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Post by Kelathi on Apr 3, 2019 2:06:59 GMT
((Another Vikings-based rp xP))
The snow crunched gently underfoot, the disturbance caused by her approach sending a murder of crows wheeling into the sky. She watched them for a moment, the steady beat of their wings as they took to flight, before continuing on, her breath sending out plumes of condensation. Travelling was proving to be tougher than she had anticipated, the heavy furs weighing her down, yet also being the only thing stopping her from freezing to death. Every step was pained, but going forwards was the only choice she had. Her hands were wrapped in fur-lined leather gloves, and her boots were created for such weather, thick and stocky and stuffed with rabbit fur. Even so, the icy chill cut into her cheeks, giving them an unnatural red flush, and frost lay on her blonde, braided hair like a dusting of stardust.
She came to a small stream, frozen in places towards the edge where water met land, but still running down the middle. It was only a few paces across, but she found herself pausing before it. Her eyes had been drawn to something, a dark shape half-submerged in the ice. Upon realising what it was, she recoiled, and decided to pass the river further upstream. If the Gods’ enjoyed sending omens, then surely a dead fox, frozen half in the water as it dipped it’s snout for a drink, could only be a bad one.
***
She travelled for the better part of the day, but as evening began to slink between the trees, she finally sighted her destination on the horizon. Relief flooding through her, her pace picked up somewhat, even with the added challenge of the incline as she climbed up the hill, wary of lumps in the snow as they turned out more often than not to be sharp, slippery rocks. Upon conquering the hill, she gave the heavy wooden door a quick thump, not really expecting a reply. She doubted anyone had been here for a while, judging by the heavy drift of snow blocking the door. With a sigh, she began to clear the way, using her feet and then her hands to push the blockade away. Eventually, she had shifted enough to allow her to push the door open. After a few shoves of her shoulder, each one sending shots of pain down her side, the aged hinges finally relented, allowing the door to swing inwards. Inside, it was a humble dwelling, a small narrow bed, two boxes of supplies and hunting and trapping equipment hanging from hooks on the walls. As she had hoped, this was the hunting lodge she had meant to find, although it was much smaller than she had been led to believe. Even so, it was a warm place to sleep, and she now had the means to hunt… as well as protect herself.
First things first, she needed a fire. Grabbing the small, carved fire-steel and striking stone, she clipped the first onto her belt and shoved the other into her pocket, turning to the door. When she opened it, she was dismayed to find a slight trickling of snow had started. With no time to waste, she began to collect firewood.
***
Blessedly, the snow had abated somewhat by the time the fire had begun, and it had done well to melt the snow around it’s perimeter. Night was upon her now, the fire doing well to illuminate as well as warm her. She needed the light especially for what she was about to do. Scooting as close to the fire as she could be without accidentally catching any of her clothing alight, she untied the drawstrings at her chest and temporarily shed the heavy, warm embrace of the furs. She worked quickly, setting down the rags she had torn up using the knife she had brought with her, the tunic she had found in one of the storage boxes serving a different purpose than what had been intended. With one hand she lifted her tunic to reveal a bloodied stomach, most of the crimson red being at her side, and with her other she grabbed a handful of snow. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she pressed it against the wound, wincing for a moment, the look of discomfort quickly changing to a look of bliss as the snow numbed the pain. She let it melt against her skin, which had felt feverishly hot to the touch around the wound, and then grabbed a rag, wiping away as much of the blood as she could. Then she began to bind herself, tightly, to stop any bleeding that might start again. Pulling the tunic back down, she pulled the furs back over herself, closing herself in a cocoon of warmth, only her pale face showing, which was now orange in the flickering light.
