THE SOOT OF IGNORANCE: RISING ACTION

[beleos]

BETWEEN UNCONTROLLED ESCALATION & UNENDING PASSIVITY

The moonlit city of Highstorm has always been a tranquil location.

Its people, passionate about the steady leadership of Zenith's leader — Lady Yima — begin their movements slowly and deliberately. Following the lead of their most trusted Shard-Bearers and the word of their Lady, activity in Highstorm begins to increase in the vicinity of Yima's Manor. The Court, the town square outside of it, becomes a hotbed of bustle and voices. Personnel and attendants rush around with documentation, stirring others to action. A select few figures gather the full force of their long-standing houses, calling on family bonds and their own castellans to assist the efforts that build over the course of a few days.

For the tranquility of Highstorm is only ever punctuated by its decisiveness, its faith that their path is the correct one — and now, they will prove it.

In a trickle-down effort, from the most loyal Zenites to the newest, the news unfolds for them: Amos Burton has been tasked by Lady Yima herself to turn the tides back in Zenith's favor. He is to end the life of the 34th Tribune, Cyrus Marcius Germanus Kokkinos, alongside the fortune who have found their way into Zenith's graces. In the earliest hours of the invasion, the figure of Yima herself steps out onto the balcony of her quarters — the highest point of the Manor — with her robes soft around her body and hands extended to her people. Her silence is punctuated by glowing feelings of pride that flow through the hearts and minds of every last sworn Zenite, bolstering their resolve and encouraging them with the cool, ever-flowing might of the people who look to Zenith's Shard-Bearers for their victory.

She sees them off with unspoken sentiments of love, confidence in them — the whispered promises that she knows they are ready to see the war through. And perhaps none of them will know that it is the last time they see her.

For in the sun-dappled sprawl of Springstar, their target awaits them.

The bustle of the city has always been without reservation; the bright and airy attitudes of militant citizenry look on with confidence and celebratory warmth as their Shard-Bearers have brought them to a marginal advancement over their enemies. While Tribune Cyrus's popularity has waned, there are alternative avenues they have begun to explore — the figure of Agapitos Voreen has become deeply popular, with savvy statements, an easy confidence and a willingness to deny Zenith any room to breathe, he is a shoe-in for future Tribune, whenever the next elections are held.

Which is why, in between one moment and the next, the city is rocked by the efforts of their opposition. Zenite-aligned Shard-Bearers and the small house armies of Yima's most loyal core families fill the streets with chaotic distractions, ranging from duels with the Helios Legionnaire to direct attacks on civilians. ( Where does your character draw the line, if they care to? Will it matter in the long run, do they believe? ) Appearing from several Cornerstones hidden within the city's confines from missions long past, tracking the movements of Legionnaires and Shard-Bearers alike from the placement of listening gems and tracking spells, even rising from the bowels of Kowloon to trap the city in a pincer movement — Highstorm goes on the offensive.

Springstar puts up a valiant resistance in return; however, within twenty-four hours, Zenite Shard-Bearers will have hunted down, cornered and slain the Tribune. In that moment, Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers will feel a splitting pain: the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Zenith's swell. The last trickle of emotion from Cyrus for them is a gentle warmth, fondness and forgiveness and the purity of his confidence in them. He believes in them, he always has, and he prays and hopes for their victory even though he will not be around to see it become reality, now.

His death is announced the following day by his assistant Cetina, the deer-morph girl choking back angry tears as she — with a furious and tearful General Ayo Zaman and the somber, mournful figure of Hieropoios Natalia at her side — lambasts Highstorm for the act of aggression, attempts to rouse the city and Meridian's hope, and pledges that she will not let her best friend's murderers escape her vengeance.

Hours after Cetina's message, in the far corner of Highstorm — following the people's celebrations and rejoicing in their strike, the delight in the might of their Shard-Bearers and the renewed passions of their people in pursuit of their victory — a brilliant, golden beam of sunlight pierces the eternal night of the city.

In an instant, the balcony upon which Yima had stood and the rooms beyond it — in fact, the entirety of the Manor, is engulfed in fire and light. The Manor falls, crumbling in upon itself as debris cascades into the living quarters of Shard-bearers and partially topples into the Court beyond. While the Tree of Life, the Reflecting Pools and many businesses around the Court escape extensive damage, the Manor itself is in shambles. And in the wake, many Zenite Shard-Bearers will feel the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Meridian's swell. In the wake of the strike, there is a deep silence within them.

Any attempts to contact Yima are met with the same silence a Shard-Bearer feels when reaching out to another who has left the world entirely. And with that, both sides are left to pick up the pieces and weigh the consequences of their actions.

ADDITIONAL MATTERS

During ( and in the wake of both assaults ), there is plenty for any Unharmonized Shard-Bearers and more moderate Meris/Zenites to partake in. Damage has been wrought to both cities at differing times, and there is a degree of life lost no matter the best efforts of those who value innocents over the price enacted by acts of war.

In Springstar, the citizenry has been ravaged by attacks stemming from the depths of Kowloon: as monsters in the form of both individuals with unusual appetites (cannibals and vampires, for example) and heavily-drugged, superpowered addicts have been finding their way into the city, slaughtering civilians indiscreetly, picking fights with the Legionary, and engaging in general criminal mischief and violence. Following Zenith's assault and subsequent assassination, the city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Zenith-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Zenith! ). After the day of the attack, the attacks drop off significantly, but do not vanish entirely, for now that some have gotten a taste, it will take time for Yura to reign them in once more.

The people of the city turn to their Shard-Bearers in the wake of their Tribune's murder; even though his popularity had waned, it isn't as though his death doesn't affect them! Deeply concerned and frightened for their future, they demand information about what will be done to protect the city from another assault like this? Some civilians will turn to the church, or perhaps community leaders, but it seems very few turn to the legionary, after they were so focused on the attacks that they missed the forest for the trees. Their trust in their military leaders is waning, and they’re looking for answer. Some community leaders have tried to soften the hurt and anger of Springstar’s people, but they look toward those whom were not a part of the current establishment to answers.

In Highstorm, Yima's Manor lays in shambles, but the rest of the city is unharmed. Shard-Bearers who were living in the Manor will find that their living quarters suffered from the collapse and subsequent fires, but any precious items/belongings they had in their rooms can be recovered after sifting through the rubble. One of Yima’s most trusted, Florence, seems to be taking the reigns of control, and while there are still pockets of the manor that remain on the outskirts of the building itself, she encourages any Zenites who had not moved out to move on quickly, since what is left should be used by any newcomers who need shelter, and not those whom have had the opportunity to make bonds, and have allies that they can rely on.

The main issue now plaguing Zenites is the sudden, overwhelming crowd that begins to gather in the Court, demanding information from them about Yima's safety — they are frantic, and rightfully concerned about further assaults of that incendiary degree from Meridian. The city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Meridian! ). The Manor itself is almost entirely destroyed, with only a shell of the outskirts left, and though those who are left are already trying to sift through the rubble, they are often overcome by their sorrow, and it is not uncommon in the wake of Meridian’s destruction to find some of Yima’s most loyal in distress, for the loss of their leader.

A LIGHTHOUSE AGAINST THE ENCROACHING STORM

A few months ago, all current Shard-Bearers experienced a mass dreaming event, full of teeming darkness and a pervasive sense of terror. Following the death of Cyrus and the "presumed loss" of Yima, all Shard-Bearers will receive yet another dream.

This one is a simple, direct thing: rife with a haunting sense of being watched, observed as if from the reeds and brush by a hunter. Whatever your power level, however skilled you are and confident you are in your place, your decisions, your heart will quake before the severe impression of something prowling at your heels. Just out of sight, but never out of mind. Every Shard-Bearer's shard will wrench free of their body upon waking, falling from their physical form as if to flee this sensation of something waiting, patient, for the right moment to pounce.

Echoing in the back of their mind, a wordless, shapeless promise lingers: Forward, or back. Back, or forward. Dart and weave, flit and flutter, scamper and scurry. We are here, now. In the back of every mind, what was in the process of coming before is — it is here, now. Looming right above, waiting for the outcome, watching for which way the last lives at the end of existence will flee.

