crave the applause yet hate the attention

// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //

“Yes.” He confirms her question of whether he can feel it. As for her not being around people that could do that, it doesn’t particularly surprise him. He’s been blessed enough by Safrin to have a whole zoo under his skin, swirling around his soul. “It’s different.” He agrees after a moment, humming another quiet laugh as he shakes his horned head. “I have quite the assortment of them.” All means of shifts and the power that came with it. But he’ll let her decide if she wants to ask about them, because already they’re moving onto talk of the ocean and he’s already drawn to her answer.

His head angles a bit toward her again as he casts that same playful smoldering steel her way. “It sounds to me like all you need is a teacher.” There’s that feline smirk that pulls on his lips again, sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight as the water crashes up to their ankles. They’re almost to the other side now, at least, and Sunjata focuses on trying to pick up a bit of speed to reach dry land again, if only for her benefit. Her comment does raise his eyebrows, though, has a bark of a laugh leaving him. “What did you think it was?” A dark brow raises and the amusement is clear on his face, in the grin that tugs on the scarred half of his face almost painfully.

some princes don't become kings

SUNJATA

Maeve

She's intrigued. How could she not be? She knows the gods bless people with powers like this. When they feel so inclined to share their gifts. Maeve didn't know what it was to be blessed by the gods. To be so highly favored by them to have the ability to shift into something else. She's not sure she wants to be. Her eyes lift to his and then to his horns before back to his eyes once more, "I already knew you could turn into a dragon. It was all anyone talked about." Maeve says with a soft hum as her other hand comes up to grip his arm beside the one that already rests there.

The heat of his gaze isn't lost on her and a breath catches in her throat that she forces out with a slow exhale. A new warmth is swirling in her belly, replacing the fear that was there before and she's glad they're walking otherwise it might be more obvious. "A teacher, hm? Are you offering your services, dear governor? My my... You really do look after your people." Maeve purrs as her small form molds itself to his side as they tread through the water that's steadily climbing higher. The laugh surprises her and she can't help giggling in response as she shakes her head. "It's silly. Honestly. A bit of poor humor." Blame working in a brothel for the last five years of her life. Sex jokes just become a part of your repertoire whether you want them to or not. Still, he asked her and she won't deny him. Not this time. "Here I was thinking it was due to your, uh, reputation in bed."

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //

A huff of air leaves him that’s both amused and tired at the mention of the dragon, but it doesn’t change the smile to his face. “Ah yes, the one they wanted to burn.” How could he forget? “I have others though. A panther, a macaw, a snake… Just to name a few.” Because there’s more. There always is more, isn’t there? Regardless, his arm remains there for her to anchor herself to, his wings tucked in tight aside from the one closest to her that opens a fraction — keeping distance between it and her back, in order to buffer the wind.

“I suppose I am offering my services. I am experienced, after all.” He purrs back to her, smirking lightly as she molds herself against him. This close and she’d be able to feel the shift between scales and the warmth of his skin where they blend into one. But the edge and dry sand awaits them a few more steps away. In fact, they reach it as she explains what she thought his moniker meant and he can’t help the laughter that follows after.

Surprised to hear that’s what they thought, is an understatement. “Ah and here I was thinking that was something nobody talked too much about.” Not like they had in the Grounds. He’d toned it down a bit since arriving here, though of course he’d gotten with Nate shortly after it. Regardless, they reach dry sand and leave the sandbar behind and his attention flickers back to her — not at all minding how close she is against him. “But no, I very much doubt that’s why they call me that.” The smirk is back, that amused smolder glimmering in his gaze, focused back in on her with ease. “Is that why you wanted to find out?” He teases her gently, flashing another wink.

some princes don't become kings

SUNJATA

Maeve

She doesn't meant to remind him of that, but it was impossible. It was all anyone talked about. He's not our governor. Not our governor. Not our governor. It was exhausting even for her to hear about. Maeve flashes him an apologetic look, "If it makes you feel better I had no desire to burn you." And she truly didn't. Maeve had no ill will towards the man. Even when all the rumors about him were circling through Torchline. As he mentions the other forms she can't help hanging on to every word. "I love snakes. I know some people think them vile creatures, but I've always found them incredibly beautiful." Her shoulders shrug, the light wrap she has draped over them slipping down to expose the bare skin as the walk together.

"I might just have to take you up on that. Not every day you get special attention from the governor of Torchline." Maeve replies back smoothly, "Do tell me... What else are you experienced in?" She teases as they finally approach the dry edge of the shore and she's glad to not be sloshing through the waves anymore. It makes it easier to keep herself at his side even as a laugh rumbles out of him.