It did not take long for her dark blue gaze to grow unfocused, and finally, as snowflakes once more began to rest on her eyelids, she made to move. Instead of leaving the fire to naturally burn out, she stamped it out quickly, before making her way back to the lodge door in the gloom, her eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the lack of light. Closing the heavy door behind her, she was mindful to make sure the wooden bar was slotted into place, locking it. Then, she knelt before the bed, and in the gloom, grasped the pendant around her neck. Eyes closed, for a while she merely sat in silence. Then, a low sigh, and she began to speak, softly.
“Freyja, I thank you for guiding me so far. Just… please, if you can hear me, don’t abandon me in my hour of need.”
Her eyes opened then, and she glanced up, as if searching for a sign in the gloom that the goddess was listening.
“Freyja, are you there? Can you hear me?” She whispered, beseeching the goddess to show some sign that she had heard. But, as always, there was no answer, only the howling of the wind outside as it began to slowly pick up.
A few more words to the goddess, and then she half-climbed, half-collapsed onto the bed of furs. The chill in the hut was especially noticeable with the absence of a fire, so she remained fully clothed, shuffling herself down into the furs, whilst also still wearing her own heavy cloak. As she nuzzled down into the warmth, from the outside, the only sign that anyone was actually in the mound of furs was the mass of blonde hair peeking out from the top. She prayed for a dreamless sleep, but she was not blessed with that respite tonight. Instead, she was gifted an amalgamation of disturbing visions. She saw a frozen fox suspended in the air instead of in the water, it’s fur standing on end and it’s staring eyes, white. She saw an upside-down tree with branches of bleached bone, reaching for the ground instead of the sky. She saw a disembodied, eye-less face with a slack jaw, skewered on a wooden spike. And then… a snake, it’s black body writhing as it coiled round the pole, fixing her with it’s mocking, emerald-green eyes. Then it was not a snake at all, but a wolf, with fur as black as sin and eyes as green as ivy.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 3, 2019 15:07:10 GMT
No one was really sure how it started.
The tavern was alive with sound and voices, but not in the usual sense. There was shouting, cries of pain and cries of vengeance. It was one of the biggest brawls the tavern had seen, and given its location in Kattegat, that was saying something. The tables in the center of the space were either splintered from having some warrior thrown into the middle of one, or shoved to the side to let Vikings have at other Vikings. Remains of chairs were scattered across the floor, at least those pieces that weren’t being hurled at or wielded against someone else. Mead and ale spread across the floor, as drinking horns and wooden mugs were broken and utilized.
It had been so simple, so deliciously easy to get it started. A few warriors had entered, fresh from a recent raid, all trying to outdo the others in their tales of harrowing danger and heroic actions. One spilled drink at the right moment… a fist had flown, connected unexpectedly, and utter chaos had erupted.
Those on the edges of the room were watching, some cheering, some warily protecting their drinks and seats. Only one was still settled in his seat comfortably, a smirk on his lips as he reclined in his seat, feet crossed at the ankle as they sat propped on the table, a drink in his hand that was being savored almost as much as the fight was. While the weather howled outside, a bitter winter’s day, it wasn’t usual for the customers to retain their cloaks and furs inside the warm space, but this stranger had, hood drawn down far enough to cast a shadow over his eyes. Only his wolfish grin was visible from his corner, tempered only by the occasional drink from his cup. Hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, the man’s bright green eyes glittered with dark mirth at the fight, flicking to one man beginning to leave the fight at the far edge. The emerald eyes refocused, and had anyone been watching, they would have said some malicious spirit had shoved that chair into the man’s path, tripping him effectively and quickly reigniting his anger. Instead of blaming some spirit, the man turned on the nearest figure and thus most likely culprit, a hapless bystander who was now dragged into the fight that was beginning to consume the entire area.
Taking another long drink from his cup, the man licked his lips as his gaze returned to the fight, laughing mockingly at the participants who were oblivious to his presence in the corner. While a reasonable figure, average in height, the man was lean, with a wiry build that betrayed his lack of sheer physical strength. He was built for stealth and speed, for cunning, and he bore those qualities in ample supply. His vivid, long eyes proved that. Wild black hair fell unhindered about his face and shoulders, framing his pale, angular features and the wolfish grin that always returned to his lips, watching the fight.