Upon awakening from the mass dream-become-nightmare, Shard-bearers will slowly become aware of the exacerbation of previous events that have been persisting since October. These events are no longer subtle, and will impact everyone regardless of faction allegiance, with purposefully targeted strikes:

— Darkness has spread within Springstar. Wherever there is shadow cast by person, object or building, it has deepened, darkened, and grown in size. Walking through any shadowed area or touching a darkened shadow will fill a Shard-bearer who enters that area with feelings of dread, of something lingering just out of sight, of danger prickling along their spine, and entice them to run and flee. If they are not quick enough, an unseen entity savages them — aiming directly for wherever their Shard is hidden and held. They are being hunted.

— Light has spread within Highstorm. Starlight and moonlight seem to sear what they touch, leaving patches of bleached-white scars upon person, object or building. Being touched by the light or coming into contact with a white-scarred entity will fill a Shard-bearer with feelings of malaise, like they should simply lay down and accept what comes next. Suffocating hands waiting to pin them down. Even in the safety of the shadows, the scourging glow of any light reaches for them and rakes across their bodies, seeking the place where their Shard is hidden or held. Ravaging them with hot-and-cold burns. They are being sacrificed.

— Shard-bearers readily become lost in familiar places, as if their homes and bastions of safety and security have become strange ( estranged? ) from their minds. The route to that favorite haunt ( perhaps even their own place of business ) eludes them, and searching for it alone becomes an impossibility. It takes another Shard-bearer, at times, to aid them in breaking free of the mild befuddlement. You're just tired. It's just the strain getting to you.

— Citizens of both Springstar and Highstorm continue to speak about neighbors who have 'suddenly moved away', or the disappearance of a favored shop or cafe. Some mention favorite, useful landmarks vanishing, causing them to forget where they are coming from, or where they are going. When directly asked about this circumstance, they shrug and declare that it happens all the time these days. In fact, there's nothing to really be done about it. And if pressed, the citizenry's eyes go glassy and expressions become confused as they ask who, what, where, and why their Shard-Bearer has begun asking them such strange questions. None seem bothered by this strange occurrence, as if all is well and normal.

— Shard-bearers will begin to see familiar faces in crowds, standing on street corners, peering through their private windows, waving them down at their familiar haunts. People from their own worlds, loved and hated alike rush for them — adoring and hostile alike. Family members and friends who seem to attempt to meet their eyes before the crowd swallows them up; loved ones who should be captured in Shards try to flag them down, calling their names and asking them where have you been? what's going on?; enemies and abusers seem to advance upon them, pushing their way forth hungrily. And then they are gone, but not before leaving behind the impression, the strange sensation that, they are real. Really there. If only for a moment.

OOC & (IMMEDIATE) WORLD CHANGES

The full document for this event can be found here!

So, what does the world look like now that this has all gone down?

The world of Kenos ripples from the effects of our players!

Springstar is (mostly) physically unharmed, though the population has been reduced thanks to the number of murders and criminal mischief that has taken place during the attack. Damage seems constrained to things like broken doors and windows, looted property, and murdered civilians, though the severity is up to how many defend Springstar from the concentrated might of Ryad’s regulars, and a practical army of addicts rising from the depths below the city.

The leadership of Springstar is also shaken, though there are procedures in place for this – if one is particularly studious, they will recall that this is not the first Tribune that has been assassinated, though it is the first in a long while – and the Church and the Legionary have stepped in to maintain the peace while elections begin to be arranged.

Cyrus’s body is interred publically at the Church in Heliopolis for a week after his passing, before his body is immolated during a service, his soul returned to the Tree of Life. Those who attend will feel the light of Meridian fill them, and their Discord may be reduced by one level thanks to the warm hope that fills them, even as they despair at the loss of their leadership. Meridian calls to its most loyal, and asks them to do what they do best, show hope and unending resolve, when things look to be their most hopeless.

Highstorm is another story. The destruction wrought is more property, but the number of people who were within the manor is difficult to count until a week or two after the destruction has been evaluated, and cleanup has begun. The loss of life is not devastating compared to what was leveled upon Springstar, but perhaps the most distressing is that Yima is not present. Florence reassures those in Highstorm with her calming, but firm presence.

With few of Yima’s softer adorations to be found, Florence instead pushes the faithful to muster their will and begin the recovery efforts. After all, they have long proven to have faith in Yima’s guidance, and they should believe in it now when it is difficult. It is not the first time their fortitude has been tested, after all.

Her words fill those in Zenith with a sense of calm resolve, and they may feel their distress and discord from this destruction alleviating slightly. Highstorm’s government works smoothly without Yima, and those who are interested in history will be able to see Florence’s name throughout the annals, as one that would guide Yima’s faithful when the matron was in convalescence, or respite. What Zenith does best, after all, is build something new when faced with destruction. Consider this a primer for your new world, to help bring the faithful back from the brink of their despair.

The unharmonized have a choice, as they so often do. This time, however, the stakes appear even higher than before. The cities are not as welcoming as they once were, and those that have not chosen are beseeched by the civilians of both Highstorm and Springstar. ‘Do you not understand what they’ve taken from us, and what they will in days to come? You cannot let this continue, standing on the sidelines. Imagine the ways in which you could help us,’ they beg, and it feels as though your neutrality will become increasingly inconvenient, as time goes on.

What can we expect next?

As the month of Pelu ( aka March ) dawns, you will begin to feel it. Something tugs at you.

Those who have lived through more than one will feel that anticipatory anxiety rise, as the next oracle is coming. Are you ready to fight to claim it, even when it feels so dark, and even when everything feels different, and harder? Do you look to the stars, and dream of your home? Or do you gaze outward, into nothing, and dream of what you will make from the ashes?

Anticipate the oracle in the coming month of Pelu, and to learn more about those that will step into the voids left by Cyrus and Yima.

And as always!

Questions can be directed here!

Individuals less-inclined to busy themselves with either effort, or looking for a way to gain a foothold/explore the world can report here for exploration attempts. We recommend examining the Kenos Wiki's Locations for ideas, if you don't know where to start. Or! Ask someone in the Discord Server for a recommendation, we have long-time players eager to help.

Lastly, remember that Cyrus and Yima will be a little occupied this time around, but anyone who might ICly have reason to contact them regarding the brewing troubles can do so here!

CODING

Comments

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri shivers as she wraps herself around him; as her body clenches tight against his sensitive flesh, made moreso by that moment of heat and pleasure. His weight shifts a little to make them both more comfortable, still dizzy from everything that's come before. He still finds it difficult to get his thoughts in order and it isn't made any easier by the thoughts and emotions and images that flow through their communion. His breath catches and there's an overwhelming sense of being flustered, an undercurrent of unrestrained lust running alongside it. He has admirable self-control, but it's difficult for him to push back against this while he basks in the afterglow. ]

Alright...

[ He mutters, head tilting to press a lazy kiss against her cheek, her chin. He can stay. He can linger. ]

I - yes. For a while longer.

[ Not that he really has anywhere to go. Anywhere to be. Nor does he want to go anywhere. ]

Somehow I feel as if I ought to be thanking you...

[tattooism]

[While pretending seamlessly as if it is an accident, a mere consequence of their closeness and her own addled senses, Kiritsubo's images continue to lurk between them in little snippets of sensation and emotion that almost feel real. Like they could be real, if he just wanted them to be. How soft her nipples would be brushing against his in contrast to the hard metal of her piercing. How deep he would be able to thrust if he spread her thighs apart and pressed them into the mattress beneath the weight of each desperate pump of hips. How wet she would on his tongue if he delved between her legs.

But now she is just holding him, her fingers leaving little crescent marks on his muscular back as she nuzzles in, seemingly desperate for the warmth to stay. (For the shard inside of her- perhaps not "seemingly".)]

Me... ?

[As if she didn't know. As if the haze of post-orgasm, she didn't quite remember why he should be.]

Why... ?

[After all, wasn't she supposed to be thanking him... ?]