Maeve laughs in response. The sound light and airy as she gazes up at him, "I suppose your reputation proceeds you." She takes a few quick steps forward, turning to face him and stop him in his tracks as her hands brace lightly against his chest instead of his arm. Maeve is back in his space again, practically dwarfed against him as she lets her body press close to his. He does tower a full foot over her and it's clear in the way she has to tilt her head back to look at him even as her hands slip up to his shoulders before back down his arms. The touch is light. Almost exploratory. "Can't blame a girl for being curious, can you?" Her voice is a purr as her chin tilts up towards him and a brow arches, another one of her sweet smiles playing on her lips.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //

“It does.” He murmurs, offering a small brief shrug, pushing past the souring, bitterness of that particular conversation for something a bit more fun — like the types of things he can turn into. He captures her attention with the mention of snakes, however, and the arm she holds onto begins to shift to the sleek black and bronze scales of his snakeshift, as he bobs his head in agreement. “It’s a spitting cobra that I have.” He rumbles as if for explanation and agreement — the snake was one of his favorites, specifically when it came to curling around necks.

He watches the shawl she wears slip from her shoulder but he looks past it back to her as he offers his services by means of swimming lessons to Maeve, humming a quiet laugh as he tilts his horned head. “I suppose it isn’t.” He agrees gently, smirking lightly as her next question colors the air. His steel gaze lingers on her even as she pulls away a fraction. “I can’t give away all of my secrets, now can I?” It’s a bit matter of factly said, even if it edges on a purr.

They reach the sands, however, and he pauses his steps as she steps away and blocks his path, hands suddenly on him over scales that slowly begin to recede back into tattooed skin beneath the fabric. He’s used to towering over everyone, this is no different, but he does incline his head toward her, scanning her with the edge of a smirk on his lips. “No, I don’t suppose you can.” He hums, hands rising to brush his clawed fingers along her shoulder, drawing one talon up the side of her neck. “But now I’m under the impression that I’ll have to truly stand out.” He admits with a quiet, breathy laugh, his wings flaring slightly on either side of him.

some princes don't become kings

SUNJATA

Maeve

"You could give away your secrets, but you're choosing to be stingy. Rather rude if you ask me." She quips back, letting out a huff even as a smile plays on her lips. Despite the slight heat behind her words, the playfulness of her tone always wins out, giving away her true intentions. Only ever meaning to tease the man before her and not actually hurt with the things she says. That's not her game. It never has been.

The claws trailing over her skin makes her shiver, goosebumps rising across her exposed flesh as a pretty flush settles high on her cheeks. Even in the low light, her pupils dilate further to almost swallow the gentle green of her irises. Her neck arches ever so slightly as that single talon drags over her pulse and she reaches for his wrist. Slender fingers wrap around it as she guides that same talon towards her lips, letting it gently scrape across the sweet pout. Maeve looks up at him from beneath her lashes as she lets him feel the way her lips move beneath his finger, "You think you don't already?" She presses a whisper of a kiss against that same talon before letting it draw down the hollow of her throat to the small valley between her breasts where it hooks on the neckline of the thin camisole she wears all thanks to her guiding hand. "No need to play coy, governor. I promise I won't tell anyone how cocky you really are."

Another step forward is taken until there is hardly any space left between them. The hand that was on his arm slips up into his hair. It's a bit of a stretch and she has to rise up on the tips of her toes to reach those curls, but she manages. Even if it does press her body flush against his. "Why do they call you the Flood anyway? If not for your prowess in bed?"

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //

“Ah but they wouldn’t be secrets if everyone knew them.” He adds, focusing a bit further on the way his talon glides against her pale skin – his own skin’s scarred and bronze in comparison. But she reaches up, takes his hand, guides that talon against her lips, the steel of his eyes smoldering, narrowing slightly as his wings ruffle with another breezy wind. But his focus is entirely on her now, not on keeping his shift under control, not on keeping his wings pulled tight and away, and they breeze toward her, curling around.

“I suppose I don’t.” He offers a bit honestly, a bit quietly, swallowing as she guides that talon down the hollow of her throat to where it connects to the neckline. His finger twitches slightly, tugging at it, before his gaze lifts to meet her face again – a quiet snort leaving him as his hand withdraws and she’s pressing all of herself against him. His hands lower, meeting her skin where the talons of his one hand press against the small of her back, supporting her yet again. The other one, shifting into talons as well, slips up into her dark hair, the claws tapping idly against her skin.