The only problem with it being so easy to spark the fight and keep it going was that easy turned into boring very quickly. So while the fight was one of the worst the tavern had ever seen, Soren had become bored. So as the fighters began to peel off yet again, exhausted from the near battle, he let them, focusing instead on ordering another round of mead. The barmaid warily circled past the fighters to bring the refilled cup, barely paying any attention to the man who had ordered the drink, which suited him just fine. The only reason she had even noticed him waving her over was because she nearly dropped a cup, catching it a moment before her eyes lifted to see his hand rise. His being ignored wasn’t by his design, not really. It was more his position, his lack of any striking visible features to make himself memorable in the crowd of humans. A simple cloak, not even fur lined covered most of his attire, simple dark woolens to give him some protection from the cold outside, solid leather boots and a bag of coins at his waist, along with a dagger. He didn’t encourage interactions with the other patrons, nor did he try to boast about with his small blade as others might with a sword. He might as well have been a phantom lingering in the corner for the amount of attention that was paid to him.
Only the drink had brought him in. Only the drink kept him there, even as he grew bored, enjoying the taste of the mead even if it meant having to endure the presence of humans. For all his appearance of a common man, he was no human. The blood of a god ran through his veins, his ancestry enough to condemn him in the eyes of those around him, should they recognize him. The green-eyed wolf… one who had learned to hate them as much as they hated what he represented.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 3, 2019 23:16:31 GMT
The next day was a blur of undisturbed blanketed landscape. The snow glistening on the hills, the shards of light through the fractured surface of an icicle… all lost it’s beauty in wake of the monotony of travel. It didn’t help that every step sent a twinge of pain up her side, so that her face was set grimly as she gritted her teeth against it. Pulling her fur cloak closer around herself, she pushed on through the onslaught of the wheeling flurry, each snowflake sharp against her skin, like thousands of tiny knives striking at once. At some points it was impossible even to see, such was the buffeting of the wind and sleet, and in such times she pushed on doggedly, face down, hood pulled over as far as she could in an attempt to protect her face, so that all she could see was the ground and her feet. At such times her main concern was that she’d suddenly find the ground ending, and she’d step off into thin air and plummet to her death. This made travel slow, as she was constantly stopping and trying to peer through the onslaught of snow to double-check that this would not be the case.
There had been a little food in the hunting lodge, wrapped soured meat that someone had clearly intended to return to but was probably even too spoilt for the wolves, and a lump of bread that was hard as a rock and stale to the taste. She ate one loaf of the rock bread and felt much better for it, stuffing the other into an otherwise empty satchel that she had found in the lodge. She had deliberated on the bow and arrows, but had decided to leave them in the end. She had never been much good with archery, much better suited to a sword, so she reasoned it would just serve to be extra baggage. Besides, she didn’t want to leave whoever might inhabit the lodge after her without it, to them, it might prove invaluable. She did grab some wire rabbit snares though, tucking them into the satchel next to the bread, before setting off. When she had left, the weather had been somewhat docile, it wasn’t until midday that she realised the respite had quite literally been the calm before the storm.
The ground before her became uneven again, and she began to trek up the steep incline. By the time she had alighted at the top of the hill, she was looking down into the valley… and there was Kattegat, bordering the sea. The journey from here on out would be downhill, and it felt like a reward. She had made it, after all.
**
The rolling hills had quickly given way to a thick covering of trees, and the ground had become steadily more treacherous as she made her way down the hill. Here and there it dipped unexpectedly, and more than once she found herself skidding down a few paces rather than climbing down. The last stretch to the port settlement seemed to take forever, so that the moon was high in the sky by the time she finally got to the gates. She passed through without incident, as she had expected, but it had still left her feeling tense. She should have put enough distance between herself and the place from which she’d come, but even so, she was still wary of someone recognising her, however unlikely that prospect might be. Shadows seemed to be everywhere.
