Ass and Titties

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

He dragged his feet too long about this task and now everything's even more fucked than before.

Marching from his house with a long stride, Kaisel enters the House of Midnight with some goddamn purpose for once. No listing around the bar, no ghosting around the fancy rooms, no mulling over life's decisions on the patio like a sad sack. Unfortunately the door takes the brunt of his newfound fervor, swinging against the wall with a loud WHAM! that causes the nearby patrons to startle a bit. The conversation lulls briefly as gazes turn to him.

"Sorry!" he reassures with a raised hand and cringing shoulders, gently turning the door around behind him and shutting it with a soft click. The only eyes still one him are those of the burly security, and he waves nervously towards them. Finally they relent, stare resuming it's flicking coast over the crowd.

So THEN Kaisel resumes his purpose, beelining for the first woman he sees at the bar top that looks like she might be an employee here. He's not trying to get slapped tonight (or punched in the face, which has been a recent favorite for some to attempt) by approaching someone here waiting on an actual date. "Hey!" he greets as he slides up beside her, dodging the tail, which is harder than it sounds since it seems to move all around. "Could I hire you tonight to practice some uh, art. Some art. Nude art." He offers a smile, but it feels a little shaky and out of place, his surefooted confidence wavering a bit now that he's actually talking to her about this.

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

charlie

Charlie’s not just sitting at the bar—she’s making it a performance, perched atop the tallest, most villainous pair of red heels that have ever existed (more danger than footwear, really). Her dress is a scandal of crimson silk and glittering black mesh, cut so high and low it’s a threat to good taste and a delight to anyone with eyes. Gold chains drape her collarbones; her lips are lacquered a lethal, cherry-gloss red. The only thing louder than her outfit is the wild, flicking arc of her tail—restless and delighted, always part of the show.

As Kaisel approaches (brave soul, points for that), her tail immediately wraps itself in a lazy, possessive curl around the backs of his legs, like she’s staking a claim or checking the temperature. She’s tiny—absurdly so, almost doll-like even with all that attitude—but somehow manages to fill more space than most people twice her size. When she beams up at him, her smile is sunlight-strong, all sharp white teeth and bright blue eyes that absolutely, shamelessly devour him.

"Now, sugar, I do hope you’re not judging by the shoes—though I can’t say I blame you." She turns in her seat, crossing her legs with a shimmy and a wink, every movement exaggerated just enough to draw every gaze back her way. Her gaze drops from the wild mess of his hair to the sweep of shoulders, then down, slow as honey, before making the trip back up with interest compounded.

"Question, though," she purrs, voice velvet and wicked, "Are you drawing me, or am I supposed to draw you? Because I should warn you—" she plucks her drink from the bar, never breaking eye contact, and with a flourish, pops the maraschino cherry into her mouth, stem and all, lips closing around it in a showy, deliberate bite—"I'm not the best at sitting still."

She leans in, elbows on the bar, letting her tail tickle higher behind his knees as she speaks, her grin going all fang and mischief before plucking the cherry stem out from between her lips, neatly tied into a bow.

oh I like my boys playin' hard to get
and I like my men all incompetent

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

A jolt runs up his spine at the curl of her tail, hair prickling on the back of his neck at the unexpected touch. He'd maneuvered around it to avoid accidentally bumping it, but seems he should have kept a better eye on what exactly it'd do to him. He stiffens against the curl of it, quickly realizing that what he'd thought would be the hardest part—convincing someone to do this with him—wouldn't be nearly as difficult as escaping her when he was done, not if this is just the start of meeting her.

Though Kaisel and shy have never really gone hand in hand, there's something to being wholly unprepared for the tilt of her gaze, a rake of teeth he can feel just in the light of her smile, that makes him entirely bashful. "Oh, uh—it wasn't really any one thing in particular. Just, your vibe," he mumbles with the hint of blush on his neck coming in under her clear survey. Something akin to pride wonders if he's found worthy of whatever she's looking for, though he has no intention of actually getting to the bottom of that.

He rather thinks he nailed the fact he did not intrude upon someone waiting on their date to arrive, but he is regretting that he didn't take the time to observe a bit longer and select a more tired looking courtesan for these efforts. He attempts to put some distance between them as he backs up, leaning against the bar at arm's length, leg tugging the cord of her tail with the effort of this mild escape. "N-n-no," he clarifies with a stammer, angling further back as she dips in. Flora had always been a tease, and Caly had always felt like a breath he couldn't quite catch all the way. This feels like arson waiting to happen, and he's looking for the first lake to jump into. "I'd be drawing you," he says with the strain of something forced to be soft, his mouth suddenly dry as she withdraws the tied stem.

His lean has taken such a slant that he nearly falls off the bar counter as her tail draws a surprising tickle up his leg. His hand falls away abruptly, but he catches himself, a shaky laugh cleaving the tension. "I'm Kaisel," he offers instead, trying to find comfort in the familiar smile he extends her. "I just want to draw you, nothing more," he stresses, stray hand reaching down to swat pointedly at her tail. "Though it would be helpful if you tried to sit still. I'm not exactly a practiced artist."

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

charlie

Charlie’s laughter bubbles up, light and teasing, like the first sip of champagne on a too-empty stomach—giddy, a little reckless, and utterly delighted by the sight of Kaisel scrambling to maintain his composure. She lets her tail linger for one last slow swirl around his calf, then releases him with a flick, the tip coiling back to drape over her own knee like the world’s most decadent feather boa.

"You’re adorable," she coos, one eyebrow waggling as she leans forward, elbows propped on the bar, chin in her palm. "But you’ve got me pegged all wrong. I don’t actually work here—well, not unless you count keeping the place interesting." She flashes him a wink, conspiratorial and wicked, before adding, "Priestess of Dygra, at your service!"

She lifts her glass in a mock salute, ice clinking as she downs the last sip, still never looking away from him, blue eyes bright and sunny. "Charlie," she supplies in return, the name slipping from her tongue like it’s a secret just for him. "And don’t you worry, sugar, I’ve got no objections to being your muse for the night. Whatever floats your boat," she grins, "or sinks it, depending on how things go."

With a dramatic little flourish, she straightens, still barely coming up to his chin. "So, artiste," she says, voice all syrup and sass, "what’s the plan? You wanna draw me right here?" She gestures broadly at the bar, as if there’s nothing she wouldn’t do in full view of a crowd. "Or do you have a room?" Her lashes flutter, teasing, then she grins wider. "Or we can use mine if you want. Sunny always gives me one of the bigger rooms."

oh I like my boys playin' hard to get
and I like my men all incompetent

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

When she relents her hold on him, it's enough to give him room to breathe, after tumbling through the rip current that is meeting Charlie, the priestess. This fact overshadows the reality that he'd gotten her figured all wrong, because even if she isn't employed here, why the fuck isn't she? "A priestess?" he repeats, suspicion giving him some footing among her heat, not that it should be surprising that someone like her would be the sort to bend the truth. Seems she'd bend whatever she could.

"Is that like," he leans in a little bit closer, which is dangerous around her, but he'd certainly not be the one to blow her cover. He drops his voice with the secrecy of it all. "Your stage name?" Every other priestess he'd ever met dressed, well, entirely opposite of this.

Leaning back, a safety procedure around her, he can't hold back the grin as she accepts. He might be getting in over his head in her company, but he absolutely doesn't have the stones to both walk away and try asking someone else. He needs this done, tonight, and as long as her tail stays safely across her lap, he thinks he can manage. "Perfect," he beams, "although the sinking of a boat sounds marginally ominous..." Unless she's intending for them to play battleship, which he would normally be so down for, just not tonight. Unless, is the implication that his dick is a ship and he'd be sinking into her... ocean? That sounds more like a submarine innuendo, unless the whole point is she'd wreck him. "Doesn't matter," he waves off, "no boats are getting involved." Drawing a nude woman is certainly not what floats his boat, and there'd be no sinking of ships, not on game boards or otherwise.

He laughs at the title she drizzles over him, his blush creeping back in at the thought of doing it out here. "Gods no," he says quickly. Not that anyone would mind here, of all places. "Can't have anyone watching the process, yanno?" The last thing he needs is lookie-lous hanging over his shoulder trying to critique him while he attempts to conjure anything that would remotely resemble Charlie on the page. That and a spectacle seems like it'd invite more of a circus, when she's an act all on her own. That said, he hadn't really considered the next steps too well, so when she offers her room, a big room giving him all the more distance from her reach, he pounces on that. "Your room would be awesome! Lead the way, your holiness."

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

charlie

Charlie laughs, big, bright, the kind of sound that fills a room and draws stray gazes from half the bar. "Oh, no, I’m an actual priestess," she assures, one hand pressed theatrically to her chest as if she’s been accused of heresy. "For Dygra. You know, the Ancient goddess of chaos and entropy?" She waggles her tail behind her like an exclamation point, head tipping just so the light catches the gleam of her ruby horns.

