No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Keating Ash on July 10th, 2010, 2:18 am

10th of Summer, 510 AV


Ravok. How he despised it. Always, he felt the touch of eyes upon him here. The Ebonstryfe, the Black Sun, or even the citizens, he did not know. And trusting none of them, he wondered, did they watch even now, as he sat at his little table drinking away the day? And though he was not a fresh arrival, the feeling never passed. He was uncomfortable in this city floating on water. It felt unnatural to him, a man bred as a farmer, with fields and dirt all around. Keating missed the greenery, the open expanses and the smell of hay. Even after a decade gone, he missed the damn smell of hay. In Ravok though, a sense of confinement threatened him, the buildings were pressed in upon one another and the streets overflowed with water. Give him a farm any day!

Putting his large fists to his eyes, Keating rubbed them harshly. Dark stubble hugged his tanned cheeks and chin. His eyes were hard and cold as he watched the followers of Rysol stroll past. Rysol! That dark god probably laughed long and hard over the whole of Keating’s pathetic life, he thought. Daily, Keating was reminded of the people’s devotion to their god, and daily he was reminded of all the misfortunes that had befallen his family over the years because of Him. The baby Heath, Lilly and Violet, not to mention his parents and the other children all long lost. And the most torturous loss of all, Rose! It was ironic that Keating was even here.

Snorting, he shook his head. Not long would he stay in this place, his job was complete. He was free to leave anytime, tomorrow or the next day if the weather was cooperative. And while the work had been simple, help transport goods to Ravok, this city was better off behind him. The type of cargo made no matter to Keating, and he knew better than to ask. A man had to work, had to live… not that he would call this hollow life, “living”. But what else did he have? The farm was long gone and Rose with it.

Keating took a deep draught of the ale, emptying the glass. Heavily, the tankard dropped onto the table, and he squinted to look at the cluster of wet circles on the wooden slab. He had been here long enough. It was a fine line he walked, the invisible, shaky line between soberness and inebriation. With a quick motion of his forearm, he wiped the wetness away. If only his past could so easily be erased. With a groan he pushed his bulk upwards from the table, and headed in the direction of one of the brothels. The pale, dark haired girls all knew him by name now, for Keating had been kindly to the whores, though he was never gentle. And with his anger blanketed by liquor, his mood was softened and the ache dulled inside. It would not last long, he knew, before the yearning returned bringing with it his temper.

Small crowds closed about him as he walked, shop keepers, mothers rushing home with children, slaves, and always the travelers hurrying to pubs and taverns. Amid the crowd, a bobbing darkness caught his eye. Surprised by the blackness of it, Keating took a step forward… That dark hair, could it be? Rose? He lumbered after the girl, in her blue skirt and red apron. She was small, yet womanly curves were there to see. Staring at the back of her, she was exactly how Keating remembered her. Rose! He almost tripped over a cart before she rounded a corner. Stopping at a seller’s booth, the girl inspected the dried fruits and candies, and Keating was able to catch up to her, almost running into her in his disbelief. Sweating, not from the exertion of the chase, but from renewed hope, he stood behind her. It had been so long. Towering over her, he almost wept. Hope had been missing so long from his life.

One shaky hand, rough and bruised from unloading crates reached out and Keating gripped her delicate shoulder. Perhaps the touch had been a little too forceful, for she spun in shock. “Rose!” But it was not her. Alarmed, her eyes flew open and Keating immediately withdrew his hand. “My apologies! Sorry Miss…” he shook his head, staring at the offending hand as if it was foreign to him.. “So sorry, I…” he mumbled as he backed away, the faint hint of alcohol hung in the air between them. “I thought you were…” He had been so sure! Unable to finish the sentence, his head hung low and he turned to go. Petching hope! What was that to someone like him?