The gloom was relieved by the warm glow of the occasional fire, miraculously still burning despite the heavy snow. Every now and again a person could be seen sharing it’s warmth, but most people appeared to be indoors. Which was exactly where they should be, and exactly where she wanted to be… The first inn she tried was full, and after trekking around for a good hour she was beginning to find that this seemed to be a common state. Eventually, she followed the raucous sound of raised voices, both hearing and smelling the tavern before seeing it. Before she stepped foot inside, she already knew the state it would be in, for as she opened the door a man came hurtling out, she, only just stepping out of the way in time. After a pause, she entered the place nonetheless.
By this point the fight seemed to be dying down, and she could tell this because she was highly doubtful that the handful of people currently fighting were responsible for all of the carnage. That explained the men outside crawling away in the snow. She pointedly ignored the fight, pulling the snow-laden hood away from her head and crossing the room, heading straight to the bar. With no barman in sight, she grabbed the arm of a barmaid instead, loosing as the woman stopped and looked at her questioningly. “Can you tell me of any inns nearby?” She asked, having to raise her voice above the roaring of men as they cheered on the last few stragglers. The girl shook her head, “You’d be lucky, they’re all taken up. You could try Erve’s though, his is next to the blacksmith, he might have some room left.” It was the blonde woman’s turn to shake her head. “I’ve already tried there, he said that they are so full that people had resorted to sleeping on the floor.” The maid shrugged, collecting two empty drinking horns from the crowded table besides her, slipping between the men easily in a way that was well practiced, to retrieve them. “With the snow, people that live inland can’t travel back home.” She threw over her shoulder helpfully as she placed the horns onto the bar. “Do you want a drink or not?”
Moments later, the woman was heading towards the only relatively free table in the place. It was manned by only one person, a man who was bathed in the shadows about as much as was possible. From his posture, he seemed to be greatly enjoying the fight, even if he didn’t shout encouragement with the others. Pulling out the seat with her foot, she sat down, moving her attention to her mead rather than the rabble. So, there was nowhere to sleep for the night. As such, her plan was to drink enough to warm herself, so that when the patrons of the tavern did finally get kicked out, she would have some extra protection against the cold. It was as good a plan as any, and the only one she had for the moment. Tomorrow, she would gather supplies, spending the few coins she had to arm herself properly. And, she thought, tensing slightly as a ripple of pain ran up her side, perhaps the services of a healer.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 3, 2019 23:47:52 GMT
The original group of warriors that Soren had helped spark the bar fight in the first place were still stubbornly fighting, feeling the need to prove their manhood even as their bill was undoubtedly racking up with every broken chair. Soren watched them with dwindling interest, only laughing when one would finally fall and not get up immediately after. As bored as he had become, it was easy to pay attention to any newcomer to the tavern, which was the only reason his gaze drifted to the woman as she entered, so bundled in fur she might have been a peddler. She caught the attention of a barmaid, which interested him only so far as he was getting low on mead once more, so he waited impatiently for the woman to finish so he could order. This was how he overheard their conversation, shouted as it was over the lingering hubbub.
Aw, the little woman couldn’t find a place to sleep? He couldn’t help the malicious little chuckle at the thought as he drained the last of his mug.
Finally, he caught the barmaid’s attention, simply raising his mug to indicate what he wanted. As she went to fetch the refill, Soren’s gaze fell back towards the fur-laden woman… who was now taking a seat. At his table.
His wolfish smile fell, icily watching her as she settled down, noting her stiff movements, no doubt from the cold. He tilted his chin up a little, his lip curling back into a vicious little smirk, noticing only that she was intruding upon his space, not even so much as deigning to ask him if she could sit. That, in his eyes, gave him license to be as rude as he wished.
