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[doneisdone]

[Correspond at your own risk.]

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[shri]

More was the pity for that - there is a sort of savouring of them, she had always liked to it, a half a lifetime ago. That sort of pride to poke at in the morning. Feel the ache of when she moved about in the rest of her day pleasantly. But - those were the choices she'd made.

Which as much as her sigh is mournful when the fingers leave her hair, she's happy to return the favour. Her hands drop, catching against the hollow of her thighs to find Teren's hair, scraping through it roughly as she anchors herself there. There isn't much else to do. Teren's grip is an anchor that stops anymore than the barest twitch of her hips. And when the inevitable comes as suddenly as it hadn't, she - "Shit."

Her fingers curl in, harsher than someone else might want to. Less than the most Teren can take, she's sure. Because if she wasn't aroused before this, she was now. That unmistakable pool of heat that trickles down her limbs. A click over like Tesla's motors, that twist of lightning that builds up inside a rifle's barrel.

[doneisdone]

There it is. And here this is, all the chaotic neutral energy Teren can muster: she pulls her head away with a cruel glint in her eye, not minding much that Laskhmi's fingers are digging into her scalp. Here she drums her fingers gently at the base of the woman's thigh, taking care to never let her stop thinking about it.

"Be still," she says in a low purr, ensuring that her breath is pointed exactly where she wants it.

[shri]

Well, damn. It's unbecoming for a Queen to whine, but she most surely does. Her fingers twisting and gripping tightly in her hair like she means to shove back somehow. Her hips twitching for the contact they are denied. All those hard, scarred muscles that even where they are hidden below her clothes, under Teren's hands - are scarred by claw marks, bite marks, gunshots and swords.

All different sorts of battlegrounds. But this one surely is one just now.

Fuck you, except, she definitely already was. What little control she had right now, and it takes considerable effort to get her breathing even, to force her hips back and down and not squirm against the hot, tickling breath. Looking down her body meeting Teren's gaze that is somewhere between I hate you, and I want you.

[doneisdone]

This merits an actual smile, but it's quite easily interpreted as cruel in its amusement. She meets Lakshmi's eyes squarely, relishing that look, her fingers venturing closer, then in, curling slightly in the pursuit of pleasure more than penetration-- then withdraws.
Her mouth returns a few moments later, to play the same game as before: dipping in, out, ever dancing around where she knows Lakshmi wants it, but never landing there long enough to make it count.
Not yet.

[shri]

It takes a monumental effort to do what she's told. Which - given what Teren had watched her say to their commanders - no doubt could be appreciated by the present company for the rare occasion it turned out to be.

Not that it was endearing her too said company, as she's split between breathless prays when her fingers, her tongue, dance close, and swearing worse than a Whitechapel doxie when they move away again. The only thing that can't be helped no matter how she tries to keep still is the physical twitch when Teren strikes sensitive nerves just too well. Her legs jolting where they're pressed down, her fingers twisting in, all of her breath driven out of her lungs before she can desperately suck it back in.

"Damn you," it'd be far more serious a curse probably if she wasn't wet against Teren's tongue, and utterly unable to stop how the end of the word turns into a moan of sheer frustration, bubbling out of the back of her throat.

[doneisdone]

Plenty have said worse and probably meant it less, if they're being honest. But there's something about reducing a queen to this state that is its own reward, not that Teren is one to gloat (apart from smirking like a piece of shit, at least), and after it looks like Lakshmi is about to hyperventilate she finally decides to end the poor woman's suffering.
In total contrast to all the teasing, Teren's final motion is an authoritative thrust of several fingers, pressing directly onto that sweet spot as she holds Lakshmi's legs apart with her free hand and her pointy elbow.

[shri]

She wants neither soft hands nor kind words, wants nothing that could be mistaken for less than this. The harsh dig and the breath out of her lungs like she's been punched. With it, her back bows, her head driving into the pillows as she physically rolls, lifts. Arched up like her bones twist inside her skin.

With it her fingers hold to her hair, still, gripping hard. Open, unable to be anything less than so. Each cry pitches, louder, higher. Holding onto her like she was breath itself.

[doneisdone]

There we go.

Teren smirks faintly, pleased by her handiwork, pressing as long as it takes for Lakshmi's cries to dwindle once more. Then, without ceremony, she removes her hand and stands (however much resistance it takes to free herself from the grip on her head), wiping her fingers on a cloth at the wash basin.

[shri]

There isn't much to do, after that. One hand lifts, cover her eyes as she lays there - her chest rising and falling in quick breaths. One leg still propped up on the edge of the bed, the other curving over the side of the bed. All that white material bunched up around her hips that. When she does sit up - the great wonder of her garments is to their practicality. A little tug, her hand smoothing over it to let it reach down again, and apart from where her hair as pulled free from her writing about, it would suffice to say nothing particular at all had happened.