Harshly, he pulled his face downward, before his right hand ran thick fingers through his black, cropped hair. His eyes had played tricks on him. Never would he find her and now she haunted him, his dark sister. At every turn and every corner, he expected to see her. It was the same. In all the cities he had visited, he imagined her dark beauty waiting for him. But she didn’t. Shaking his head once more, Keating decided that once he got to the brothel, he was going to order a stiff drink. Hell! Tonight, he’d take the whole bottle.
Last edited by Keating Ash on July 12th, 2010, 12:30 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Amorette la Rose-Noire on July 12th, 2010, 2:55 am

Ravok. The surrogate home that had swallowed up the self-made orphan from the wilderness of Syliras. Long ago having shed her family and birth name, Rose had made a life for herself here in Ravok as a prostitute under the name Amorette la Rose-Noire. She had not the faintest idea of what that name meant or if it meant anything at all; Amorette kept it for two reasons: it sounded delightful to the ear and it had just stuck ever since that curious man who had captured her had christened her it. Amorette la Rose-Noire... yes, she liked very much in deed how it rolled off the tongue. Rose was too short and when muttered in bed did nothing for her. Amorette had been born and never died, silly Rose had never dreamed of being that strong.

Amorette was dressed in her typical evening attire: a black provocatively cut and spun of fine black fabric draped scandalously over her womanly, pale flesh. Her hair had grown long since she had left her rural homestead but was still the luxurious raven's black it had always been; Amorette wore it up on the back of her head, letting it drip down her exposed neck in braids, curls, and loose strands. The look was misleadingly carefree for Amorette had spent a good portion of the afternoon fixing it just so. But it was her face that Amorette had spent the most time, carefully powdering the flesh whiter and accentuating all of her features in black, from eyelash to lip. But her elaborate make-up was a treat saved for her paying clients. Like all nights, Amorette donned her mask: a featureless thing carved of wood and lacquered in black, the mask covered her face from the tip of her nose to the top of her brow, where three large black feathers of black bloomed.

Not being a cheap slave-whore, Amorette maintained her own residence separate from the brothel she worked at: the House of Immortal Pleasures. It was not a short walk but Amorette was glad that she could make it every day, not being locked in chains at the house waiting to be used next. She got to choose who funded her next meal, which offered her a great deal of security and, or so she fancied herself, potential for power. Heels clicked strikingly upon the stone of the floating city, not watching where they went and really not caring.

Something caught Amorette's eye, though. It was a butterfly with the most exquisite wings in blues and purples. It fluttered clumsily through the air, fluttering to one part of the street and then to another. It was an airy carefree creature of striking beauty, one that Amorette could not bring herself to ignore. So when it landed with all the grace of a goddess upon the street the raven-head girl could not help but bend at the waist to get a closer look, a long, black-painted nail resting upon her chin daintily. It twitched its wings and then let it rest, relaxing a bit. Amorette smiled, "What a darling little creature you are! Your wings are just next to divine, precious!" Her voice was hushed, barely above a whisper but full of tender love.

Her foot darted out like a snake, the in-step landing on the butterfly as quickly and as well-placed as a dancer moving into her first pose. The poor butterfly had less grace; it was crushed soundlessly beneath Amorette's weight; its broken wings were splayed upon the ground, smeared beneath her foot. Looking down upon her work, Amorette smirked at the dead creature. "You were so lovely but, alas, you did not hold up very well, did you? Silly love, don't you know an insect is just an insect so you should really stop trying to make yourselves lovely. We will not forget." Amorette moved on. The butterfly was dead now and thus her distraction had ended; her moment of fun was over.

But something else caught her eye and it was heading in the same direction she was. It was a man just the way she liked them: tall, strong, and darkly featured. Make him drunk and full of money and Amorette would be a happy girl for the evening. Amorette increased her the speed of her gait, elongating her stride so that she began to close the space between her and the man, her dark eyes staring hungrily from the slits in her mask. He seemed like a nice catch and would surely prove a good tumble in the sheets but did he have any money? Amorette had to find out.