[hauntedking]

[ Those images and sensations and imagined scenarios leak through their communion and it makes Dimitri go a little tense again, his body shivering under the heat of her as his mind tries to imagine what it would be like to spread her legs apart and to bury his head between her thighs. To taste her oh-so-eagerly and to be praised for it-

He tries to think. There's a little noise as he noses in against her temple, wanting to give her as much warmth as he needs. ]

You... this is... you gave me pleasure.

[ He's a bit awkward about it. But... maybe that's to be expected. ]

I feel like I should thank you for that.

[tattooism]

[They "leak" in like wisps of smoke, accidental and wispy, but oh, they linger, curling and shifting to his own reactions. Because wouldn't he love it if her fingers clutched needily in his hair, the praise he might desire falling from her lips between moans and happy whimpers? Wouldn't it be so lewd, so wonderful, if after he had satisfied her she smiled all too innocently for such a thing and coaxed him up over her, far enough that she could wrap her breasts and lips around his cock and return the favor?

Wouldn't it be warm?

There might be awkwardness clinging yet to the man, but Kiritsubo... She sighs softly, happily, where she still clenches and trembles intermittenly around where he remains sheathed in her body, an unending reminder of how she had welcomed him... and might gladly welcome him again.]

Dimitri...

[It is breathed almost like "Your Highness", but it isn't, it's his name, soft and happy.]

We gave each other pleasure...

[She withdraws from him only enough to let a hand slip up his neck and along his jaw, tipping his head to make sure he was looking at her, that he could see her face flushed with pleasure still fresh, her expression grateful and affectionate. The gratitude, in particular... would be impossible to doubt. Because the shard inside of her... She cared about it more than anything. And their cleansing of Discord, their coupling, had restored its "health" temporarily. ]

And if you keep thanking me... I might feel like I need to show you a bit more appreciation to be worthy of that...

[As if the idea was lurking but she hesitated to ask for more directly, she averts her gaze a moment... but the bright blue of her gaze does come back, her ankles digging in just a bit tighter into his lower back.]

Would you... ?

[Would he... ?]

[hauntedking]

[ Those alluring images swirl through his head; he imagines he can almost feel the warm embrace of her body and the touch of her lips. The low moans and whimpers seem to echo and there's the ghost of fingers in his hair. It's a little disorienting, honestly, but he tries to focus on the present and what he's meant to be doing now.

Which is, apparently, curl closer to Kiritsubo and embrace the warmth of her body. He meets her gaze as her fingers ghost against his chin. He's still a touch conflicted - not quite sure whether he deserves thanks. Yes, he'd helped, but it feels a little off to be thanked for doing this with her. But... she's different. And he's finding (found) that people have different thoughts and different attitudes toward romance and sexuality.

He swallows as he feels the press of her ankles and her question lingers in the air between them. His hand tightens a little against her side. ]

I... wouldn't want to disappoint in any way.

[ Which is not quite an answer, but it speaks to his feelings. ]

I hesitate to ask for more. [ Or whether he thinks he ought to.

Sorry, Kiritsubo - he's a little polite to a fault at times. ]

[tattooism]

[Curling closer, embracing her, all of that and more is what he is meant to be doing now. She welcomes him all too naturally, like it is the most sensible thing in the world that has shrunk to be only the two of them and this bed. His hands tighten and in response her hips roll upwards ever so subtly, sweat-streaked thighs quivering with satisfaction and ever-faithful desire. Because she is, she is different, so shameless and not just that...

So welcoming in that shamelessness, inviting her partner to indulge only in what felt good, in what was natural, in what was intimate and raw and deep and pleasurable. So though Dimitri is polite... Kiritsubo's fingers splay across his cheek and then guide him into a long, soft kiss. When it breaks, when she must take a little breath,]

If there is anything... anything at all you want to do, or try...

[The whisper plays across his lips, not a single trace of judgement in her husky voice.]

I want you to ask me.

[Implicit in the tone, the look, is that she would gladly lead him, teach him, welcome him... Whatever twist best fit what he needed. If he was not confident, she would make him a place to become confident. If he was ashamed of the desire, she would make it so that he knew there was no need for shame. And if he just wished to have proper manners, to be sure that it was not just some selfish ask she was acquiescing to and he needed proof that she wanted the same...]