“Isn’t that a bit of a risk?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk, and as cool as the snow outside. “Can a little lady such as yourself even handle that much to drink? And to come alone… tsk, seems dangerous.” His emerald eyes glittered as the light had the opportunity to flash in them, more than happy to earn an angered response from the woman. She carried herself with a sense of pride, he had seen, so belittling her ability to protect herself was entertaining.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 4, 2019 0:03:26 GMT
“Isn’t that a bit of a risk?”
She hadn’t expected the stranger to talk to her, enraptured as he had been by the fight, but evidently for some reason her presence had drawn his attention away. Her dark blue eyes merely flickered to his, not needing to question his meaning as he soon continued anyhow. His comment, twinned with the curl of his lips had the intended affect, her eyes narrowing in response. For a moment it seemed like she was simply going to ignore him, as she raised the horn to her lips, looking away. She was not in the mood for idle conversation, she had only sat here as it was the only empty seat, and she was much less interested in an exchange in which the only purpose seemed to be to mock her. If he thought her proud, he was absolutely right.
“You’re right, it is dangerous for me to be alone. But I’ll try to restrain myself from hurting you, nonetheless.” The sentence was blunt and heavy with warning, punctuated by her meeting his gaze again, this time noticing the emerald-green hue… the sight sparking a memory in her of the vision she had seen only the evening before. Snakes and wolves… if this man’s personality was as sharp as his tongue, and if her vision was anything to go by, then he was not to be trusted. Even so, she made no attempt to move. She already had no place to sleep for the night, she'd be damned if he'd displace her from her seat.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 4, 2019 0:11:13 GMT
At first, her reaction was exactly what he had been aiming for; narrowed eyes, looking away, stewing about his remarks… he was about to speak again, feeling he was on the verge of reclaiming the table as his own, when she spoke back. His eyes lit up at her words, mocking his own to her. The curl of his lip didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened a little. She’d struck a nerve, but he wasn’t about to back down either.
“Oh, Gods preserve me,” he retorted, sharply dismissive of her warning while also revealing a lack of reverence for the deities he pretended to seek help from. With a slight shake of his head, as if she was too ridiculous to deal with - even if she was an interloper at his table - he turned his attention back to the fight, pointedly, as if she couldn’t possibly be of any interest, never mind threat. The only thing that distracted him from this full dismissal was the barmaid’s approach, trading mugs and taking the coin left for her. Soren picked up the mug with barely a glance in the barmaid’s direction, more interested in slighting the woman sitting with him.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 4, 2019 11:02:49 GMT
She was pleased to see that the man was backing away, albeit with one last barbed retort that she didn’t see worth responding to. Another sip of mead and she placed the flat-bottomed drinking horn on the table. To make it clear that she intended to stay, and because it was getting increasingly warm laden with furs as she was, she shrugged them off and onto the back of her chair. Her movements were stiff, which might have simply been read as her being uncomfortable in the man’s presence, although it was of course because of the pain lacing through her side with each movement. After such a wound, she knew that the advice would have been to treat it, bind it well and rest, to avoid reopening it. She’d only managed to do one of those things properly. The pain she could cope with, it was not the first time she’d acquired such wounds, after all. But she worried that without being treated properly it might get infected, and on the run as she was, being weakened was dangerous.
She let her eyes draw to the fight, which had lessened in vigour exponentially in just the short time she’d been there. The sight wasn’t a foreign one to her nor anyone else in the tavern, but she had to admit that the carnage they had caused to the furniture was pretty impressive. No wonder spare seats were sparse, if not taken they were lying in broken, jagged pieces, fit now only as firewood.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 4, 2019 16:04:43 GMT
While his gaze had moved back to the fight, his attention remained on the interloper, tensing as he saw out of the corner of his eye that she was removing her furs. Settling in. His lip curled a little again, half hidden by his mug. Her stubbornness was outlasting his interest in dealing with her, so she won this round. She could have the bloody seat.
