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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Matthew on February 9th, 2015, 6:51 am

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He rarely dreamt. He often heard about dreams and nightmares, but they were something that was foreign to him. From what he had heard though, a lot of them shared the same characteristics. There was a sense of not being in full control, a sense of mild confusion and faint euphoria. Was it like this, then? Here, underwater, the muscles in his arms screaming for relief as his fingertips tried to find a firm hold upon the slippery, slip, muscled body of the savage Myrian? Was it the sensation of all of his senses being overwhelmed at once, vision filling with blurring motion and ears filled with the rushing of water and groans of worn-out bodies? Was he, for perhaps once in the longest he could remember, about to taste something other than the controlled emotion so properly filled his veins? For a moment, he could sense something else, something beyond the apathetic expanse. For a moment, he could almost see it, just out of his reach. There was pain and there was intensity, there was arousal and anger, there was the desire to win mixed with the despair that came with knowing he was hopelessly outmatched.

But then it was gone, falling through his fingers as if he had tried to hold onto a fistful of dry sand. The smack of her hand upon his chest brought him back to a life that would probably be considered death by most. Not that he considered it so. Back within the carefully controlled expanse of his own mind, Matthew privately breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know what that was. But he was glad to be free of it.

He was above water now, rolling his own shoulders back, seemingly mirroring the glistening Myrian across from him. He could faintly hear the cracking of his own limbs, a soothing sensation blossoming briefly throughout the worn muscle. The Harlot could faintly hear that she was complimenting him but refused to acknowledge it, not now. Instead, he stared at her like some sort of insect examined something foreign, his head tilting to the side until it was nearly at a sickening 90 degree angle. He studied her condition, simultaneously taking a mental note of his own.

The Harlot was much worse off than the Myrian. She was more skilled and in unfathomably better shape. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and she didn't seem like she had worked up a sweat at all. He knew he could outlast her in the bedroom. But here? In the battlefield? Only a flicker of an expression showed on Matthew's face, the tired Harlot letting his apathetic features collapse into something understandable for a brief second. Frustration.

Then she was upon him.

Matthew barely had time to turn to the right before she was instead shifting over to his left. His mind understood the concept of feinting, but his body was not near talented enough to instinctively know what to do with this information. He was instead caught halfway through turning back towards her, her wooden weapon dashing against his slim side with a wet-sounding smack of the blunt blade against soaked flesh. A gurgle of pain exploded from his lips, Matthew collapsing to one knee with a hand shooting down to cover the 'wound', the water rising up to his shoulders as he stared defiantly up at her, panting for breath. Kaie would probably understand that it didn't hurt that badly. Matthew, for all of his odd habits, was simply showing her another one. He was acting as if their spar had some sort of rules, and one of those rules was that he had to pretend that the hits were genuine. He'd be struggling to hold in his guts right now if this had been a real fight. "You've killed me. I'd be dying, at least. You are very fast. And strong. And smart." The compliment was offered in a dull tone, but then paused as he slowly narrowed his eyes. "...and pretty. Most people aren't blessed with all of these attributes. There is usually a weakness. Something that you lack in, something that makes up for everything you excel in." His blue eyes suddenly returned to hers, their heated spar moving to a rather personal question within the span of a few simple ticks. "What is your weakness, Kaie? What is it you lack in?"
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Kaie on February 17th, 2015, 4:56 am

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Success! It was a sweet sensation, that wet thwack as wood knocked against the taut flesh of his side. The Myrian couldn't help but let a feral grin slip across her lips. The harlot fell to one knee before her, a hand flashing to nurse the reddened skin that signaled her singular victory. It couldn't have been a pleasant feeling but she was certain it felt better than the dull weapons used at the Training Yards.

She toyed with the wooden dagger between the two of her hands, taking a few cautionary steps back to allow the man to find his bearings. She could still feel the burning of Myri's blessing upon her neck, the conceived heat cooling as their sparring came to a curious pause. To his dialogue, Kaie couldn't help but eye him suspiciously. Matthew was far more intelligent than even she could truly understand. If his talking was meant to be a diversion, she'd make it her mission to see to it that he earned no benefit in her distraction.