I do...

[hauntedking]

[ It's difficult for him to think of what he might even ask for. Especially with that long kiss and the warmth of her body and the look she gives him. His brain is spinning around and around in circles and while he's sure of desire he doesn't quite know what desire he wants sated. The intimacy of the moment almost feels like enough.

Almost. ]

Well...

[ He swallows and glances away for a moment, ears and cheeks once again a burning red. ]

...could I have you... underneath me?

[ It's a basic position switch, but... he's inexperienced in this sort of thing. ]

I enjoy seeing your face.

[tattooism]

[Her fingers brush affectionately over those red cheeks, the curve of his bright ear, as if treasuring them for what they mean. Taking some sort of pride and gratitude for being trusted with this sort of intimacy even though her partner might be unsure or inexperienced. And what he asks her for...]

I like seeing yours, too...

[So that, surely... is a "yes". Her eyelids flutter with pleasure as she adjusts the press of her hips to his, reluctant to loosen how they fit together, that delicious fill of him, but at the same time... her body had always been one that wanted more, rarely sated for long, and so the promise of having him again...]

On top its easier for a woman to manage a larger man, so I thought it was best to start that way, but...

[Her hand leaves his face to brace on the mattress behind her, curling her fingers in the rumpled sheets, falling back halfway to make it easier for him to move himself and her both, to let him find the way he wished to have her underneath him. But as she shifts, frees him up to rise and take the position more associated with control... she finishes the thought with a husky, teasing little reminder.]

I think I know the shape of you more than well enough now...

[Mostly because she could literally shape her insides to fit her partner, but. You know.]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri is a romantic at heart - so he appreciates the warm intimacy of their time together, even if it's not exactly a relationship that will last long. In the dim light of the bedroom he offers her a smile and takes the offered opportunity. He's gaining in confidence, bit by bit. He lays her back gently into the bedclothes and presses a small, lingering kiss against her lips. He's still buried inside of her, his arousal still present, still throbbing in pleasure and intense warmth. ]

I'll be careful...

[ He murmurs to her as his kisses trail from her lips and down her throat, his frame covering hers as he settles close all over again. He presses against her, sinking deep again, until they're as close as they can be - until they are basically one. ]

You're so lovely, Kiritsubo...

[ He should be a bit more careful, shouldn't he? In theory they're enemies. But that doesn't matter, does it? ]

[tattooism]

[Down to the mattress she goes, her golden hair spilling like a delicate halo over his sheets, looking up at him in that mix of what seems like relief, affection, gratitude, and desire, large blue eyes open and so... innocent, almost. If they were not doing what they were. Her lips part slightly, offering such a plush, willing bed for his own, and once he gives her that...]

You don't have to hold back... I told you...

[She whispers on the edges of a happy whimper as his lips trail down her throat, as he adjusts inside of her and finds an equilibrium, a oneness. The flattery, yes, she accepts it. Enemy or not... surely if she truly thought of him as her enemy they would not, could not, be doing this. That they are, that she is reaching down for one of his hands, guiding it to her thigh and then urging him to press, to lift, to pin... It must mean they at least have no desire to fight.]

Here...

[What she desires... is for him to use that dominant position curled over her, to exert himself with certain options that came in the form of his fingers sliding over her thighs, sinking in to a hint of softness over muscle, slowly sliding upwards and urging her legs to spread, to lever up, to take him-]

You can show me exactly how much deeper you want to be...

[hauntedking]

[ Her guidance almost stops Dimitri's heart. It's soft and enticing and everything he thinks he might want and his self-control frays a little more. She touches him, guides his hands and tells him what he can do - and he finally, finally lets himself go a little. There's a bit more desperation in him. His hands slide against her thighs and starts to pin them back, spreads her wide as his weight settles against her more fully. He fills her again, pressing deep and deep as his whole weight and strength starts to press down on (into) her and he thrusts, rocking his hips.

It's a wet, slick sound, and he draws back, almost entirely free, before she thrusts home again. His breath escapes in a ragged little pant and his control slips again and then again, his body tensing and sliding again and again as he chases that high, that sense of oneness. The heat and warmth of her embrace.