She wrinkles her nose up at him, blue eyes sparkling as he parses out her metaphor, before shrugging. "Up to you, I never mind an audience," she chirps, giving a little bounce in her seat, then she’s hopping down from her stool in a tumble of silk and heels, still managing to look like the world’s tiniest force of nature. Even with the stilettos, she only comes up to Kaisel’s chest, but it doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

With an effortless little sidestep, she slips herself right at his side, arm looping around his waist as if they’ve always moved through doorways together. "C’mon, then. I come by the House so often, Sunjata pretty much always has a room ready—honestly, it’d be rude not to make use of it." She leads him down the hall, tail swishing in high spirits, not bothering to hide how thoroughly she’s enjoying the spectacle.

The door swings open on Charlie’s room, and—true to the House’s magic—the inside is a lush, plush den of red. Everywhere: crimson, scarlet, wine, velvet and silk, with a massive bed centre-stage and mirrors gleaming on the ceiling above. A fire roars in the hearth, drenching the whole room in sultry, delicious warmth.

Charlie tosses Kai a dazzling grin, gliding toward the in-room bar like it’s her throne. "Drink?" she asks, already reaching for something dark and honeyed for herself. "I find it helps with nerves—and inspiration."

oh I like my boys playin' hard to get
and I like my men all incompetent

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

"Oh," he says with the sort of quiet understanding of someone who still barely understands anything at all. "A chaos and entropy priestess," he muses, looking her up and down in full again, like he's fitting the pieces together slowly but surely. He knew about Dygra and the ancients, just didn't realize their form of prayer looked so similar to the type being made in the House of Midnight every evening. Then again there are a lot of oh, gods! echoing through these halls, so it seems to be marginally holy. "Sounds like the best kind," and perhaps to that they could both agree, because all the other much more covered up priestesses he'd known had also been as stuffy as their outfits.

If he had a nickel for every fun-sized blonde who's nipple he'd end up seeing, he'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. Her standing on ground level really punctuates her size, and he has to incline his head to continue to talk with her as they walk. He happily follows her lead, but at the curl of her hand about his waist, he politely grabs for her hand and attempts to peel her back, like wax on those fancy cheeses. "Happy to lend you an arm if you need support," he reassures, just in case her grip had anything to do with impressive heel length, although he's nearly certain it hadn't. This would be just the sight for Caly to walk in on, he's sure.

The room is, both what he would expect from her, and entirely too much. Kaisel might not be an actual artist, but anyone can be a critic, and this is screaming about lack of contrast. "Let me guess, red is your favorite color?" Her drip had been enough, but he's at risk of losing her to camouflage in this room. He glances up at the mirrors overhead as he steps inside, and while she perches at this new bar, he settles for the wall opposite the bed. "Nah, I'm good," he reassures her with a glance up while he rummages through his pack for the pen and paper he'd last used with Everest. "Can't have sloppy lines," he explains, blaming the art instead of whatever other sloppy things the alcohol could inspire. He grins a bit at the conversation as he flips it back, finding a clean page to work on. Pen's a bit more permanent than he'd like, but it's all he got, and well Frey never said it had to be a work of art. The point is the doing, the trying, so here he is.

"Ready whenever you are, muse," he smiles faintly, motioning at the bed, as if it's ever been anything other than stage for her.

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

charlie

Charlie inclines her head with a flash of pointed teeth, every inch the chaos priestess—petite, but radiant with something wild and sure. “That’s right—chaos and entropy,” she purrs, tone teasing but not careless, “the only domains worth worshipping, if you ask me.” Her gaze sharpens, curious beneath the sparkle. " Do you know much about Dygra? You should. She’s really the best."

When Kaisel's hand pries at her arm, Charlie studies him with frank amusement, not at all bothered by the rebuff—if anything, she seems to enjoy the boundaries he tries to set. "If you’re taken, you’re a brave man, wandering in here and asking to see me naked," she observes, her fingers releasing him with an easy shrug. "But don’t worry—my touch only burns for those who want it too." She lets fire bloom at her fingertips, a little flourish, but not just for show, a subtle demonstration of what she is.