It isn’t until she speaks again, of his moniker, that he remembers what it is he wants to say. So he angles down a bit, tilts his chin down as the horns atop his head point directly at the sky, making it easier for her to try and reach him, leaning in with a brief smirk that simply presses himself against her more. “Because of many reasons.” He murmurs, a low purr, blinking again as his gaze shifts to the slit pupils again and he peers at her. “I’m powerful. I’m moody. I can be overwhelming and unpredictable.” This is said with the low hum of that same purr, though his lips quirk against the scar spanning half his face. “It was my moniker in Korofi too, where I'm from, for the very same reason.”

some princes don't become kings

SUNJATA

Maeve

"But I'm not everyone." She croons back, lips twitching back into that same disarming smile as before. "What? Don't you trust me?" Of course he doesn't trust her. Not really. He barely knows her. Except Maeve isn't really in the business of sharing secrets. She has no desire to. Not that he knows that. She doesn't blame him for not sharing his secrets. Even if this is all in good fun. What fun they're having too.

The swallow is the first crack in his carefully held control. Just like his wings wrapping around her petite frame and urging her closer are the next. While the feeling is strange, it's not unwelcome and she finds herself sighing with the heat of it at her back. That heat is joined by his hand, pressing to the small of her back and for a moment she's distracted by the way it seems to span the entirety of the sway there. It isn't until his other hand slips into her hair, the tips of his talons pricking lightly against her scalp that she draws in a breath. Her lips part with the sudden inhale even as her body curves to better fit against his, not even realizing how she moves for him without much urging on his part.

As his head angels down towards hers, she finds her own tilting to meet him, holding his gaze even as his pupils shift to slits again. Maeve's fingers slip through his hair, thumb suddenly coming in contact with one of his horns and she can't resist letting her thumb tease along the ridge she finds there. His words send a warmth racing along her spine, curling at the base with a new heat that has her heart beating a staccato against her chest. "Is that right? You've yet to overwhelm me. Perhaps you're not as powerful as you think." Her lips mirror his smirk and a soft laugh bubbles up in her chest, huffing out of her in an exhale against his lips. "Maybe you should try harder, dear Flood." Maeve purrs, eyes dropping to his lips for a split second before meeting his gaze again.

She's baiting him. Just a little. Mostly because she can and because she can't resist pushing back against that control he's holding on to so tightly. Maeve has never been good at leaving well enough alone. She always has to push just a little further. Maybe she just wants to let go a little bit too. Not think so much. This seems a good place to start.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //

“I don’t exactly know you.” He murmurs back, bluntly put. Definitely not enough to share his secrets, at least none of the ones people didn’t already know. Rumors and secrets spread like wildfire here, after all, and he keeps most of his biggest ones close to his chest. But he holds her against him, clawed fingers slipping through her hair, spanning across her back. She arcs against him and his feet remain planted, steady and strong in the sand.

He scans her face through those slit pupils, through his angled horned head, while that hand of her rises through his curls, finds one of the horns, and rubs her thumb against it. His gaze shudders as he peers at her, a slight hitch of his breath as she continues, his taloned fingers tightening in her hair, tugging to pull her head back as he leans in and fights with himself over his control. He leans in, his scarred cheek pressed against her own, his nose brushing against her neck and the exposed skin there as he continues that inner battle.

His voice is huskier now when he goes to speaks. “Oh but Maeve, I haven’t even tried yet.” It’s a whisper, curling around like a lover's confession, toying between kissing her neck and pulling away. His wings pull in, pressing against her sides and her back, blocking out any and all light — though Sunjata can see just fine as he moves to withdraw, to pull himself away from her while he still has some semblance of control.

some princes don't become kings

SUNJATA

Maeve

Of course he doesn't know her. She knows that. So her lips quirk as he gazes down at her. "That's the joke, darling." Maeve quips back as his fingers slip through her hair, his talons prickling over her scalp oh so carefully before finding the small of her back. Maeve watches as his lashes flutter when her thumb brushes along his horn. The hitch of breath unmistakable and just like that. she's found his weakness. One of them. Her touch grows more daring, thumb pressing more firmly against the base of his horn before running along the ridge she finds there even as he angles her head back.

Her own breath hitches, bottom lip catching between her teeth as he tugs gently so he can bury his face against her throat. He doesn't do anything besides inhale, letting his nose tease along her throat. Maeve shivers, eyes fluttering closed as he presses into her, but does nothing more than that. The heat in her belly flares as his words curl around her spine, urging her closer. Beckoning her to give in to this thing between them.