The gap closed, and Amorette made to link her arm around his; hers were long, lithe and very pale. She did not make to look up at his face or study him any further, making it seem that besides holding his arm, Amorette was very bored with this gentleman. Not to mention the mask made it hard to see on the peripherals. The man was taller than her, a good deal taller than her. "Evening sir, where are you off to this evening? Not the House of Immortal Pleasures by chance?" She smiled, her black lips curling up to expose pearly teeth. This man was much bigger than her and definitely stronger but Amorette was no afraid. She had no reason to be; life had taught her many things but never once had it taught her to be afraid.

Not being able to see properly and having not looked into his features, Amorette did not realize that this was Keating.
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No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Keating Ash on July 13th, 2010, 8:31 pm

Keating looked down darkly as the masked woman’s arm linked through his. She walked along side as if she knew him. Small and provocative, pale with midnight hair, so like his Rose. His mind suggested, it could be her… But after the recent encounter at the candy stall, the man shook his head. No! No more wild chases! One was enough for a afternoon. Besides, he had lost Rose. Even searching the whole city of Syliras, the Wildlands, and many other cities of Mizahar, Keating had found not one sign of his sister’s existence and she was never found. His dark sibling had vanished, and with her, his warmth. He snorted. Rose was not in Ravok, he told himself. Rose was not a prostitute. And this woman was not her. Rose had been destined for greater things. Most likely, she had gotten herself married to a fine, rich man.

Pulling on his darkly, stubbled chin, Keating smiled. Rose had her gentlemanly husband, so the farmer would have his whore. With this woman on his arm, and drink in his belly, the evening promised to surpass his original plans. The lady was cunningly dressed. From the black of her garment resting atop her pale flesh, to the hug of her curves, the dress served its purpose. Keating took notice of the woman in it, and his eyes lifted higher. The white and black makeup he did not understand, but the little mask she wore made him burn with a heated desire that the other whores had not come close to.

His eyes lifted from her body to her hidden face. Had she been looking she would have seen a fire ignite in his eyes. That fire as fiercely as it burned, would not last past the morning when Keating would realize once again, that there was only one woman for him. Rose! And he would become shutoff and sullen. This pattern had been a constant source of disappointment for many of the girls who took a liking to him.

“Evenin’ Miss...” He drawled, contracting his forearm, and lightly squeezing it against his side. Amorette would feel his arm, thick and muscular as it tightened and momentarily confined her hand against his ribs, in a more physical, primal greeting “Immortal Pleasures…, where only the prettiest of ladies work? I would be willing to escort you there…, because you are the prettiest I’ve seen since I’ve stepped foot in Ravok,” he said, his voice a little deeper with the drink in him.
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No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Amorette la Rose-Noire on July 20th, 2010, 9:51 pm

The strength of the squeeze did not go unnoticed, for it was an important factor to consider when inviting men to share one's bed. Amorette was not strong, no, so she needed to know up front just how overpowered she could potentially be. Considering his height and stature, Amorette was guessing that it would be quite easy for him. No matter, the raven-crowned girl was not easily put off and far from easily intimidated. What would happen is what would happen.

Underneath her mask, the girl could not help but cringe at the word 'miss.' She detested that word! It carried no weight and held no significance. A miss was a woman with no standing and zero world experience; while one of those might be true in this case, Amorette would fight tooth and nail to contradict the other. Amorette smiled acidly, her black lips curling delicately beneath the featureless mask. "You may call me Amorette, if you will. And I do not doubt that I am," she sneered at his last comment, though not maliciously. Amorette truly believed herself to be one of the more beautiful sights in Ravok.

There was a hint of alcohol on the air, which Amorette supposed came from this gentleman though she could not tell if he was inebriated or just had had a drink. No matter, more drinks meant more mizas and she could handle a few more of those in her pocket. Amorette curled her hand so that her black painted nails met more pointedly with Keating's arm and clenched in slightly. though smiling warmly. "It is just up the road a few more steps, darling. So... where are you from? You do look as if you are from Ravok." Petch her if she knew what someone from Ravok looked like; she was just aiming for conversation or at least this silly stuff until they had some drink before them.

The door for the House of Immortal Pleasures loomed before them and Amorette stepped in as confidently as someone stepping into her own house, leading Keating if he allowed. Oh the smells of alcohol hinted faintly with the sweat from sex! There was no other smell like it on all of Mizahar, was there? Her hips sashayed more confidently and her gait became elongated so that her black shoes with their deathly thin heel showed. She brushed a passing slave on the shoulder, her long, painted nails just grazing his flesh and whispered into his ear. The result? When they reached their table there was already a pitcher of fine and two glasses.

Amorette slid into her seat, perching herself upon it like a queen dressed in black silks in a court of black. And then there was that mask on her face. It did more than hide her face and it was more than just something carefully placed for art. It made her every woman. With it, she could be a long-lost lover or a friend's wife; a bitter enemy or a great queen. She could be any woman a man desired or none at all. It was featureless, but few men saw it that way. Black lips twisted once more into a smile, and she reached out to fill his glass first and then her own.

Clutching it delicately, Amorette raised the sparkling glass full of red wine, tipping it to her gentleman of the night. That face! It was the first time that Amorette had gotten a chance to look at it carefully since she had met this man and what a shock it brought her. "So precious, does wine suit you or shall you like something else?" That face! She dared not think the thoughts that came to her mind. She couldn't. It couldn't!

Muffled sounds of pleasure and pain wafted through the air like a carefully orchestrated choir to entertain them. She raised her glass to her painted lips and took the smallest of sips, never tilting her head away so that her vision stayed locked on that face. It was so similar but so different. Familiar but old! Had age struck the face she knew so well, was he so mortal as to succumb to that? But it could not be him, no.

"I apologize," her voice trailed a bit, each word coming out slowly as if she were a bit distracted, "What did you say your name was?" An unnecessary question; why would a prostitute care what the name was? And, Rhysol knew, Keating had left her and Keating had never come back. But this was not Keating; the hair was too different. Deftly, Amorette slid her foot out of her shoe and trailed it up his leg in small circles.

Those eyes! Dark as her own!
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No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Keating Ash on July 23rd, 2010, 2:41 am

Keating did not answer Amorette right away. At her question, his mouth became a fine line of sombre resolve. Had he heard, or did he plainly ignore her? The woman’s nails dug into his skin, but he said nothing of it. It was not until he was seated at the table, dainty wine glass in hand that he spoke, “This is fine stuff for ladies such as yourself, but I have a thirst for something more potent and fiery...” He sniffed at the liquid, and then drained the glass in one swallow. As if he couldn’t control the strength of his own hand, he thumped the small glass onto the table with too much force. It was a habit his mother had fretted over constantly before she died; the possible breakage of her few good, remaining glasses.

“I am from Syliras. Well, near it, in the rural country. An old family farm. Nothing like this city here.” He shook his head, the longing for home deep in his voice. But the voice changed and hardened. “You’d not like it, I’d expect. Fine ladies, it ain’t the life for them. Crops, and dirt, and animals and…” he stopped abruptly; an angry yet hurtful look crossed his face. “I don’t care to talk about it.” Pouring another glass of wine, Keating drank it down, focusing now on the agreeable woman in front of him, “Sure, there’re pleasures to be had in cities. But no, I’m not a city man.” Whatever drink he had imbibed earlier was now enhanced with Amorette’s wine and the lusty sounds of the brothel around him. With the two combined, Keating’s seriousness began to fade away.

As the lady’s foot completed its topmost circle upon his leg, Keating reached suddenly underneath the table and seized the elegant appendage with his hand. Again, he stared at her face to see what she might do. He couldn’t see her clearly, but Bala! she reminded him of Rose! And that black lined mouth… Damn the quantity of alcohol he had consumed this day! It made his head fuzzy.