As Kaisel calls out the colour scheme, Charlie laughs, low and bright. "Red’s Dygra’s favourite. Birth, blood, lust, endings—all the best bits of living," she explains, raising her glass before taking a sip. "Everything I do is an act of worship for Dygra," she adds. "Especially what's done in here. No reason for the room not to look the part, especially for those seeking a crash course in what it's like to be an ancient."

And when he gestures at the bed, she doesn’t pout or preen, but fixes him with a sidelong look, smile curling with sly mischief. Tutting under her breath, Charlie wrinkles her nose. "I think you're forgetting something." She flicks her tail, arching a brow before glancing down at the dress she's still wearing. "You asked me to pose, not to do all the work for you."

oh I like my boys playin' hard to get
and I like my men all incompetent

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

"Just uh, taken by the art." Maybe the more he can reinforce this idea that this is strictly about the process and the drawing, the more Charlie, the priestess of chaos and entropy, will abide by some sense of code. It's also a lot easier than explaining whatever the fuck he actually is, because taken is definitely not it. Confused, definitely. Intimidated, by Charlie, completely. Anxious, about insane letters and naked women with sharp teeth, entirely.

The fizzle of flame she conjures, combined with her tail, horns, sharp teeth, and the general den of sin they're in, feels a bit too much like Hell. His step stutters for just a moment as he glances back towards the door, wondering if he should just make a break for it and escape now while his soul is still intact. Except, fuck, he really wants to finish this tonight and give it back to Frey, that way it'd be ready to give to Flora next time he sees her, which is gonna have to be real soon based on how nonsensical her notes were. Something's off, and he means to figure out what, as soon as he sketches this pint-sized priestess nude.

Deeper into hell it is, then.

"Quite the shrine you've built then," he commends, distracted as he gets situated. Though, when he glances back up to find she hasn't moved, and worse, doesn't intend to without assistance, it's all he can do to keep from drawing a stick figure with boobs and calling it a day. Scrunching his 'brows together in assessment of her, he ends up placing his pad and pen to the side and gets back to his feet. "Yeah, sorry, no problem. Happy to help unzip you." Can be a hard thing to reach on your own sometimes, depending on the dress, and the girl.

With all the same intent and focus as when he helps his mother with this, Kaisel steps in beside her. He reaches to sweep her hair out of the way with one hand, not wanting any strands getting accidentally tugged, while the other sets about to whatever method and contraption she's got to keep her dress fitted to her.

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

charlie

Charlie’s grin turns slow and pleased as she watches Kaisel take in the space, clearly interpreting his hesitation as reverence. Whether she doesn’t notice the flicker of overwhelm or simply decides to file it under acceptable reactions to divine décor, she lets it stand. "Good," she murmurs, tail giving an idle flick across the plush carpet. “"A shrine should make you feel something, you know? Especially one for Dygra."

When he steps back toward her, she tilts her head up, lashes lowering just enough to turn her smile into something more inviting. She stands easily in his space, letting him touch without needing to guide him, only the faintest arch of one brow when his fingers sweep her hair aside so it won’t catch. "Mmm, a gentleman," she teases softly.

The clip at her nape comes free with a metallic click, and the zipper follows in a smooth line down her spine. Warm air from the fire slips in through the widening gap, carrying the scent of her skin. It doesn’t take long for him to discover the absence of anything beneath—no straps, no lace, just pale, soft skin revealed in slow measure. She is not bronzed like the other blondes he associates with, her complexion a cooler shade that makes the rich red of her dress and the fire’s glow even more striking. Despite her small frame, the curve of her back gives way to a figure that’s nothing if not generous.

Her tail curls lazily around his calf again, the gesture unhurried, almost absent-minded, though the sharp glint in her eyes makes it clear nothing about her is ever accidental. "See?" she says, voice warm and low. "Was that so hard?"

oh I like my boys playin' hard to get
and I like my men all incompetent

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

Unzipping his mother definitely never felt like this. Every deeper pull down the metal track opens her up more, and there's no denying the allure to her exposed skin. Kaisel's breathing slows a bit, catching on the way the firelight plays against the freshly exposed skin. The expanse of her back is one built with all the right curves, each one a trail for his gaze to follow, a path for his fingers to trace and until he finds the salvation she's preaching about. He can admire it, definitely, but as the fabric falls away, so too does his interest.

Her back doesn't have that perfect divot where his hand fits, like Flora's does. There's no familiar scars worn with quiet bravery, no echoes of the tracks where he once pressed his lips, no sweat beading against sunkissed skin and a halo of frozen mist shivering against it. This is not the back he dreams about, and it's not even the one built of starlight that he felt through a golden dress next to burgers on a breathless night.

