Viktor Tallos was sleek, graceful and enticing, a proud desert hunter with a casual stride and gentle, hypnotizing sway of his body. The ocean child watched with wide eyes and open pupils, deep and alluringly dark as they reflected the flickering flames like black mirrors. Sienne had sidled away, her viper-like body curving and twisting to the edge of the fiery circle as if she were no longer needed here. Mischa was nervous now, his body faltering for a brief moment as Viktor circled around him, a hungry golden lion marking his prey. In the chaotic light, the warlord's eyes glowed like jeweled amber, and Mischa could not look away.<br/><br/>"Strike you?" the young man echoed, daring at glance at the poi in his hand, this foreign utensil used to harness the wild flames. Was this another test, he wondered, licking at his pale lips with a wet and nervous tongue. Most certainly, Viktor did not seem the type to make idle demands. To command was to test, to teach, to entice, to intrigue Mischa into a different way of thinking. He had done it with this fire dance and he was doing it again, challenging Mischa to attempt something new, something dangerous. It seemed a risk to attempt to harm his master. Viktor was an imposing man with muscles carved from years upon years of fighting, struggling, annihilating. What purpose could this request serve? What was the point of it all?<br/><br/>Well, perhaps it just best to<i>do</i>and the information would follow.<br/><br/>Having lost the rhythm Sienne had imposed upon him, Mischa took a brief moment to compose himself. He dug his feet into the sand as if to feel the heart of the music thrumming through the ground, the<i>badum badum badum</i>of the drums as they beat. As he discovered the musical vibrations, his hips and torso began to undulate once more in the same seductive wave Sienne had taught him.<i>This is what Viktor wants of me, isn't it?</i><i>To welcome the desert into me as readily as I open my arms to the sea. What else does the warlord crave?<br/>
</i><br/>His mouth twitched, lips teasing a grin as he snapped his arm forward, testing. The poi cracked a few inches to Viktor's right, fire leaving a trail of heat and light in its wake as the little whip jumped back to him. Again Mischa snapped, this time cracking at Viktor's left, closer, his movements containing far more confidence. For his third attempt, Mischa went for Viktor's chest, swinging his arm down in an aggressive display, not knowing whether he'd manage to land a hit or if he was destined to watch as the warlord danced away from his violence with little effort. Either way, Mischa was sure he'd learn whatever lesson Viktor was intending to teach.