"Everyone has weaknesses," Kaie conceded with a slow nodding of her head, free hand reaching down to give the hot water a swirl with her index finger. Amber eyes blinked through the humid mist. "But why should I tell you mine? One warrior should never give another that much power over them. Better to keep them guessing so they don't really know what you're capable of." The savage pondered over his musings a moment. It was a cop out, a fair one maybe, but still a cop out. Lips moved curiously as she thought over it herself. Images flashed before her eyes. People, faces, vivid imagery, and the shriek of a monster high above her head.

"I'll make you a deal," Kaie neared him then, the wooden dagger pointed out toward him but the elbow not extended completely toward him. Waters rippled behind her body as she waded closer. "You get one guess. One. If you're right, you get your dagger back and I'll answer whatever other curious question you have for me. If you're not..." The point of the faux weapon prodded his chest. Kaie arched her brow almost as if in challenge, a coy smile upon her face. "We go another round and you tell me yours. Certainly the stone-cold harlot's shortcomings are less superficial than a lack of battle prowess? So, do we have a deal?"
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Matthew on February 17th, 2015, 11:37 pm

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T\\His head tilted a tick to the right, a blue that was different than the rest of the blue glimmering in a ring around his pupil for a moment. The Harlot had noticed the way she had taken those few steps back and faintly nodded to himself, approving of her caution. He was no longer a threat, as far as their spar went, but he was glad to see she had apparently learned something from this brief clash of theirs. The thought made him pause for a moment, caused the Harlot to take a quick mental step back and self-review. The fight had been quick. So much had seemed to happen and it had seemed to last an eternity, but now, outside of the moment, he realized just how quick everything had been. Were all fights like that? He nipped on his lush lower lip, chewing it slowly, the simple motion taking on a rather sensual allure almost instinctively. Women often bit their lower lips in a seductive manner so he had been practicing the same lately. He believed it could work for his gender, it just needed a little adjustment.

A deal, hm? His eyes refocused from their distant and thoughtful stare, steadying upon the pointed tip of the wooden dagger. She had a point. Someone shouldn't give away their weakness that freely. He should have realized that himself. One guess at what her weakness was? Any weakness?

His eyes glazed over again, the Harlot retreating to his private inner sanctum. He stroked the binding of the book that was imprinted with Kaie's name, then slipped it out, flipping it open and reveiwing everything that he had commited to memory. Shouldn't he know what her weakness was, as analytical as he could be? Shouldn't he have thought about it before he had come here? Or had he, and then used that knowledge to plot her practice demise? No, he didn't need to limit this to her. He could do better. What else did he know about Myrians? What about Razkar? He chewed on his lower lip harder, slowly standing from his knelt position before her, steaming streams of water trickling down the defined valleys that carved through his tanned flesh.

"Confidence."

The word was softly spoken, eyes refocusing and staring back at her own. "Not overconfidence in your own abilities, not exactly. You are cautious of an opponent, wary of the fact that their skill may be better than your own. That makes you one step better than most warriors." He slowly reached a hand forward, finger extending, eyes holding her challenging stare. if she allowed him, his finger would touch upon the side of her throat, slowly trailing down to trace one of the veins there, the very tip of his nail scratching at the skin in a way that simply added texture to the touch, not pain. "But I think you divide the world into titles and are confident of your ability to correctly identify those titles. This man is a warrior, this woman is a thief, that creature is a monster. When it came to anyone but me, would your mind even consider that a harlot could kill you? That a barbarian diplomat could kill you?" Once again, if she allowed, his fingers would gracefully glide around her throat, a familiar and commanding hold that she might remember from their time back in Syliras, back when she had first taught him how to throw a punch. Mildly threatening, but in this almost tender sort of way.

"You Myrians seem to have very defined ways of killing. A blade, a spell, the tip of an arrow, the fangs of horrifying snake creatures." Another memory flooded up, a memory of a grand story told to admiring children. "There are many more ways the world can kill you. Your kind sees us as barbarians. You are confident in that title, prideful in that distinction. You have pride in the fact that you outmatch the majority of us with a blade. You do not see the other ways that you can be killed, the other things that are worse than death. That is weak, Myrian."
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Kaie on February 18th, 2015, 1:15 am

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That smug, playful grin persisted as she watched him mull over her offer. Those striking blue eyes watched her so carefully as he took a step back, the cogs in his head moving toward some notion that made the Myrian woman intensely curious. Will he accept my challenge? The internalized question was shoved away as quickly as it came. Of course he will. I've never seen the man bow in the face of fear, let alone harmless failure. The dagger in her hand was tossed from one hand to the other. Wet fingers opened to reveal the readied palm, and closed tightly each time she felt the hilt of the wooden weapon reach the center of her hand. Kaie's amber gaze wandered back to the harlot's face. He was so very distant just then, those eyes wandered somewhere deep into his unconscious. No doubt he was searching for something, anything that pointed toward a clue to her bane.

Likewise, the savage couldn't help but contemplate the vulnerability of the man before her. He had a tendency to appear rather aloof like a feline, shying away from raw emotion but displaying that pragmatic intelligence in those glacial eyes. Fiery orbs flickered about his slender frame, wandering their way up to his face. Deep thought was extinguished the moment she saw that bite to his lip. Instead she too was gone, spiraling down into the abyss of recent memories as she fixated involuntarily on that simple gesture. The heat of his flesh, the soft press of his lips, the way his body reacted to her touch...

"Confidence."

"Confidence?" Kaie echoed with a furrowing of her brow and a slight cock of her head, the memories snapping away to be replaced by her puzzlement. How could confidence be a weakness? The proud Myrian suddenly felt more naked than she had the entire time they'd been together, as if by having him present such allegations she felt stripped of her own self-concept. Jaw went slack for a moment as if she had meant to protest but lost the words to do so. Eyelids fluttered once, twice, the dagger tapped her thigh several times as if out of nervous habit. Those proud, calculating eyes searched the steaming water as if they held the answers.

It had not been the answer she was expecting. Not at all. Worse, it had merit. Titles. Definitions. They were all there plain before her now that she saw them. She saw it in the way she eyed the wayward sword-handler as he passed her in the streets, noticed it in the way she tugged her cloak tighter to her body when she passed a street rat prowling through the crowds. It was clear in how easily she drank her drinks in the tavern and the loss of her wariness when Ruby placed a solid meal before her. When Matthew's almost tender, yet commanding touch graced her the Myrian did not protest. Instead her perplexed stare bore into his certain one. There was a rush when she felt her flesh giving way beneath the harmless pressure of his nail. Her breath caught silently when his graceful grip leaned toward aggressive when he seized her throat. Instincts had a thought to bring her left hand up to grip his wrist, the other arm to come down upon the inside of his elbow, and subdue him from there. Instead she was fixated on those lips so dangerously close that she knew she could reach if she only leaned in.

Another weakness.

That tawny right hand clenched the hilt of the dagger more fiercely. She waded closer to Matthew until their bodies nearly pressed against one another. Then the dagger flew forth toward his chest...the flat side of the wooden sparring weapon pressed gently to his flesh with her open palm.


"Damn you, Matthew," Kaie growled with a shake of her head, though it was more a tone of frustration and acknowledgement of her defeat than true anger. "You never stop surprising me...but a deal's a deal and I guess you've got a point."The Myrian withdrew her hand from his chest, and hopefully by then he had his hand already upon the weapon before it fell into the misty depths of the spring water. "My word is my bond. Go on, here's your one chance. Ask that question you really want an answer to. I promise not to lie."
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Matthew on February 18th, 2015, 2:09 am

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Analytical blue eyes noted the different reactions her body cycled through and quickly tried to apply logic and reasoning to them, all in order to understand what had caused them. Would it not be brilliant if the Harlot, who had such a difficult time understanding emotion, could simply identify whatever emotion was present by the physical signs that accompanied said emotion? In theory, it should be that easy. In theory, he should be able to take each of her little tics and perfectly comprehend what they were. The flutter of her eyelids, the tap of the dagger, the movement of her jaw. The only thing he truly understood was the sudden flash of enlightenment in her eyes. He had experienced that very same sensation hundreds upon hundreds of times and he was pleasantly surprised to see Kaie experience it as well.

Ah, now she was puzzled. No, perhaps she was confused. He swirled djed within his stomach, briefly feeling the urge to dip his fingers within it and pull out shimmering strands. Auristics could show him so much, here. It could allow him to instantly feel her emotion as if he was bathing in it. He could listen to it sing and taste it upon his tongue. He focused on the slim slope of her neck, tracing a bead of shimmering water down the arch. Memories of how he had savagely attacked that corpse pulsed through his mind, reminding him of the depth he would have to plunge his teeth in order to reach anything of importance in the soft meat of her throat. Then again, the corpse he had practiced on had been fat. It had consisted of yellow chunks of the soft substance, while Kaie did not seem to have an ounce on her. Would that make it easier, or would his white teeth encounter that muscle on the way to her throat and then be unable to cut through the gristle? Something worth exploring in the future, on another corpse. Even though she was the subject of study for the violent train of thought, he would certainly never attack her in such a way.

Not unless she attacked him first. A thought suddenly wandered across his mind, one he hadn't considered before. Kaie was a mercenary, was she not? She was a killer-for-hire, a bodyguard, someone bought for her combat skills. What if Matthew was the one she was asked to kill?

His body moved without the aid of his mind, long fingers slowly slipping from her throat to clasp around the wooden blade she had pressed to his slim chest. He absentmindedly tried to spin the handle in his palm, fumbled with it, and awkwardly had to snap out his hand to catch it before it clumsily tumbled to the surface of the water and sunk beneath.

Any humor in the moment would probably immediately be forgotten by the sudden, rather deep question he almost immediately asked. "What is love?" Out of all the questions he no doubt had, that was one of the ones that plagued him the most. Would it ever be something he could offer to his clients? Perhaps not a genuine thing, but a near-exact replica? The Harlot had not quite realized that Kaie had perhaps meant a question that was more specifically targeted to her.
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Kaie on February 18th, 2015, 3:56 am

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Stray beads of warm water trickled down the sides of her neck where his fingers had gripped her. Their paths were imperfect and involuntary, forced down with gravity and into the slope of the base of her throat. Hot mist flowed through her nostrils, rushing down into her lungs in a way that was relaxing. Comforting, even. The Myrian's mind still put her on edge. The taste of defeat was bitter. The sensation the man had once again proved he could read her like an open book was equally concerning to her. What was it that had led the harlot to his conclusions? Had it been similar to the way she read an enemy in a fight? Something like the dilation in the eyes of an insurgent just before they rushed her, or the twitch in the shoulder before the punch was thrown?

Kaie waited there as metaphorically bare as she literally was. True to her word, she would indeed answer any question he might ask her and with honesty. No dodging, no talking in circles. A cold, hard, deserved answer. His fumbling of the dagger brought a curl to her a lips and a gleam of amusement to her eyes. That was quickly struck down by yet another surprise. This time it wasn't a clever observation or a prying in the darkest corners she guarded from the world. His question was genuine in a way that took a hold of her, made her pause and blink at him as if to say, "are you sure this is your question?"

For several ticks she merely eyed the man, ensuring he was indeed serious in this pursuit. As always the man's expression was unyielding. Kaie knew him well enough to see the hunger in his eyes for understanding, to see all his observations make sense in his head and everything come full circle. Was there something more to the detachment he seemed to have when it came to emotions and social etiquette? Something to that aloofness she hadn't read so deeply into before? Why that question? Why now? It was then the Myrian realized it wasn't just his asking that caught her off guard. It was the fact she didn't have such a ready answer.

What is love?

The savage's mind immediately went first to her Goddess Queen, the sole deity she was sure she had sold her soul to without hesitation. Then to home, where her childhood held her favorite memories and the loyalty that she saved for her racial brothers and sisters, especially her beloved clan. Next came her love of combat, that burning passion for betterment that took her in daring directions and plenty of trouble in just the jungle alone. Each love was different and yet the same.
"Love is...complicated," she started with the obvious, shrugging her shoulders as a testament to her own struggle to grasp the concept. Beginning, she knew, would be the hardest part of it. "There's different kinds of love. Love for things and love for people. Loving and being in love. Loving someone...there are different ways. Love for family, it's respect for what they've provided for you. They're the ones you tend to support and defend regardless of circumstance. Like a clan, they are your people. Your base. They are important because they are blood." Kaie sunk down into the springs, letting her body become embraced by the steam as if that comfort could make her rambling thoughts more helpful to the man.

