nostradamus could never

"And isn't that what makes them so tantalising?" Dahlia sighs, turning her pale face up to the dancing light overhead, sinking down into the sheets with the two empty glasses in her lap. "Anything worth loving is dangerous." And it sounds so vast and dreamlike when she speaks it up into the void like this. Perhaps a different kind of baggage to Sunjata, but it holds weight nonetheless.

Holding the glasses steady for him while he pours the whiskey, she reaches out to hand him one of the drinks, pressing the other to her lips to sample the liquid fire once more. "I like you, Sunjata," she decides. "You both are and aren't like the stories I've heard. Better than them, I would say."

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

“Once upon a time, sure.” Sunjata agrees softly, having moved far past the time where he believed that he should be chasing the danger. It gave more headaches and heartbreak than it was worth for him these days. And if there’s one thing Sunjata’s certainly feeling at this point in time, it’s that he doesn’t ever want to have to deal with that again. Still, he can’t help but to hear the dreamlike tone in which she says it, even as he retrieves the whiskey from the door before shutting it again and returning to her. It’s something he makes a mental note on, but doesn’t comment on it.

Especially not as he’s pouring them their drinks and she hands him his own glass – the Flood depositing the decanter on the bedside table, turning his steel gaze back onto her with a slightly raised brow. “Is that so?” He asks, having heard the same sentiment time and time again and still not understanding what it meant, taking a sip of the whiskey and letting it burn down his throat comfortably. “What have you heard?” That made him better than whatever it was she was pitting him against.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

"Mm, that is so," Dahlia murmurs, sitting cross legged on the bed and rolling her glass between her hands, nodding to the space beside her as if to invite him to sit down. "Let's see... I heard that you spurned the stars to embrace Frey. That you were thrown from Torchline's highest cliff and walked out of the sea days later. That you can change your shape, and that no one knows how many live under your skin."

Grinning now, she raises her eyebrows as if to ask if any - or all - are true. "I heard you were untouchable, but also a great fuck. And that you wear your heart on your sleeve." Sighing, she takes another long, burning sip of whiskey and stretches back on the bed. "They never mention you being such a gentleman, though."

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

He remains standing for a few moments after she pats the side of the bed, wondering just what kind of information he’s about to receive from the stories she’s heard about him. It’s different from the tidbits he often gets, chip dipping each time something’s correct. And so far? It all is. Though there’s amusement with others not realizing just how many shifts linger under his skin, as if he’s forgotten about them with how often he’s begun to rely on his magic from Frey.

So he does sit, keeping enough space between them as he clears his throat. “It’s a secret I keep close to my chest.” He comments, not having thought about how many he has under his skin. But he can show them off, his tattooed neck suddenly replaced with black plated scales of his dragon shift, eyes shifting to the slit grey pupils of the very same as he scans her.

“I was raised to be a gentleman.” Sunjata rolls a plated shoulder with a small shrug, taking a sip from his glass before he rolls it between his hands. “I’m not arrogant enough to claim I’m a great fuck, but I am touchable. In a sense, I suppose.” He gives her a playful, crooked smile. “It’s more correct than it is wrong, I’m relieved to say.”

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Dahlia doesn't react to hearing how true or false her information about Sunjata may be, but rest assured his reactions are tucked away for safekeeping nonetheless. Even more so when he finally sinks onto the bed, a polite enough distance away to be tantalising without being overwhelming. At least, that's the case until he ups the ante with his partial shift, and Dahlia sits up to lean back on one hand and admire him again openly.

"A gentlemen and yet a tease," she purrs, drinking in the scales and draconic pupils with a tongue eager to taste his skin. "Must be a relief for you though, to know that there's nothing wildly outrageous bouncing around out there about you." Not yet, anyway. Or perhaps just not anything that she has mentioned.

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

There’s no reaction, and Sunjata supposes that’s a better result than he’d been expecting. So much so that he isn’t opposed to sitting beside her a polite distance away, offering to show her a part of one of his most well known shifts – minus that parts that were inherently sensitive. Almost as if he’d thought about it in the split second that he did start to partial shift.

So he lets her admire the scales and slit steel pupils, flashing her a playful smirk as he sips from the whiskey. Teasing he can do, and a large part of him doesn’t feel bad about it. “Mm, it is a relief that the outlandish stories that had gone around in years past have gone under the rug.” He admits, shrugging a shoulder before he clears his throat. “I was a different man before the war.” A statement that would conclude to her perhaps yes, he is a gentleman now, because he isn’t faced with burning stars and self-sacrificial tendencies.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

"Mm, isn't everyone? Different before a war, I mean." More sensitive - or less, depending on their proclivities; more quick to anger; perhaps even with a few screws loose. Sunjata, though, he seems to have landed on his feet, and though she doesn't say as much, Dahlia appraises him with a newfound curiosity, as if he's a riddle or a challenge to unravel.

Alas, there will be know gripping of sensitive parts of him these evening, as he has made abundantly clear, and so she takes a last sip from her glass and sets it down. "Thank you for accommodating me so generously," she purrs. "I think I ought to be able to manage from here. Though if you might direct me to the nearest skyport once the sun appears, I would appreciate it."

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

A snort leaves him with a slight nod, lips quirked in a slight twist of a smile. “I think there are varying degrees on how different people can be before and after a war. I leaned toward the more opposing ends, I suppose.” A casual shrug is given toward her before he sighs and downs the rest of the whiskey in his glass, unaware of how she studies him like he’s some kind of mosaic she needs to figure out how to put back together.

But, she finishes her drink and he moves to stand to set his back down, regarding her curiously with that same slit steel of his dragon’s shift. “Of course.” He hums, collecting his glass and leaving her own and the last little bit of the whiskey left behind, alongside the fruits and foods from before that she seemed so inclined to like. And once he’s done, (because he still has some kind of reputation to uphold), he turns to her and reaches for her hand, bending to run his hand up to her wrist, one draconic claw gently dragging along, lips pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

He pulls away with a playful little smirk, hand returning back to its typical scarred state. “Sleep well, Dahlia.” He rumbles, stepping toward the door as the rest of his shift starts to appear – the horns curling about his head, the leathery wings that remain tucked in tight behind him, marking him a perfectly devilish silhouette as he opens the door to leave her for the night.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

"Mm, I suppose." Dahlia's agreement suggests that she's not interested in war or the differences in men before and after it any more; her eyes track Sunjata as he gets to his feet, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't grateful for him leaving the rest of the whiskey and the food for her. If she can't indulge in him, maybe she can at least continue to sample Caido's other earthly pleasures.

Oh but then he reaches across and her breath catches in her chest a little; the pressure from his claw, the soft press of his lips, his tantalising withdrawal to the door. Heat plumes in her belly with nowhere to go, and she sits back on the bed to spy his departing silhouette. "I plan to," she purrs in response, though she's not sure how much sleeping she'll accomplish.

~FIN

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!