Soren did read her stiff movements as being uncomfortable, even as he tried to force his attention back to the remaining fighters, of which there were what… three? An impressive number given the bruises that were already forming on their visible skin. He forced his expression to relax, to not let her annoy him further. It was why he was drinking so much mead, after all… one of the few good things about humans, and it dulled his frustrations enough to make the whole situation with the storm bearable. But as he took one breath in as she shifted the furs, his attention jumped straight back to her, and in his mead-addled state, intended to simplify his dealings with these humans… he could smell blood. Her blood, he knew, knowing well enough the difference between human and animal.
His cup slowly met the surface of the table as his eyes rolled, lip curling again as if she had hurled some insidious insult at him. A woman, unable to find a bed in a snowstorm… who was injured. Did she have to be stubborn enough to sit at his table? Had he been the type, he’d probably have blamed Loki for such miserable trouble, but he really didn’t want to call upon his ancestor for anything.
“Bit off more than you could chew, little lady?” he asked, rather unexpectedly given his last few comments at her. He had shown how reluctant he was to deal with her at all, so sparking the conversation a second time seemed almost uncharacteristic. Finally, his eyes slid back to her, unaware of the connection she had made with his emerald gaze. “Or are you of the type to take some sort of pleasure from bleeding out?”
While his eyes had moved to meet hers, he didn’t once look at her side, making it questionable how he even knew she’d been injured. And he knew that it had been a sizable injury, given his last few words.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 4, 2019 19:26:41 GMT
Unfortunately, it seemed the stranger wasn’t done with his jibes. Wondering what on Earth more he could have to say, she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes as she turned her attention back to him, ironic considering that he had just performed that very same motion, unbeknownst to her. At first, she didn’t seem to comprehend what he was getting at; needing the comment about bleeding out before she reacted. How had he noticed? In the gloom, she was unclear as to how he could have seen, not to mention with the angle of the table, she wouldn’t have thought he had line of sight… maybe her stiff movements had given her away. Either way, his perceptiveness only served to put her on edge. “You haven’t seen the state of the man that did this to me.” She merely growled. She leaned back a little then, resting her back against the chair and trying to appear at ease. She also forced her voice to be steady as she spoke again, reigning in her emotions, “And I’m hardly bleeding out.” She added firmly, despite the fact that he had pretty much voiced her own private worry.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 4, 2019 19:44:52 GMT
His malicious little smirk returned as she responded defensively, clearly satisfied that he’d hit the mark with her again. It was difficult to say if he believed her remark about the man who had injured her, given how easily he dismissed her ability to protect herself, but his smirk didn’t let on either way.
An idea occurred to him then, watching how she tried to show herself settling down, as if she wasn’t injured. A show of strength… too easy. But this time, it might not become boring so quickly, even if she refused. Just suggesting it would hurt her pride.
Her firm retort to his comment was the perfect lead-in. “Oh, I think we both know that’s a lie,” he admonished, almost taking on the tone of scolding one’s child, shaking his head a little with a mock look of concern for her lack of honesty. Then his attitude shifted, even though he didn’t once make a move to shift his feet off the table, which simply emphasized how much of this was mocking.
With a sense of great sacrifice, he motioned to her side, despite having not once glanced at it to see it as the source of the injury. “But a little lady so gravely injured shouldn’t go back into the storm… as I travel alone, I have a bed reserved big enough to share. If you promise not to kill me in my sleep?” he ‘offered,’ the last few words added with that little curl in his lip, still completely amused at the idea that she could possibly be as much of a threat as she claimed.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 4, 2019 20:04:53 GMT
He was good at pushing buttons; it seemed he had a knack of getting under her skin as smoothly as the knife that had injured her. The vision had been correct, a snake, indeed! Venom dripped from every word, especially those falsely camouflaged as noble. The façade was cheap, he did not even try to hide his contempt, so it was clear to both of them that there was no sincerity in his offer. She found herself wondering if he was always like this, or he was just trying to drive her away from the table he perhaps thought of as his own.