He is lost, for the moment, his world narrowed to just her. Just this bed.

And it's beautiful. ]

[tattooism]

[It is just what she hoped for, and exactly what she wanted. Kiritsubo's body flexes and strains beneath him in the first moments, offering just enough resistance to seem natural... and yet, no discomfort or pain, her expression free of any hint that he might need to stop. Instead, as more of his weight presses onto the backs of her thighs, as the way he curls over her and presses down levers her hips up and forces her legs open...

She moans, needy and eager and satisfied by what she was being offered. The way his cock nudged deeper when given the chance, the way her body welcomes him, how her slick, made-warm insides urge him to return each time he pulls out...]

Dimitri... Dimitri...

[His name is a prayer, it is gratitude, it is relief... and also pleasure. At first, she shows herself off as if on accident, like she is lost in herself and how good he feels, spine arching prettily and pale arms falling above her head so that her hands might clutch and tug at his bedsheets. Each thrust makes her heavy breasts sway with his movements, the piercing glittering in a taut, rosy nipple, as equally rosy lips part for escalating whines and little cries.

There are things she could say. But now, here, having finally convinced him to let go of some of his senses and fall into the more wild urges and strengths... all she does is pant and moan and chant yes, yes, yes, as her painted toes curl uselessly in the air.]

[hauntedking]

[ He hears his name and Dimitri's breath stutters in response. There's still a certain gentleness about his actions; a lifetime of habit is difficult to throw away, even now. Still, there's more force to him now. More solidity. His thrusts are harder, stronger, faster. His grip a little tighter. He makes a low noise, almost animal-like, her name on his lips as he drags himself deep and then back out and then in again and then again, feeling her legs sway and watching the way her breasts shift and move, how her fingers clench.

It's intoxicating in a way he cannot describe with words.

Instead he buries his lips against her throat with another of those low groans, the slap of flesh meeting flesh punctuating his movements as his ragged breath and gasping sighs mingle with her low little whines and cries. It's a chorus and he savors every moment of it, even as he loses himself to it. Again and again and again he presses into her, chasing that high, determined to find it, to get that moment of white heat and ecstasy ingrained into his memory all over again. ]

Please.

[ He moans and he doesn't know what he's asking for, only that he's asking, craving, desperate, and that he is being stretched to a breaking point. One he doesn't want to run from, one he cannot turn away. ]

[tattooism]

[They ripple like living things, the colorful tattoos inked upon her skin. On the breast that heaves with each shallow breath and bounces at each firm thrust the wasp almost seems to flutter gossamer wings over its dripping honey base. The turtle and crane upon her upper arms flex and curl with how she twists her fists in his dampening sheets. And the flower… the crimson peony on her lower stomach moves with each clench of nethers and twist of hips, as if the petals are ready to unfurl if he would just-]

Cum inside me again, Dimitri…

[It is simultaneously a whisper and yet so loud, in between the wet slick of where their bodies met and the escalating breaths lost between. As much as she knew a man loved a show… she pulls her hands from the sheets to wrap him in an embrace instead. Her nails scratch and scramble on the muscular plane of his back, the way she had urged him to part her legs and lean on to his own weight would prevent her from wrapping her thighs around his hips to trap him, but oh—-

Her arms manage it, wrapping around his neck to pull him over her, crying out as he begs and pleads because that’s what she wants, too. Oh, this hint of what he’d be capable of unleashed is too tempting, one day she wants it, that hint of the feral beneath, but for now it’s just as she’d planned, he’s perfect for how she’s shaped her body, and each heavy press of his hips makes hers quiver and clench, as if on the cusp of her own peak if he’d just-]

Fill me up…

[The piercing? glitters crystalline and ice blue on her tongue as she urges him on, just a glimpse before her small, slim hands slide through his hair enough to pull him into a breathless, all consuming kiss.]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri is only partially awre of the way her tattoos seem to shift. Most of his attention is dazed, wrapped up in her as a whole, in the feeling of her body as she moves against him and as he drives his weight down into her again and again. He feels as if he's floating, as if he's straining himself toward some unknown point - but there's a definite destination. A certain end that comes with the way they press into one another, with the way her nails drag against his skin. She drags him down and he sinks gladly, meeting her kiss with his own. She feels perfect and he is lost in her, his lips parted, her name a ragged pant as they come together.