The tail, like an errant cat that knows you don't like them and therefore has taken to adopting you, does nothing but push the illusion of Charlie further away. Kaisel only wants one thing tonight, and that's to complete the quest that he means to be for Flora. His hand swats at the tail absently, "mm, no, the dress is rather well made. Now, do you need further assistance getting to the bed, or might I resume getting into the zone?"

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

charlie

Charlie arches one perfect brow, the picture of unbothered amusement. "No need to be pouty, sugar," she chimes, voice carrying an almost lazy warmth. As for the bed, the priestess merely sighs. In a heartbeat, she’s simply there, stretched across the bed as if the entire room had been designed just for the image she makes. Lying on her stomach, ankles crossed above the perfect curve of her ass, blonde hair spilling in loose waves down her shoulders, she props herself up on her elbows with languid ease as her image is reflected back at her a thousand times over thanks to the mirrors on the ceiling.

Her gaze drifts over the bedding, smoothing one palm across the plush red surface before turning her head toward him. Blue eyes catch the firelight as they sweep over him, slow and deliberate, the faintest pout tugging at her crimson lips. "Y’know," she says, tone almost musing, "most artists who go out of their way to approach someone to draw them nude tend to actually enjoy their work." She lets the words linger, that last word dipping lower in pitch.

Her eyes rake over him again, not shy in the slightest. "But you," she murmurs, smile sharpening just enough to hint at the intellect beneath the sweetness, "you look like you’re hating every moment of this."

oh I like my boys playin' hard to get
and I like my men all incompetent

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Haters on my back like a backpack

Mercifully, she doesn't request to be carted to the bed in his arms, something he expected to have to maneuver around next. Instead she retreats, her shape given movement an impossible thing to resist watching, even as he sinks back to his wall as far from her as he can manage. Sliding down to the ground where he left his pad and paper, he gathers them as one does tax documents they've been putting off. Her stare fits just over the edge of the pad, where his periphery catches on the only thing blue in here.

He flicks his gaze up over the paper to her, pen poised just above the sheet. "Yeah? Do most of them use you as the canvas?" He can't blame them really, but there's a different sort of art to painting a body with semen than there is a paper with pen. "Or are you regularly the subject of drawings?" Seems like the career choice fit for men too inept or poor to get a girl's clothes off any other way than spouting nonsense about true art and the naked form. How many would trade loneliness for attention, just for the promise of being special enough to get transposed via medium, as if an artist doesn't sketch on the daily and turn one muse over for the next?

He sighs though, leaning onto one hand as his other starts to sketch her, eyes drifting down and up in quick succession over and over. "Don't get it wrong priestess," he assures her, unable to hold back a half smile as he starts with his favorite piece, her ass. "You seem like someone anyone could enjoy, artist or not." It takes shape close enough, and like a puzzle he moves on to the other edges of her form, building loosely from the outside in with each scratch and scribble. "I'm just used to sketching flowers. And that's why he's here, trying to find a way to keep connected with her, because if it was her on the bed now instead of Charlie, he wouldn't be able to keep his distance. Much as he tells her he would, as he tells himself, he knows that he hasn't been able to put her back over the line since they crossed it.

Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless

charlie

If Kaisel’s words land anywhere near offense, Charlie doesn’t let it show; instead, she lets her lashes lower in a slow flutter, her body unfurling in a languid stretch that arches her back just enough for the curve of her breasts to slip into view from beneath the fall of her hair. The motion is unhurried, deliberate, a flicker of temptation before she settles back onto her elbows again.

"I'm Centuries old, sugar," she says with a bright, purring ease. "So yes, I’ve been a muse and mused-on more than a few times." At his comment about her being someone anyone could enjoy, she tilts her head, the firelight catching on her ruby horns and painting her in molten gold and crimson. "Thank you," she purrs. "Sex, I’ve found, is one of the purest ways to worship Dygra. Passion, chaos, creation—why wouldn't I take advantage of that?" Her tail gives a lazy flick across the bedding, a punctuation mark to the statement.

Then, with an almost feline curiosity, she lets her gaze drift to his sketchpad. "Flowers, hm?" she muses aloud, head canting slightly as her hair slips forward over one bare shoulder. "So what made you decide to switch up your focus tonight?"

oh I like my boys playin' hard to get
and I like my men all incompetent

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!