She makes a soft noise as what little light she has is cut off with the encroachment of his wings. The darkness is warm. A heat budding between them keeping it from being anything else. "Clearly. Otherwise I might be more impressed." Maeve murmurs, voice quiet between them as she seizes his horn in a careful grip, tugging him so they're nose to nose, lips merely a breath apart.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //

Her thumb grows more daring and it draws more from him, more sharp inhales, more insisting hands on her. But he restrains himself well, not giving in despite how much he wishes to, not giving in despite how appealing her pale skin is beneath his lips, how he could draw more sounds from her than simply the surprise at blocking out the light. He aims to overwhelm her senses just as she does for him, until something in him begins to reevaluate the situation and his restraint slips back in, pulling away but still keeping her close — as if he can’t decide.

It seems he doesn’t get a choice, however, the hand wrapped around the horn readjusting and moving his head so his face aligns with hers. And he scans her, that smoldering torn gaze of slit steel, peering easily through the darkness he’s created. The wings squeeze in and his clawed hand at the small of her back digs its talons in ever so slightly, pressing her against him a flush that creeps up along his neck, swells beneath the ink black of his tattoos, and he wants to dive in, wants to press into her space and press his lips against hers, to see what she tastes like, to devour her.

But it clicks and he pulls away now, something apologetic crossing his face, tugging at the scarring on his face. “I can’t, Maeve. Not right now.” He murmurs gently, as softly as he can, shaking his head slightly to try and get her to loosen her grip on his horn. His wings withdraw, tucking in tight against his back and his hands slip away from her to rest on her hips until she possibly lets go.

some princes don't become kings

SUNJATA

Maeve

For a moment, she thinks he might give in. She thinks she might have him. Maeve does want him. At least physically. She doesn't know him well enough to want anything else. Her breathing stutters out against his lips as they part, waiting for him to close that last bit of space. His hands press at her. Claw at her. Pulling her closer until there isn't any space between their bodies. He smells like ash and the ocean and Maeve wonders if he tastes like it too. Is there salt to be found on his skin? More scars to map with her fingers and mouth? Scales to tease with her fingers and wings to grip onto as he towers over her?

Before she even has a chance to let a fantasy take shape, the light of the moon washes back over them both. Her lashes flutter as she readjusts to the light and his grip loosens. Instead finding home on her hips as he looks down at her with an apology already swimming in his eyes. Maeves draws in a breath, a small smile tugging at her lips as her hands rest against his chest once she lets go of his horn. The rejection stings faintly and it does enough to sober her.

Maeve licks her lips, dropping her gaze as a flush rises to her cheeks, "It's okay. No need to worry about little old me. I can handle being turned down." And she can. He means nothing by it and she can accept that. He just can't and that's fine. She can accept that. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." Maeve offers with a laugh, finally meeting his gaze again.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

// seems like the whole damn world went and lost its mind & all my childhood heroes
have fallen off or died. fake tears, real living, fake tears, but the alcohol never lies //

Sunjata takes a steadying breath as well, one that has him withdrawing further and drawing up to his full height again, letting the cool air of Flowerbirth wash over his tattooed and flushed skin, trying his best to get himself sorted back right. A clawed hand rises to tear through his hair, to rub at his jaw, drawing a raised line of red from where a talon pressed in. “It isn’t that I don’t want to. It just... It isn’t a good time right now.” He says gently, clearing his throat to try and keep that simmering lust from his eyes when he peers back down at her.

“Let’s get you back to the Halenani. I need to go home to my husband and wife.” He speaks now as if to distract himself, to remind him what awaits him at home (before that begins to fall apart too), and he turns his attention to the path taken, regaining his self control and pulling at his shifts until it’s simply skin and bone that stands before her, his wings gone, his arm offered to her, tattooed waves within galaxies that flicker faintly to match the sky above.

He doesn’t look at her, though, peering down the pathway ahead, watching and waiting for the possibility of anything crossing their path before they get to their destination.

some princes don't become kings

SUNJATA

Maeve

His words soothe some of the sting. Maeve takes another breath, willing the flush away from her cheeks even as she watches him rake a hand through the curls her own fingers were in only moments ago. "It's alright, Jata. You aren't going to hurt my feelings." And he isn't. Even if she is a little disappointed that he's turning her down. Maeve reaches up to tuck a stand of hair behind her ear, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. "If you want me you know where to find me." She murmurs, returning to his side as her arms wrap around her middle.

"I'm sure they're missing you." The new Madame offers, watching her boots sink into the sand with each step as they walk along the path together. It takes her a moment, but she eventually takes his arm again. Her touch is lighter this time, barely hanging on to him as he leads her back to her home. Both of them are trying to sort out what exactly happened back there. Trying to get some space from the heat that's still simmering between them.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending