that stood secluded in the drip of shadows beside one of the trees. A large arachnid creep crawled slowly along the thin spread of his shoulder, closing in towards the pale flesh of the young man's neck. Two legs were lifted, poised to strike, but the creature (large even for its species) seems to be poising the threat towards the two other men and the oversized midnight-pelted cat.

(ta'gon)
::That agap mouth closes slowly, eyes still intent upon the feline who bore the touch of Bast. Another blink and his mouth opens slowly to let a query escape, yet nothing slips out their way. Remaining silent he closes his mouth again and turns his eyes towards the shadowy man, but only for a moment as his eyes strain their corners for a glimps at what he currently could not comprehend. Large spider! His head and eyes swiveling back to the man, one hand raised high to point at it.:: "Jesus christ man! Be still..there is something crawling on you"

(shdowplay)
"I know," the effiminate male replies canting his head to one side (away from the tarantula type spider, of course). A ghost of a smile touches his pale lips as he lifts a gloved hand up and holds it before the spider that crawls with long gray-white legs onto the newly offered perch.

(harl)
he doesnt like spiders not really. the only good thing about them is the way they crunch between teeth ... eyes watch the hand the play of muscles as hand is raised. the way the spider crawls onto its new perch. he watches Ra'gon actually the only one he doesnt watch is nakhti yet in the touch he can sense so much

(nakhti)
there's a level match of hazel gaze, as if peering into the newcomer's soul (what is it that disturbs you, wolfen child) an unrelenting gaze that's both chilled as timeless ice and warm as the desert sands of home, the tail moves cobra within Harl's touch, but not a sound, not a reaction to the observation of the spider

but then the oversized cat moves, tail sliding out from Harl's hand, angular grace melting to slide across the dunes as shoulders drop in the first step, liquid midnight traveling along the path towards Ra'gon, and those eyes never once waver in their stare, there's a slow breath, lungs filling in lean chest through smooth step and movement to circle the brother, taking in scent (the legends of shadow cat's stealing baby's breath) and perhaps so much more in this silent, predatory investigation, and perhaps salutation, before the animal returns to Harlequin's side

(ra'gon)
::Blinks:: "Oh...I mean..Oh..ok" ::Finishing with a grin and a shrug accepting that this shadowy figure was obviously one of those rare individuals who had a thing for strange pets. Besides, he had heard everything in America is bigger...but damn..that size? Tearing his gaze from the spider and towards Harl finally with a slight hint of miscomfort:: "Who's your friend?" ::Eyes darting down to the cat and suddenly he ponders if Harl is like him...a rare collecter of strange exotic pets. Yet he does not put forth any question upon the feline. After all it could be a spirit taken to form. But if so..why? What affinities does this Prala before me possess to allow him this? His head cants downwards while watching the movements of the cat towards and back aways from him.:: "Bast" ::Slightly inclining his head before returning his glance to Harl. Quickly speaking in an attempt to disguise his excitement of curiousity.:: "I am looking for some muskadine root."

(sirena wylder)
Many roads crossed in the time it took her to travel up this far..
Many roads left behind in the wake of her passage.
Like Time.. It seemed to take forever to get from side of the continent to the other. From South to North.
Highways, back country roads. Dirt, gravel, and black asphalt. They were all the same to her. They led somewhere and yet nowhere all at once.
She kept on drifting, kept on running, just kept on..

She moved with the silence of shadows upon the old trail, walking through the woods. Long, thin boned hands pulling lazily at the large, old brown trenchcoat (a man's coat) that envelops all of her lean, wiry-muscled frame.
Her head turned upward, squinting large, Green Jaded eyes to peer up at the cold, almost black skies, before lowering them upon her path once more.

(shadowplay)
"Excuse me..." He inclines his head to Harlequin and just as respectfully to Nakhti, a flicker of midnight eyes at Ra'gon before he starts to backstep further into the shadows as if planning to escape this little tete-a-tete.

(harl)
eyes look at you as the cat returns to him wrapping himself around the cat as it again returns that possessive (mine) reflex before leting it slide past with that casual touch. smiling as he looks to nakhti for permission to give his name. the silent comunication studied granted and the name whispered out between bestung lips as much a caresss as the touch purring from lips "this is nakhti." eyes widening at the mention of the name bast and then narrowing again. maybe now he will finanly get it. as for the herb he does not know it and if Nakhti does hes not exactly in the form to tell him. "i am sorry i would not know where to locate him"

raising slowly to his feet he stretches body arching as he loosenes muscles stiff from sitting on the cold ground. a smile at nakhti
"we should head back, it is a long way home"

(ra'gon)
"Please do not leave on my account. I will leave so you may continue your conversation. I apologize for the brief and untimely interruption." ::Feeling everyone's sudden urge to flee from his arrival. Well damn. (IC perception only). Slowly turning from them all:: "Till soon again then Prala"

(shadowplay)
"More that my kind has a rather instinctual sense of preservation within your ilk's vicinity," a faint whisper of a chuckle from the shadows as he recedes further into clusters of Barren pines and birches.

(harl)
*he flows across the ground making sure to hug Ra'gon an almost manly hug even if it doesnt last a little to long "it is not you brother. rather i really must be off i will return my bike again to the kampania tomorrow then we can talk"

(ra'gon)
::Eyes narrow upon the odd farewell from the spider loving shadow fella. Naturally his head swiveling to cast his gaze back at his retreating form. Then back to Harl with his hug:: "ok Prala, I will wait to ask what you were doing out here? And who was that? On the morrow"

(nak)
there's a look at the spider's man departing, a slow blink, the his attention returns to Harl, the permission granted in a language of expression, perhaps a glimmer of amusement in hazel eyes (so now you catch on) before the liquid feline stretches next to his companion, shoulder against his thigh to follow into the night

(sirena)
A small stone skips across the road, kicked from underfoot of her boot. Hands flee the cold, tucking into the flannel warmth of deep pockets. The coat swaying around her, from constant movement. Dried leaves and twigs, long dead from the cold, snap and crunch underfoot as she steps on them. The noise made, to drive away, anything that might be lurking in the dark underbrush. One did not travel the roads alone without being too cautious, especially a young female as herself.

A heavy mantle of dark, ebony curls gathered at the nape of her neck, a thin gauzy scarf of black material wrapped around her brow (gypsy-like) to keep her hair from falling into her face.

(harl)
((i really do have to go i wish i could stay sorry all)) *after hugging Ra'gon he flows off into the night. a dark speck followed by a shadow pressed close to his hip. the sound of a bike starting and wheels on gravel soon follow fading into the distance as they dissapear.

(ra'gon)
"You will bring Bast's child with you then as well Prala?" ::He interjects::