<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#666600">It was seductive, the dance, the fire, all under the sway of the balmy night with the desert breeze sifting through the sands, teasing at their half naked bodies. Perhaps now the boy could better understand their culture and learn to appreciate it instead of fighting. Still, even as Sienne had him wrapped in her dance, Viktor knew there would still be work to be done that could not be managed under the cruel snap of the Maester’s whip. The Ilimos native had too much of the turbulent sea in his veins to be broken that way.<br/>
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The taunt drifted back to Viktor’s ears and teased a wolfish grin onto his face. He would dance a different kind of dance than the sensual demonstration that Sienne and Mischa performed together. Looking past the oiled, muscled back of the boy, Viktor made eye contact with Sienne’s dark, dancing eyes and nodded. Her chin was raised in response, as if understanding some silent language that only they two could comprehend. It was a brief flicker, a minute distraction in the dance she played out with Mischa before her attention once more returned. An impish smile now played across her lips as she swayed, looping the fire almost lazily around her undulating frame.<br/>
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“You wish to dance with the Lord Tallos instead of me?” Her voice was a melody rich in beat, fluctuating with playfulness. “Or maybe you want to test the two of us together?” Again, a tease, but she pivoted the point with a thrust of her hip. Her body turned, the spinning flames licking dangerously close to both of them as she picked up her own pace. Her body swiveled down, following the length of Mischa’s body from inches away, only to have her ride back up and prance away.<br/>
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It was Viktor that took Sienne’s place in the circle once she had moved away, only he came from behind, with no flaming apparatus swinging around his own person. And rather than flounce to the beat of the drums that echoed across their festival, he moved with his own precision, as if forcing the beat to find pace with him instead.<br/>
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“So dance,” he instructed, his voice a commanding rumble in his chest. Oil and sweat glistened in the heat across Viktor’s broad chest, highlighting the muscular ridges, while also bringing to light the scars that marred his torso. Scars that he wore proudly, as they were a sign of survival, and indication of battles fought and won. Like a cobra, Viktor sidled up behind the boy, just out of reach of the poi that flickered with their flames, but ready to strike given the opportunity. And like a great puma that hunted along the desert’s boundaries, he moved with dexterous grace until he made a half circle around to Mischa’s front. “And as you are learning to move with the fire, I want you to unleash it in yourself. Strike me.” Or try, his voice insinuated.<br/>
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A wicked light erupted in the Warlord’s coal black stare as he watched Mischa’s pale face when he made his most recent demand. Viktor stood close, too close, well within range of the fire. “If you wish me to dance, so I will dance,” he murmured darkly, nodding his head to each of the poi. “Now strike me.”	</span>