The kiss presses on and on and his thrusts are ragged, harder, and then it all finally unspools. He moans into her mouth, plaintive and needy and he presses in, presses deep, and he twitches and spends himself into her, his cum filling her for the second time. He lets out a low whining sound, half choked, as the pleasure washes over him and his hips hitch in short, aimless little thrusts as he finally finishes and the world melts away - at least for a few moments.

He doesn't drop onto her, not yet, but he sways over her, body starting to feel boneless. ]

[tattooism]

[Those few moments are the most important part. Kiritsubo knows it best. The libido of a tanuki raged on and on, and it was seldom she could make it a few days without feeling the itch become too frustrating not to scratch. It was only in the instants of orgasm and the hazy aftermath that she found that delicious sense of relief... and so she chases it wholeheartedly.

She devours his moans as her tongue slips wet and warm against his, soft but for the crystal stud. Each thrust she releases a sound for him to swallow, too, a whine, a cry, a moan, a whimper, straining to tighten even further around his cock, to draw him deeper, to make herself more receptive, adjusting until the end of his stroke presses up against the mouth of her greedy, shard-filled womb. So that when he does as she commands coaxes and releases his seed, she can take the warmth where she actually needs it, she can make herself just sensitive enough to do the romantic thing and cum with him, crying out as her toes curl above her head, spine arching and hips quivering up into his last little grinds.

It is so, so satisfying to let it take its course, to twitch and squirm and then collapse into the sheets... and have enough experience to use her hands not to spur him on to peak this time, but instead to try and convince his body to move a certain way, to collapse in a slower, more controlled way onto his side. Beside her, so close she might still press against him and benefit from the radiant warmth of a Meridian.]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri does slowly curl onto his side alongside her, pressed close. He doesn't need much urging - apparently he's a very natural cuddler, even with the mess that's smeared between them. He noses into her hair, an arm thrown around her as he tries to let that fuzzy moment of afterglow stretch out. He might fall asleep like this as he starts to come down from his high, as he basks in the mutual heat of their bodies.

It's a good feeling and he doesn't want to break the spell by speaking. ]

[tattooism]

[Kiritsubo is not a fan of cuddling. She was the type of woman who tended to roll off her partners and reach for a pipe while lounging in the sheets, rather than croon or caress. A shower did not go amiss when needed. But now... Now, she needs his warmth, and to get what she needs (what she needs for Kiyoami)...

She embraces the much larger man as if she was not willing to let him go, her soft, exhausted breaths warm on his shoulder and the curve of his neck as she comes down likewise from the high of their mutual pleasure, her body still soft and snug around him. As if she, too, might be tired, the hand rubbing absently along a sweat-streaked back begins to move slower... and slower... until-]

... May I stay? Just for the night...

[It is just a whisper, barely there, her heart beating slow and heavy against his breast as she asks him to allow a Zenite to remain in his arms and in his home.]

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri is drifting in that post-coital haze, content to just bask in her presence. He exhales, breathes in, sounding as if he's perilously close to dozing off when she speaks up. He blinks a little blearily and finds her gaze. There are so many reasons he should say no, but... ]

Yes. Of course you can...

[ He murmurs, hand lifting to brush fingers against her cheek. ]

[tattooism]

[The gaze he finds is innocent. It is the gaze of a woman who did not care about factions or conflicts, and yet had found herself afflicted nonetheless. It certainly is not the all-black depths of the eyes of a tanuki he had met not hours before in Heliopolis, that same one who, once she left his home... would shift her shape and return to spying in his faction's city until she located a staff member whose identity seemed ripe for stealing.

After all... How could someone who would do that make love so sweetly, or turn her cheek so gratefully into the brush of his fingers, eyes closing briefly with a soft, barely-there whine of pleasure humming in the back of her throat.]

Thank you, Dimitri...

[Not "Your Highness". Not tonight.]