Fit for Pearls

Minnie takes Fallon on as a research assistant

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

Fit for Pearls

Postby Philomena on July 21st, 2014, 1:53 pm

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SUMMER 19, 511

"Fish-o-the-dock! Fish-o-the-dock!"

It was the last catch of the day - even without the time, Minnie could tell for it had last catch smell: that is, it smelled of the last catch interspersed carefully with the sun-aged leftovers of the day's other catches. She loved the smell, had always loved it, less a woman's response than a dog's. When she was young, it was the scent of the possibility of extra dinner, for what the hawkers could not sell, if it was not something that could be salted or smoke, they would toss into the Mire, where a determined hand could fish it back out, rinse it in seawater, and eat. She smiled even, a little at the memory, as she tottered down the street, bag clutched tight to her chest: she could almost taste the hot-stringy flavor of uncooked mackerel on her tongue. IT was funny, how some things never left one.

The smile faded, as she turned and saw the low, heavy form of the inn just past the docks. Its chimney poured smoke, and its door poured the scent of unwashed sailors and slopped kelp-beer, and these two combined to tickle her sense of dread.

You stupid gutterslut. She's a real person, a world traveller even. She won't have time for this.

She closed her eyes and with one of the hands across her chest, dug a sharp middle finger into her palm, hard. She focused hard on the little point of pain - she was growing old, and her palms dull, with age. It took more pressure to produce enough of the sharp, clean feeling to give her focus.

"She needs work. This is a transaction of business is all." She spoke the words aloud, her face high and reedy with strain, but not desperate. A big fellow, a common sailor maneuvered around her, with a bemused grin, touched his cap.

"Goody Lefting."

She blinked, pushing her glasses up, at the man, knowing him, but unable to pull his name from the jumble in her brain at the moment, "Evenin', muster."

He turned and headed in, then, waving to a fellow inside - in the heat of high summer, now, of course, the windows and doors were thrown wide.

Minnie followed, the high, uneven steps making her look childish as she clutched the tottering railing, blinking behind her blown-glass spectacles, eyes like great, sluggish dust moths. She would be here, Minnie hoped, or guessed anyway. Clearly, the lass hadn't two coppers to rub together, after all, and travelers tended to gravitate down hill anyway, so the chatters and sinks of the Uni district didn't seem her style. Besides, for all the noise of the port tavern, it was a much better place to be left to one's self. She understood the sentiment - while she might frequent the uphills for people-gazing sometimes, this, the humbler smells of the kelp-fry and harbor beer, this felt to her more like home.

She tottered up to the bar, climbing one of the stools rather as one might climb a ladder more than a chair, settling her fleshy body atop the seat to look at the bartender. He didn't even ask, but went to the far end of the bar, snatching up a curl of kelp fritters and bit of lukewarm kelp-tea, nodding agreeably.

"Usual, goody," it was not a question.

"A thanks on 'e, Scups. I had a...a bit on a question too, if its all the same."

The bartender stopped, vaguely interested, "Question, doc?"

"I'm after a girl, 'en. Dunny know she's her, but I 'spect it, you may 'ave seen her? Foreign, young, student-ish, but quiet-like. Drinks... a bit... I believe..."
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Fallon on July 21st, 2014, 7:14 pm

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It was carefully that Fallon took a mouthful of kelp beer. Her eyes were focused on the man opposite her, the smatterings of a card game open before her. Opposite her she could see the sailor staring back, chewing upon the mouth piece of his tobacco pipe and then promptly smacked his weathered lips around it. Around him his companions leaned in, eyes darting intently between the pair as the game of Blind Man's Bet turned over. A faint creak of wood sounded in her ears, the hot stench of sweat and bodies making itself known. There was a quick dart down to the piled coin, an odd collection of Mizas and Nilo of various shades and rims. Lips gave a lick, a shift of weight as she looked down to her hand once more and winced at her pour hand.

"You look worried Lass," he snorted at her over the cards. She gave him a scowl in response, the smallest of pouts as she weighed him up, "You not got what you wanted? Don't worry, I can think of lots of ways fer you to earn it back." She could almost see him grinning, the subtle pat upon her leg serving as more than just a suggestion to her. Her leg gave a jerk in reflex, the table rocking as she pulled back and away. Another mouthful, a focused swallow as she tried to focus - not that a four of ships and a seven of scrolls was exactly going to save her from watching her lack of funds escape.
"Got to keep taking cards from the deck until I'm at sixteen points or higher, right?"
"Right Lass,"
he gave a smile.
Placing down the cards she gave only a nod, her eyes pinning down to the sailors unturned card, and the nine of water that was next to it - he was playing as the dealer after all. Her brow furrowed, "Eleven in total. What you waiting for? Hit me."
"Keep your pants on Las-"
"And stop calling me 'Lass', I don't like it."


She watched him shrug, a toothy grin breaking out from behind his lips. Her eyes darted to the deck as he lifted the card and placed down a five of quills. There was a rough exhale, her head rolling back as he simply stared at her. Maybe she was not about to loose of her coin this season through gambling and drink. It was a strange sense of relief, and it was with a nod that she spoke, "Sticking to that. I'm not moving."
"Alru't then. Remember, I get higher, then you can call challenge and draw again."


Fallon waved the thought away. His hand then moved to the unturned card, and promptly flipped it to reveal a one of quills - Ten was the new value. There was another glug of the kelp beer - largely ignoring the flavour as best she could as she ogled at the cards. It was to quench her first, not to be enjoyed. Another card was turned, she could feel the pressing in of bodies as she studied the three of quills that was produced and her throat promptly begun to dry up. Next came the two of water. She straightened slightly, eyes widening as the world seemed to still. Pulse quickened, the adrenal of gambling reaching her - it was a strange buzz to say the least, but one she was finding she was starting to savour. The card was lifted and turned.

Fallon cursed, loudly.

"Twenty one!" Shouted the sailor as he proudly brandished the six of water. Coloured drained from her face, expression falling into that of horror as she slid down in her chair. Strength left her, her lips twitching as she watched the last of her savings be scrapped away into the pockets of the winner, and the resounding knowledge that once more she was completely and utterly broke.
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Philomena on July 23rd, 2014, 12:11 pm

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The bartender frowned about to speak, when suddenly from behind and to the right of Minnie, laughter and shouts broke out across the bar. A knot of sailors stood about a table and began clapping each other on th backs, and one of the players as well. The other player... yes just a flash. Narrow, and she didn't carry herself quite... like a sailor. The tension of the shoulders, and back, the readiness to spring. None of the easy-jointed loping quality of one who climbs ratlines for a living. A coiled, springing physique, slow and still and quiet.

And familiar. And obviously on the losing side.

The bartender raised a brow and grinned ruefully, "I fathom you found 'er 'en, Goody. I'll set your fritters 'side, an' your tea."

Minnie nodded vaguely, and began clambering down the tall stool, her tiny figure weaving along the corners to the bar, and through the crowd of people. A few seconds later, she drifted in between two of the cat-calling men.

The winner laughed scooping up the winnings and grinning lewdly at the loser, "Well 'en, lass, did I take your board money, girlie? I 'ave a bed you might sleep in, till you're on your feet, though I t'ink I'd like you better off of 'em!"

He grabbed himself lewdly at that, and the sailors laughed uproariously.

And in this part of the tale, perhaps, told by a good storyteller, Minnie would have intervened. She would have stepped forward and made some cutting remark. She even knew one! She would have stepped forward to defend the woman, she even dreamed it at hat moment, dreamed of leaning, seething over the table toward the sailor, who she even recognized, pushing her great spectacles up on her nose, and saying in her piping notes, "Daggel Hurston, does your mussy know you been gambling, what wit' a new baby at home, 'en? "

She dreamed all this, in that instant, dreamed of a barbed exchange, threats to let his wife know what he'd been up to, dreamt of the big sailor backing away with his tail tucked resentfully between his legs.

Dreamt, but her body froze, her throat froze, she simply stood, looking at the girl's back.
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Fallon on July 24th, 2014, 11:31 am

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Fallon pressed her fingers over her eyes. It was awkward in every sense of the word, her cheeks flushed as the laugher became the only thing she could hear. She shot him a glare from between her digits, but it did not last long. It was her own fault for getting into such a situation, placing down risks that she knew somewhere deep down she could not afford - but had made them anyway. Was it the excitement? The fix on the adrenal of taking the gamble and the sweet taste of coming out top. She released a hiss, and let the disappointment whistle between her clenched teeth. Slumped back now, Fallon did not register the approach of the professor as she weaved her way through the crowd and came up silently behind her.

"Go petch yourself," she burned at him, only to be met with further ridicule. Her gaze slid away after that, refusing to meet and her gloved hand locking firmly beneath her chin. She caught the lean down of the grin and the sailor as he placed his hands firmly in his pockets.
"Dun't want te do it for me lass? Bet your hands are good-" His question was met with a glare. With a snort, his friends gave only a nudge to each other and left Fallon to her seething. Around her the world continued onwards, twisting and turning with the voices and leaving the bitter taste in her mouth - though that may have also been the kelp beer planting its revenge on her. Eyes stared down and focused lazily upon the table top, a gentle swirl of the liquid within the cup.

Her thirst had been lost drastically, a sickening tightening of a knot within her stomach. Her term in the university may have been paid for and covered - but now the rest of her funds were gone she was left in a predicament. The place to stay was gone, along with the simple ability to put bread on the table for the rest of the season. Lips gave a lick, her mind flickering through on what she could do to correct that - and fast. She doubted that she would be allowed to sleep on the street, if she remembered correctly the Zeltivian guard was against that. So, it left her the inevitable choice of obtaining an income somehow.

Leaning back she turned her gaze around the establishment. The harsh glare still rested there, cooling off and tempering back behind the neutral mask. Her cup was drained, a sigh escaping as she begun the process of pushing herself up from her seat. At least until she caught the shape of Professor Lefting standing there almost dumbfounded. It took a moment for her to actually register the woman, the slightest tilt of the head to one side in surprise that the woman had come to such a dive in the city. The second thought made her wonder why she was even here, looking for something, or someone, or another thing entirely? And finally the third was that the woman was in fact directing her attention to the girl.

Clearing her throat, Fallon spoke up in those rolling lilting tones, "Professor Lefting? I... what are you doing here? This is about the late report, isn't it? I promise that I will do better at reaching the deadlines next time, and yes I am working on the latest one. Swear it. I'm just..." Her eyes darted away then around, "Taking a break? Yes, a break. So... anything else?"
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Philomena on July 24th, 2014, 11:54 am

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At the mention of the word 'professor', just a BIT of deference enters the room - it is, after all, a title that carries respect in the city of sailors and scholars. The men on either side of the tiny woman back up just a little bit and nod, a bit of the more raucous bits of language tone back slightly. Slightly. She's not the bloody provost after all.

Minnie looks up at the retreating figures and frowns with a blush, as she is addressed by Fallon, stumbling words before she's actually decided to speak, "I'm-your-you-cards... I'm..." she blushes, bites hard - visibly so - on her lip, and digs - more subtly - the fingernail into her palm again, her eyes closing for a moment - just a beat too long of a moment for polite company. She then reopens her eyes and fiddles at something in the neckline of her dress.

//Now you've made it into a petching show, Minnie Lefting.//

"I -- no, I just -- you dunny seem well, Mussy, a spot o' supper on your belly, maybe t'help?" she blinked stupidly behind her spectacles and bites her lip again, "I... fish... a little fish, won't you come at s'down a' me? If I... I..."

She heard the end of the sentence: 'if I'm not intruding'. The words echoed quite audibly inside her skull. But vocalization of these word... not today. The lips and throat had done all they would do, and she shut her mouth, just kneading furtively at the snarl in her neckline again, pushing her spectacles back up her nose, and examining very intently, the girl's left hipbone for no identifiable reason except that it was not her face. x
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Fallon on July 25th, 2014, 1:00 pm

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Fallon blinked, a nonchalant expression growing upon her face - an indifference almost to what was going about her. The head straightened, her hand falling onto the back of the chair and the gaze looking solely upon the woman. What was with the refusal to make eye contact? Was there some level of nerves in simply speaking to her? Or was there something much more behind it. Regardless, there was no sign of her making any movement soon, but those orbs remained fixed upon the target - attentive and refusing to budge.

Sucking in the air, Fallon felt her core shudder, a gentle swirl of the mind as she simply tried to read the situation. Energy gave a tremble, juddering as it rose up into her lungs and begun to lace itself in. She could feel her tongue twitch behind those closed lips, urging forth to say something to speak, to make a suggestion. Air seeped out, a low whistle as the older woman begun to stutter and tumble over words. Within the back of her mind however, machinations begun to turn and look down upon a specific point. The world around begun to tune itself out, and it was with a firm and focused step that Fallon came closer. Intention rose from her pit, and she accepted it.

Her hand gave a gesture to the table, her lips curling into that of a smile, "Come, sit down. I have time."
You can trust me - The thoughts gave a shudder, a simple concept that seemed to make sense for the situation. Lips were licked, her gaze locking, the feeling of the bubbling energy beneath. A small step to the side, the slow and careful nod of the head whilst she remained where she was. Her throat felt laced, the gentle unexplainable throb resting upon her tongue - Nothing to fear - "Tell me, why are you here Professor?" - Answer me.

There was a slight wince, a twinge within the side of her temple that she quickly shook off. Perhaps it was the wrong approach, she was not sure - no doubt she would find out soon enough. Her voice box gave a tremble, the eyes narrowing slightly as she took the Professor in, - Speak clearly - "Did you require something from me?"
Barely she begun to move back to the table, waiting almost to see what the reaction would be.
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Philomena on July 25th, 2014, 4:26 pm

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Leave her be, she doesn't want you here, she doesn't, just look at her. Do you see any pleasure on her face?

No, no, that is... she is... sometimes her mind it falls backwards. We have seen that, in our office, she has done it. Stop, stop.

Gutterslut, gutterslut! Not even that, for a gutterslut is smart enough to keep her own skin, and you? You are here marching into the mouth of the fire, laying yourself in front of this drunk, dangerous fighting woman, all because of what? A whim? Because you think she--

Another voice enters, sot, unfamiliar into her head, but it weaves quietly, deftly into her own thoughts, pouring through a different voice, a little soft Lanie voice, the thought pours, translating, transmogrifying, expanding in the queer alchemy of suggestion - the prompt providing spark, and the mind providing tinder.

Hush, darling. You can trust her. You know that. You have seen her eyes, before.

It is less a mind-loosening of fear, more a body-loosening, her flesh obeying something beneath thought, behind thought, and the juxtaposition of this urge with her normally so excessively censored actions gives her movements a sort of graceless grace, her legs leaning and stepping, without the proper bobbing of hands and arms and head, the slide into the chair not quite her natural movement,a s the woman invites her to sit. Her eyes register a sort of surprise, as she finds herself in the chair so suddenly.

Hush, darling, stillness. There's nothing to fear, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing...

The voice catches, and echoes. The spark catches at a long, dry line of weeds, of boxing twine tying shut boxes, of the dead grass of old autumns. Her eyes soften, and sink a little, and her shoulders relax, her face relaxes, just slightly. ITs not a relaxing thing to see. Her body melts a little, becomes more childlike, queerly, wrongly childlike, a sickle juvenile quality of vulnerability and timid, ashamed hunger in the set of her mouth, her brow.

Yes, yes, nothing to fear, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, speak clear and answer.

What did she ask of me?

Why are you here?

"Why am I here?" the voice was soft, teetering and fragile. IT is like a watching a hollow glass ball bounce in a crate where it has tumbled from its straw wrappings to jostle against the stones. Pretty, perhaps, in a way, but wrong, very wrong, very wrong, very surely wrong. She swallows softly, chewing on the question.

The regular ear, even, now, unaided by djed, would hear the edges of this change - her accent chanes, her timbre, everything. Her voice lowers, gradually, into a soft, hollow thrum, the hasping edges of a whisper almost tickling the ear with a strange intensity. Her voice cants, accentuating the meter of her speech in a manner something like a dramatic reading.

"Require, nae, require! We would ne'er
stoop down to that. We dunny play at crowns.
We came wit just a thought..."

The thought itself is sharp enough to reach even her, through the haze of Lanie-voice, and she starts, almost imperceptibly, recovering into a slow transition back to her normal voice.

"A... I... I di' not... I... come here a' times, Mussy. I'm..."

She shakes her head one more time, slightly, only half aware of her own descent, or of how close to the precipice she still is.

"I... yes... I... I can buy you supper, hmm?"x
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Fallon on July 25th, 2014, 8:58 pm

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Fallon tore her gaze away, and released a low sigh. It was akin to the ripping free of water, the mind bursting into life from the smothered state it was once in, the slow and sluggish movements released and firing into speed. Her brow pinched slightly, lips pressing into a narrow and then once more easing off. Returning to her seat she rested her jaw within her hand, eyes peering across the table at the woman from beneath her brow. Lips gave a subtle curl, a draining down of the lacing that rested upon her tongue. For a moment they parted, almost as if seeking something to say, but then fell short - the professor had spoken.

Whatever she had managed to do had obviously worked. Eyes gave a flicker down to the near swinging legs, and then looked up to the almost collapsed form that had been taken within the chair - almost as if the structure had given up and simply let things fall where they land. Lips were licked, a gentle muse down into the empty cup, and the bitter taste returned once more. Perhaps it would be best to obtain her own preferred drink - a spirit of some form -, she mused as she stared into the damp, reflective innards. She purred, eyes lifting to catch the woman, "Yes. Why are you here?"

It was the change in the pace of tones that Fallon noticed first, quickening and skipping almost in beat. Her head inclined to one side as she listened, was that the true Zeltivan dialect? Full of half formed words and slang? She did not comment upon it - she was too occupied in attempting to understand what exactly was being said at present. Besides, it was rude to interrupt one in the middle of their flow.

"The last one who brought me supper happened to be a stage performer looking for an assistant," she gave a flicker of a smile to the memory of Ravok, and then gently placed the cup down. A low clunk filled the silence between, her form leaning back into the chair and the brow lifting slightly, "I agreed, of course, in less than an instant. Hunger can drive someone to make many a snap decision. So, for three long days I served as an assistant... it was an interesting experience to say the least," Fallon raised her free hand at that point, a gloved finger pointing down upon the professor almost lazily, "But, I doubt you are a performer Madame. But... are you looking perhaps for assistance in something?"

A smile, if it could even be called that. Eyes gave a flicker, sharpening and then softening as she considered what was before her. What was it? Lift something? Move something? Serve as a pack mule? Or perhaps something much darker? Clearing her throat, Fallon gave a gentle rock of the cup, "Speak Professor, I do not bite. More so when slightly subdued by such. What is it you require? What can I help you with? Is it something manual you need doing? Or more academic?"
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fit for Pearls

Postby Philomena on July 30th, 2014, 12:08 pm

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Still muzzy-headed from the manipulations to her brain, Minnie mentally reeled a little, trying to regain her balance of thought. But she was not good at his, was not PREPARED for this. She had been ready to speak as a professor to a student - or a wages master to a hired hand, really, and now... the woman purred, and pointed at her, and prompted and led her, and guided the conversation so surely.

I do not bite.

The previous tugging of her mind had left the channels open the phrase swished round the bowl of her skull like the dregs in the other woman's flagon. IT made it hard or her to focus, to maintain the forced cohesivity and normalcy of her actions. Her words came... not clumsily, not even gracelessly. But akimbo of the rules of conversation. The spoke the same tongue as the student, but seemed to finger at a different language nonetheless, a language of indirectness and implication - not for the purpose of deception, for she is perfectly frank. Simply, not according to the normal rules of conversation.

"Performer, performer, I... eh...

The pantomime signs honesty,
Moreso than we,
Who pantomime at everything,
But play at veracity.

We whisk our skirts across the boards
Deliver lines
We mute the drama, blunt the swords,
Play charades to pass the time."

She smiled a little, and it is genuine, but subtle, a childlike echo of the semi-smile the woman gave to her.

"Do you know that one? Hennessy - I met her once, when, I... I was... was younger. She was very kind."

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Fit for Pearls

Postby Fallon on July 31st, 2014, 8:41 am

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"I do not know that one. Nor was it a pantomime I am afraid," she shook her head mutely, her eyes glazing over briefly as she remembered the gaudy colours and the old man who wore them, "More a stage magician. Good at making clever illusions with dust, oil, placed lines and contraptions - not that I still have any idea how he managed to do them." She gave only a sigh, fingers and thumbs rubbing together into her palms, before finally she discarded the memory once more.

"Professor," Fallon spoke coolly then, the rolling lit losing some of its previous warmth that gathered within its peeking tone. Her head cocked to one side from her position, a furthering of her lean back so she rocked upon two of the legs and then promptly came forward once more. She felt the tremble of energy once more, the strange coppery tang it left in her numbed mouth rise up and swirl. It laced, it set, the gaze refusing to budge from its lock down upon the woman and the intensity to simply gently pluck away at things rose once more within. Fingers laced together, lips twitching - Focus. Answer me. Answer the question. - before she spoke again, "You did not answer my question Professor. What do you need of me?"

If was an appearance to simply chat then Fallon was already sceptical. No, there was always something more as to why people approached, why they came and established conversation. A paranoid throb verified that notion within her mind and her heart. The question was however - though absent in answer - was presented before her, with the gentle throbbing of a headache rising within the back of her mind. Lips puckered, the pressing of the will of urges to demand and seek, force an answer and fracture the situation. Sucking in the air she stilled that throbbing energy, pinched her brow, and let the simple suggestions and emotions slip forth once more, "If it is merely a chat you are here for, then speak." - Calm and precise, speak to me, trust me. - "But if it is not. Then elaborate?"

There was only the pull away after that, a small creasing of the brow as she felt the senses rip and her mind surface forward quite abruptly. Enough so that she could feel the hand twitch and tense as she did. Part of her stomach knotted, a moment of quickness in pulse - alien both in nature and from where it had come - before once more it slipped down into a state of lull. Cheeks gave a puff, that once pushed aside throb returning to stay.
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Joined roleplay: January 21st, 2013, 4:24 pm
Location: Riverfall
Race: Human
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