She was what he needed. This girl! She could satisfy the longing in his loins, and cool the heat that threatened to overtake him. Consumed with thoughts of Rose, desire flared in him and steadily built. He could not, nor did he wish to hide it from this whore, her ankle so delicate in his hand! His fingers slid over the protruding bones, and gave each a small squeeze. As the hand lowered, Keating stroked her tiny instep with a calloused thumb. He used little force in his attentions, but force was there within him. Contained, it waited, docile. But the perceptive might wonder for how long would it remain confined?

“My name? Does it matter to you?” He asked surprised, because it didn’t matter to him. There was only one thing, one secret in his life that held any meaning. Could she guess its nature? No, he thought. No one ever did, not even women in this profession. Attempting to search underneath her mask, his dark eyes could not settle on the form of her hidden face. He looked again; the mask subdued Amorette’s features, blurred them and blended them. It was impossible to tell who she really was. Truthfully, he didn’t care what she was underneath the finery. Tonight he needed a woman beneath him, and if he couldn’t have Rose, this masked lady would do. “Keating. I am Keating.” He smiled, after all, he was only a man, and he did not try to hide the effect of her bearing upon him.

Still cradling her foot firmly, Keating leaned into the small table, closer to her body. The smell of alcohol tinged with wine hung unmistakably between them. He said bluntly, “If anything is to pass between us this night. I suggest you leave that mask on...” His fingers uncurled from her foot as he opened his hand. She was free again and he watched for her reaction. Though she had barely taken a sip, Keating topped off her glass with wine, and then he refilled his own. Lifting the glass, Keating gestured to her mask clinging to her face. “To mysterious women and unexpected meetings!”
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No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Amorette la Rose-Noire on August 5th, 2010, 10:20 am

The farming life! Now that struck a little too close to home and harped in a raw nerve long since forgotten. And with that face! But it could not be, no, it surely could not be him. Syliras was big, there were many dark-haired farmer boys. Many, many. Thank Rhysol for her mask or Amorette was sure that her face would have twisted in disgust. That life was nothing that she missed and it most certainly was not what was meant for her. No, Lhex had intended for her fate to be grander and more magnificent, that is for sure. Amorette had made sure that that part had stayed in the past. Amorette observed the drinking of the wine coolly, plastering an amused smile on her painted lips.

The strong, broad calloused hand clasped her ankle now, fondling it as if it were a toy. Instinctively at that touch, Amorette's hand shot to her face, as if to trace a long forgotten sensation that still lingered on her cheek. She blanched under her mask as her fingers grazed the smooth, lacquered surface and she tried to recover the action, a moment too late perhaps, and reach up to fix a perfectly placed strand of hair. After pretend-fixing the non-existent strand of misbehaving hair, Amorette clinked her dark nails on the table, though not in a way that indicated impatience or boredom. She smiled again. that touch sent chills down her spine.

Amorette reached for her glass of wine and took another tiny sip, just the amount he had topped off in her glass. Slowly, she let the flavors of the wine saturate her tongue, savoring the tiny sip slowly before swallowing. She needed to say something, anything. She had been in her head for too long and she did not want to lose this customer, though she was not entirely afraid of that. Amorette was distracted. "Perhaps not the life for me, but before a rose is cut and put in a vase of shimmering crystal so all can admire it, it probably grew out in the wild. Unknown and unappreciated." A metaphor for her own life, as she saw it.

Another slow, lingering sip of wine all the while her hidden eyes of coal black feasted on this man. This farmer. So similar was he to the one that she had lost that even for her it would be a pleasure this evening. She was sure of it. The dark red of the wine was still in her mouth but she was suddenly forced to swallow it suddenly and painfully, gasping silently and mentally forcing herself not to cough. The choking passed. What, though! What had he said his name was! Suddenly his name, which had not actually been important to her, became the most important thing of all. It could not be but it had to be. The face, farming, and the name! No more hiding from it, no more denying it. It was him!

Keating. Her brother. Her lover. Amorette had to fight herself not to spit at him, or launch herself across the table in an attempt to strangle him. She was confused in a sea of emotions but rage and fury were the strongest currents, sweeping her away from rationality. She wanted to kill him for leaving her. Because that is all that mattered right? That he had abandoned her to her fate, never looking back to see if she was alright. She had given him so much... so much... and then he left after the death of her father. Surely the anger was not from anything as petty or mortal as a damaged and wounded hea... no! It was not that. Amorette knew she did not have one of those.

The urge to kick him where her foot rested slowly abated as she regained her composure. What had he seen? Thank Rhysol for her mask but was it enough? She forced a smile on her lips and in simpering tones, whispered, "Keating, is it? A delightful name. I had the great misfortune of knowing a Keating once, but I am sure you are much different." She bet her tongue, the acid of her words were growing too strong for her to fight with just her will. She wished to scream so she bit herself instead. Blood. She tasted blood in her mouth as her teeth cut the flesh of her tongue. She swallowed.

Amorette rose from her seat, not knowing what else to do at the moment and struggling with a weakness that surprised her. She let her long fingernails trail on the edge of the table like a harpy's claws. "I assure you... Keating, that I will do many, many things for you this evening but I promise not to take off my mask." She would not give him that pleasure! The pleasure of knowing who she was while she petched him. No, let him dream about whatever girl he had abandoned him for. She circled the table so that she was behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder. She leaned in and whispered, "Perhaps you would like to retire to a place more... comfortable than this?"

If Keating consented, Amorette would take his hand and lead him to the chambers that were reserved for the clients that payed for the service of the flesh. Most of the prostitutes were slaves, but not Amorette. Most of the men were strangers, but not Keating. This would be an interesting evening if Amorette could successfully fight the urge to rip out Keating's jugular. It was a shame that she had not strapped her stiletto blade to her, such as her rage was. Or perhaps, it was a good thing.

The two entered a room with a bed of black silk and shelves of tools and toys that ranged from slightly perverse to almost torturous. Pick your poison, or so they say. Amorette deposited Keating on the bed, pushing his strong, developed thighs so that he would sit down on the edge of the bed. So strong, so familiar! Another fire lit beside the fire of rage: lust. She craved him as much as she wanted to destroy him. The two flames only served to fuel each other, causing each to climb in ferocity. Amorette took a shaky step away, fighting herself.

Her voice was thick and throaty when she spoke again, "So Keating. What shall it be tonight? Shall I be... your friend's wife?" She stepped a bit closer. "Or perhaps I am your slave?" Another step, this time shaking lose one shoulder of the dress so that more of her chest was exposed. "Maybe you want to be my slave? No, no. I can sense that none of those are what you want. Am I right?" She laughed a bit this time and closed the distance between them. She slowly lifted up the hem of her dress so that she could straddle Keating's legs and sit on his lap, facing him. Her mask covered the intensity of her gaze.

"I think I know what you want." She leaned in close, bringing her lips so close to his ear that she almost streaked it with the black paint she used. She took a few long, slow breaths; her chest was nearly pressed against his. "I think that tonight I shall be your sister. Call me Rose?" She jumped then, twining her fingers across his scalp, trying in vain to lock her grip into his hair and pull. Like he used to do. Like they used to do. She drew her mouth to his and kissed him deeply, hoping to catch him on surprise. And, for memory's sake, she bit him on the lip, hard. Just like she had on the night he had abandoned her. This time, though, there father's blood did not stain them.
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No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Keating Ash on August 11th, 2010, 6:04 am

The black, silk bed sank slightly under Keating’s weight as Amorette lightly pushed him to sit. Amorette stepped away, her form silhouetted against the backdrop of sexual implements. His dark eyes rolled over those torturous and attractive things, but this night Keating had no need of such distractions. He only wanted to feel her beneath him, and imagine the time was ten years past, with nothing to distract him from Rose, but the lowing of cows and the chirp of the night time insects of his youth.

Amorette’s suggestions annoyed him! He wanted her to be none of the things she offered. An abrupt reply sat on his lips as she neared. Keating needed no play acting, only the physical feel of her, the reminder of Rose against his skin. Games were for people with a life to live. The past years had been only grey and silent and torturous. The whore’s dress slid off one shoulder, the pale of her collarbone and chest made him stare; he burned with lust and hunger. “I am no one’s slave, Woman,” he lied over the lump in his throat, as she straddled his thick legs. And his breath became heavier the closer she sat.

That damnable mask! She was so near, heat radiated from him. But then she spoke the words, the damnable words! Sister! Rose! His eyes, half closed at her touch flew open, their blackness penetrated by disbelief. It couldn’t be! Amorette jumped and tried to entwine her fingers in his hair, but it was cropped too short for purchase. Familiar lips touched his, the kiss was deep, yet as he fell unwillingly into the memory of it, the sharp bite of her teeth sunk into him. Keating startled in pain and surprise. Standing abruptly, he knocked her off his lap and stood over her, fists clinched.

“You lie, blasphemous woman! You are not my Rose! I have looked and looked!” he bellowed, eyes wild. He refused to consider it. If it wasn’t really her, he could not bear the loss of her once more. “For ten years I have looked!” Without thought his arm raised high, he meant to strike her, to backhand her across the mouth. “You shall not speak her name!”

But Keating hesitated as the madness filled him, his arm shook uncontrollably, but it did not lower. A dark inspiration blossomed in his eyes, and he dove towards her instead. Years of brawling made his actions rough and brutal. He forced her back with one hand, and with the other he grabbed at her skirt, its soft, elegant fabric ripping as he lifted it forcefully upwards. “It will not be there!” he growled at her. But it was! The fine scar on her thigh that their Father had made with the stiletto blade could not be hidden.

Shocked, Keating fell back on his heels and groaned loudly. No. No. His head shook back and forth. “Rose? How?” he pleaded. “I saw the farm, the ashes. I thought you…, Is it really you?” He rambled with disbelief, but he looked hopeful for the first time in over a decade, but then he really saw her amid the instruments in the room and his face froze, “…I abandoned you to this life? Oh Bala! I never should have left you! How could I have been so stupid?” He questioned before balling up his fist and hitting himself in the head for his own stupidity. He took the blame square upon his shoulders as a man ought in this circumstance. He should have known Rose could not care for herself... “You have haunted me day and night, I am sorry! Please, Rose show me your face! I have waited so long…”
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Location: Ravok
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No Hope for the Dark Brother [Amorette + Keating]

Postby Seth on December 24th, 2010, 12:01 am

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Keating:

  • +2 Seduction XP
  • +1 Rhetoric XP
  • +1 Intimidation XP

Lores: The Feeling of being Watched, How to Sweet talk a Whore, Beer Goggles (What they are), The Feel of the Right Woman.

The Method behind my Madness :
The points in Seduction were rewarded because you did try and seduce, even if it was in a rough and straightforward way. I awarded the point in Rhetoric because of the suggestive verbal sparring that you and the lady did throughout the thread. Intimidation XP was rewarded because of the nice little rage you briefly went into at the end.


Amorette:

  • +3 Seduction XP
  • +1 Rhetoric XP

Lores: Knowing exactly what to Wear, Roleplaying 101, The Perfect Man (Money, muscles, and more money).

The Method behind my Madness :
The points in Seduction were rewarded because you did quite well in acting out your Seduction, or so I personally thought. You did it consistently throughout the RP, and I felt as if you did it well. The Rhetoric was awarded because of your verbal sparring with Keating, which I felt was done quite nicely.


This was turning out to be a great thread, and I am sad it had to go inactive. You were both really going for a full 5 in seduction, in my opinion. It had plenty of drama and tension behind it too. Good job, and I really hope I see Amorette return someday. You two have great chemistry.
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Seth
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