"Then there's love for friends. They are like family, but the ones you choose. You love them for who they are rather than just blood," the Myrian continued, falling back to rest against the corner of the spring. A bronze hand slipped up from the water to fan away the mist that shrouded her fast for a tick. "Then there is being in love." Her brow furrowed again, that confusing becoming real as she searched for understanding in her own head first. Thoughts went to Aider, the human that fate had seen it fit to send her way time and again. He was a good man, a just and kind one whose claim to be an artist of words left her at a loss. He was a gentle lover, and his innocent musings elicited a rare smile from the jungle-born. In fact, she'd been smiling just then at the memory of him...but it disappeared soon after. Despite the memories and the goodness in him that left such an impression, the feeling never came. I am not in love with him. Not even a little bit. Not at all.

Kaie's expression turned sour quickly, the mirth in her eyes gone as quick as the child-like grin at Aider's memory. The truth stung. It wasn't a pain that she felt. It was guilt, an iron-like, imaginary knife of it that plunged deep into her chest. Why aren't I? And still Matthew was before her, waiting. And so when those amber eyes glazed over, it was deeper that she went. The next best thing. The only thing. There was just one. She could see him then, the charcoal eyes of his that lit up when his smirk turned teasing. His flesh was like hers, dark and tan from the scorching rays of Syna. He was musculed and battle-hardened, mean with a pair of blades in his hands. They were so alike, the two of them. The young Myrian woman had thought it would've been her cousin Keikyo or mentor Yitmah that would've been the hardest goodbye when she left. She'd been wrong. It was Tsu'kai that tugged at her heartstrings most despite her refusal of that truth. He was her first, and he'd tried to convince her before she'd vanished into the jungle he'd be her last. It was him she drew inspiration from in her response. It had to be him.


"Being in love is...when...it's only them you can see yourself with when you look toward the future. There's no one else. Their flaws become their perfections. It's like a bow and arrow. You hold the grip, and they pull back the arrow on the bowstring. You give them all the power to destroy you, but trust them not to. You'd do anything for them, anything they asked. You'd die for them, kill for them. You are theirs and they are yours, but it's more than just primal desire. There is no one else you have affections that deeply for. They command all your loyalty," Kaie tried, words uncertain but gaining more self-assuredness as she went on. She stared past Matthew, as if seeing the emotions for herself, eyes narrowing and widening as she discovered them as she went. "But both kinds of loves are imperfect. The people we love are imperfect. We are imperfect, too. As a result, love changes. We fall in and out of love. We can lose that quickening heartbeat when that significant other walks in the room. We can find it again with someone else."

Kaie rose again, nearing the man to rid herself from the visual shield of the mist. At about arm's length from Matthew, she stopped her advance. Her expression turned apologetic, grin a bit sheepish as she waved the thoughts from her head.
"I'm sorry. I rambled. It's just...I didn't expect that, and it's harder to explain than one might think. I don't think any of us know what love is, Matthew. Not truly. The few of us that figure it out though, they're the lucky ones I guess."
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Matthew on February 27th, 2015, 3:34 pm

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The Harlot blankly stared back, unwavering in his blue gaze, not aware that she was trying to figure out if he was serious or not. He merely assumed she was thinking, so therefor he allowed the thoughtful Myrian all the time she needed to find her answer to what he thought was a simple question. Simple for most everyone but him, at least.

"Love is...complicated." Ah. It seemed he was wrong.

His head slowly tilted down, blue eyes remaining steady on her as he remained standing and she sunk into the water. The only change in his facial expression was the way that his brow very slowly furrowed in thought.

It was so very complicated. A single word to describe so many different things. Were they each a different emotion? He knew how there could be different types of sadness or different types of anger, though he felt that each of those things boiled down to a single core sadness or anger. Love seemed different, almost annoyingly so. Normally he embraced the strange and the different, welcoming it as something new to learn. This time though, it felt like it was something he could not learn, not his current self. It was too far out of his reach. It was locked behind something, hidden behind something, kept beyond a bridge that was missing a single section. Interestingly enough, Kaie seemed to be struggling with it as well. Her face was going through a constant change of expressions that he could very clearly see. He tilted his head to the side a bit and gently nibbled on his lower lip, watching her closely as he waited for her to continue.

Matthew was most familiar with the way her amber eyes grew distant. She was delving deep within herself, as he so often did with his own mind. He appreciated the effort she was putting into a genuine response. If his comprehension of trust was correct, she was no doubt one of the ones he trusted most.

He nodded slowly at her explanation, his own gaze growing distant as he shelved the words away within his mind. While he did not fully understand, nor did he think he had experienced such a thing yet, he did understand a bit better. For now, that was enough. It was certainly much more progress than he had made on his own, even after seasons of mulling the question over. As she approached and then stopped an arm's length away, he stepped forward, gracefully closing the distance so that wet and slim muscle pressed against wet and firm curves. It was a casual step, the movement to an intimate lack of distance seemingly instinctive on his part. In a way, he was paying her back. He knew she liked the feel of the two of them clicking together. Part of him felt she liked the tease of it all, the tension, the constant reminder of flesh that was tantalizingly close but that she had not yet consumed. It just seemed appropriate, like a natural part of their admittedly odd relationship.

"I have often wondered if I could sell it. If I mastered my craft, would I be able to sell the sensation of being loved to those who did not feel loved by anything in their life? Would that be something desirable to sell, or cruel to offer? Or do you think it is impossible, given that no one truly understands what it actually is?" His eyes searched her, his tone as soft and apathetic as ever, carrying on simple conversation in the midst of steam and wet flesh.
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Kaie on March 4th, 2015, 4:27 am

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My answer was inadequate, truly, she scolded herself internally as she eyed the harlot's reaction to her lengthy, confusing explanation. The way he'd asked the question made it seem so simple. What is love? Part of her wished there had been some philosopher or great book of knowledge and definitions she could summon. How easy the world would be if there was an author with all the answers, some expert on all definitions, words, and phrases. It would be a useless trade to her though. After all, what good was a giant book of invaluable information if she couldn't read it?

Back to Matthew. She could see the way the thoughts turned in his head, no doubt connections being made and new data being carefully stored away. There was that nodding, the even stare that broadcasted his focus, and...gods did he have to bite his lip? Was he doing it on purpose? Then he did something that made her still. There was movement in the water, that breezing through it as the urban predator waded toward her to meet her challenge. Was there something there, something so obvious in that one small scene that she had been missing all along? Some hint that he held some certain power over her she could not understand, this knowing of her that seemed often so clear it alarmed her? Kaie let the idea pass if only because she might not have wanted to know the answer. In light of the passing notion, however, this time she did not allow herself to explore his body as close as they were. How stubborn she could be.


"Sell it?" The Myrian considered this a moment, her brow furrowing at the very concept. It certainly wouldn't be a popular one. Those that spoke about things like ethics in Syliras would condemn the dishonesty of such a pure, essential sensation. Then again, what business did the savage have with ethics? "If you could trick them into believing a whore would ever truly love a client, I suppose," she mused with a passive shrug of her narrow shoulders. Arms came up to fold across her chest, and she leaned back to make room for the gesture. The closest thing to further rebellion that didn't include taking so much as a retreating step back. "People don't have to understand what something is to feel it. If there was a desire to be loved, even by someone they pay, I see no reason you couldn't mimic the whole thing. It's cruel only when they discover it's nothing but a lie, an illusion. Avoid that and maybe jealousy, and you might've outwhored all of Mizahar." She offered him a teasing grin.

"Why'd you ask? The first question I mean. The whole sex and intimacy gig, I thought that was kind of your thing?" Part of her was beginning to see the renown, widely desired, and incredibly successful prostitute was far more detached than she had previously thought. "You had to have seen what it looks like before, right?"
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Matthew on March 5th, 2015, 7:53 pm

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Matthew shook his head slowly, blue eyes glittering with that intellect and lack of empathy that often took his mind to a completely different place that most others would never reach. It wasn't a higher place. To some, it wasn't even a good place. It was a place where there was only fact, no fiction, no feeling. It was logic and nothing more, and sometimes pure logic could lead the mind to a twisted place. Matthew certainly wasn't emotionless, he was merely damaged. Perhaps that was a variable that sometimes led his logic down a dark road. Or was it a warm road, filled with something tender?

Kaie could process his next words and decide for herself. "I wouldn't truly love them, but I would not lie to them. They would know my love is a lie." He dropped a hand to the top of her crossed arms, absentmindedly tracing the flesh from one wrist up to the shoulder, patient and painstakingly slow as if it was somehow second nature. "But if it felt like the real thing, would it matter? If I offered my services to someone who no one loved, is it cruel to allow them to lose themselves in a fantasy, if only for a night?" The force of his touch increased, the fingertip pressing down harder to dig the nail in and drag the new sensation slowly back down to her wrist. "What about the widow in Syliras who just wants someone to love her one last time? What about the abused and destroyed, who have never felt it to begin with? Is it mercy to offer them something that no one else will give? Or is it cruel to offer them a temporary taste?"

He tilted his head, dropping his blue stare from her gaze to instead look down at his finger on her arm. The next time he spoke, his voice was distant, eyes unfocused. "It is my 'thing', as you put it. However, love is the one thing left with no clear definition. It is the last piece of the puzzle." He paused a moment, hesitating. He was unsure. This was very... unlike him.

"Sometimes I feel, recently. A warmth, a heat, an ache, a bitter taste, a foul sensation. I can't put names to them. I know what they look like, but I don't know what they feel like. I used to, when I was a child. The memories are faint. It is infuriating." His lip curled for a moment in a near-snarl, the normally unruffled Harlot actually showing a faint glimmer of something emotionally genuine. Anger. It was soon wiped away though, like water poured over words written in chalk.

"So, to answer your question... no. I have no seen it. I heavily doubt I have felt it. Even if I had at some point, I would not know." His chin tilted up and he returned his stare to her, the passive expression having returned to his handsome features.
Last edited by Matthew on March 13th, 2015, 11:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Dating a Harlot 110

Postby Kaie on March 7th, 2015, 4:54 am

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It was so very strange to consider, this artificial spin on emotion. It was no different than a feint. Did that make it manipulation? Probably. Did that make it cruel? That was hard to say, and must've depended on who was asked. Yet Matthew had asked her. Is it truly cruel in the sense he put it? Her brow knit together for a tick, but the response appeared known before it was spoken. "I suppose it isn't so cruel when you think of it that way," she allowed slowly, watching the man and those intense blue eyes. It was a struggle for the woman to rebel against recoiling from his touch. The constant contact between the two was strangely natural, but the curling of his fingers into innocent claws along her skin threatened to elicit her restrained desires.

The harlot was withdrawn again a tick later to contemplate her pondering. It wasn't something new. Only chimes ago she'd watched him do a similar thing, his eyes glazing over as he vanished into his own head to make certain connections and return with something for his use. This time, his return yielded more questions than answers. There was an emptiness in his voice at first, as if he couldn't quite place himself. Couldn't find the right tone to go with the sensation. Until he did. By the end she could see that tell-tale curling of his lip, the stressed tone visible to one only like her that had grown so used to his company. Had she ever seen him this way before? No, she'd decided firmly afterward. Always too calculated. Thinking, not feeling. Had I asked him to kill a man a season ago, I would've been surprised if the man so much as batted an eye before he asked about a preferred method of doing so.


"You're telling me you haven't felt...genuine emotion since you were a child?"
Amber eyes widened, searching his for some sort of bluff or dishonesty. As always there was that pragmatic stare back, which returned only after that look of anger that dared briefly break his facade. The savage could only blink. "What do you mean by a child? How old were you when they stopped forming?" How have you survived? was her next real question. Passionate, spontaneous emotion had allowed her to persevere. Anger sent her rocketing to meet a foe that wronged her or those in her circle. Fear fueled her emergency response that balled her hands to fists to meet the perils ahead. Desire kept her training and honing her skills among other things. Without emotions and their differing levels, Kaie simply couldn't figure an equation in which she still lived on without their presence.

"Is that partly why you like your job? Never getting attached to anyone, never having to please more than primal, physical desire unless a little acting was involved? How have you carried on so long like this?" Part of her wanted to envy him in a foolish way. After all, the amount of times she'd drowned her sorrows in alcohol was far too numerous to possibly count. How efficient could one be without the drag of such intangible feelings? How successful and prosperous without the obligations induced by conscience and inescapable sensation? The world of logic surely must've been something to behold.
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