“I’m flattered that you care so much about a stranger.” She replied once he had finished, sarcasm dripping from her words, the tone rivalling even the stark coldness of his as she met his eye. “But I would sooner welcome Valhalla than share your bed.”
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 4, 2019 20:24:27 GMT
Soren’s feet finally did move off the table at her last few words, but for a reason that she probably would not appreciate. He had been in the middle of drinking, only to spray his mouthful at her insinuation, jerking his torso forward and his legs in. As he regained his breath, feet now below him, it was clear what had caused such a reaction.
He was laughing.
“Oh ho, you are a little minx, aren’t you?!” he asked breathlessly, not seeming at all charmed or complimented by the idea. He wouldn’t be laughing so hard otherwise. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll at least be seeing the land of the dead soon,” he went on, wiping his mouth off from his sputtered laugh earlier. “Do forgive my offer, as I’d hate to think I’ve insulted a lady,” Soren added as he settled comfortably back into his chair, chuckling again as he thought over her response, almost threatening to double over in full laughter again.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 4, 2019 21:00:58 GMT
He didn’t seem annoyed by her refusal, but apparently, much amused. This was not the response she had expected. She’d come across many a lecherous man, especially in places such as this, and put them down as briskly as she knew how. Sometimes, a well-placed punch was required, if their pride was injured enough by her refusal. As soon as he had mentioned sharing a bed, his words she had merely taken in the same way. She had expected anger for the refusal, or perhaps a continued and misguided attempt to carry on in the same way, pushing her buttons until she either left or gave him a piece of her mind. But… laughing like that?
Perhaps unfortunately for him, her eyes glinted then, as she sensed an opening to annoy him in turn. “I accept your apology.” Her words cut through sharply, at such a sharp contrast to what she might have been expected to say that they demanded immediate attention. She placed her elbow on the table then, resting her chin lightly on her knuckles as she regarded him with an unreadable expression, a quirk of a smile dancing on her lips. “Clearly, I’ve misjudged you,” She spoke smoothly, “You’re obviously a gentleman, merely trying to offer shelter to a woman in need. Perhaps, I’ve been too harsh… In fact, I think I might take you up on your offer after all.” She spoke sweetly, as if the earlier hostility was forgotten. She watched his expression closely to see if her words hit the mark that she was aiming for. “If that wouldn’t be too inconvenient.” She added, the last nail in the coffin and an obvious challenge.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 4, 2019 21:19:56 GMT
APOLOGY?!
Soren’s gaze snapped back to the woman at the word, ready to refute her words when she suddenly offered that little glimmer of a smile, making him pause in clear shock at her sudden change in response to his mocking.
If she was hoping for a negative reaction, she was rewarded. Her sweet tone made his jaw clench, eyes narrowing as she continued to speak. The challenge hit true, his lip curling. No, he hadn’t been acting like a gentleman at all, offering out of a desire to insult rather than to aid. But her challenge kept him from being able to withdraw the offer, even if only so he could say she hadn’t won that round.
The curled lip slid into that dark, mirthless smile, narrowed eyes still showing his irritation that she accepted his offer in spite of his honeyed words after. “But of course, half the bed is yours as soon as you want it.”
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 4, 2019 21:57:43 GMT
Her words had speared him exactly as she had intended, and she found she enjoyed watching him squirm as he fought to respond. No minor change in facial expression was missed, her gaze steady as she read them all with relish. It felt good to be giving it back as good as had been received. To his words, she now had a choice. Continue to push his buttons and see how far he would go to protect his pride, or put an end to this silly game? Well, he had annoyed her. So she decided she would push a little further. “I’m tired right now.” She stated firmly, not moving from her position, eyes fixed on him, and waiting to see what his response would be. She expected he would back down, after all, he had claimed that she was bleeding out; he surely wouldn’t want to risk the inconvenience of her bleeding out in his room.
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