Save that ache, pleasant. That little too full way her lips feel, her eyes are blown. That hum that turns all her limbs lanky-feeling, that she stretches herself out like she was no more than an overgrown cat.

"Wine? Or would you prefer me to return the favour first?"

[doneisdone]

"I'll be off, actually," Teren says, stepping away with a little pat to one of Lakshmi's legs, "got to keep watch." Her bearing isn't unfriendly, but nor is it especially tender-- the moment is over, and with it her presence.
With little more than a nod of farewell, she takes her leave and closes the door behind her. Fuckwitch Out

[shri]

Well..... that happened. Huh. Fair enough.

a very late mysterious invitation

[matchymatchy]

[ When Teren wakes, she'll find that she's received a terribly mysterious tip-off: Stolen goods, being off-loaded cheaply at a certain section of the docks. If the Wardens move quickly, they could make a good deal. The instructions include a single red rose to wear, to signal that she’s in on it.

Unknown to her, a stranger (terrible, mysterious) will also attend. Teren doesn’t have to actually accept the invitation — not intentionally. Should she ignore or otherwise attempt to circumvent its summons, a chain of coincidences (terrible, mysterious, you get it by now) and well-timed accidents will conspire to see her there.

The boat in questions looks ordinary enough from the outside, and the anxious dwarf to usher her on board leaves her free rein to peruse the remaining stock, composed entirely of wine, sweets, and feathers. He explains that he’ll be back shortly, and to speak to the crew on shore if she wants to make a deal. It’s a shame that he accidentally takes the gangplank with him.

Teren could shimmy down the ropes, or dive into the water, but the crew mysteriously can’t hear any cursing from shore. Enjoy.

OOC Note: Anna is played by Vee. Feel free to play out a thread, handwave things, or ignore it entirely, but check with each other first! ❤ ]

letter.

[byblow]

[ Backdated, don’t ask me to when. ]

Teren,

They decommissioned my sending crystal, the knaves.

I mean, from a tactical perspective it makes some sense, when there are so many of us here. It would be pretty hard to find out which crystals were accounted for or not if we were all killed at once. And limiting who has them means there are fewer people spreading information around. Easier to trace leaks and traitors and so on. I get it!

But I wish they’d made an exception for me. I tried to tell them I couldn’t sleep unless a scary Nevarran woman told me a bedtime story, and they didn’t care at all. Not even a little.

So this is my formal request for you to please send one bedtime story to me, by return letter. I can read it out loud to myself with your accent.

Alistair

[doneisdone]

[Some time later.]

Dear Alistair.

Once Upon a Time there was a Prince who thought he was very Clever and would make all manner of Jokes that were Very Bad. One day He was eaten by a Crocodyle and no one could Save him and no one wanted to.
The End.

Teren

P.S. Wash your socks.

action.

[hornswoggle]

[ Just casually taking a seat across from Teren, hello. ]

Have you any talent in songwriting, Warden von Skraedder?

[doneisdone]

[She looks up from her soup and stares at John for a good ten seconds before speaking.]

What,

[hornswoggle]

[ Is this not what Flint meant when he mentioned Teren would be assisting him in all his ventures? ]

I'm considering ways to improve the reputation of our fine company, and it occurred to me that setting some of our more valorous deeds to song may help us in spreading them across the land.

[ Earworms, super effective. ]

Of course, I'm also considering simple dramatic storytelling, but the idea of songs tickled me.

[doneisdone]

[She eyes him with what can only be described as suspicion, slowly bringing the spoon to her mouth again.

After another long silence,]

I don't sing.

[hornswoggle]

[ Undeterred— ]

Of course. Fortunately, I believe we are blessed with a number of singers, should we manage some lyrics.

[ we ]

[doneisdone]

[This has happened before: she's placed a voice before a face, found familiarity with someone before ever meeting them, and it's all the fault of those infernal crystals.

Finally, something clicks in her mind, and her eyes seem to lose some of their luster.]

...you're John Silver.

[Maker preserve us.]

[hornswoggle]

[ Honestly, it's actually very nostalgic to receive this reception. Ah, the days when he was just an annoyance for most people. ]

I am. I believe you're familiar with my partner, Commander Flint.

[ And apparently with John, but he can only assume it is for obviously great and flattering reasons. ]

[doneisdone]

Yes.

[She takes another spoonful.]

[hornswoggle]

So, about the songs...

[ come on, teren. ]

[doneisdone]

Not much at writing.

[hornswoggle]

[ Taking out a small sheaf of paper, John hums in acknowledgement. ]

Do you have a favored song?

[ This is happening, Teren. ]