<span style="font-family:Philosopher">When she reached out to grip his shirt from completely falling, he growled as more buttons came popping off of his shirt until the shirt was parted down to his navel. It revealed the ritualistic scarring that covered most of his body, swirls of deep scarring that had been done to him for years as he had went through the process to become one of the Magi of Suravia. He had not always been a pirate. He had not always been on the sea. He had had a life before coming to the Sea. His name had not always been Daemon Longknife. It had been a persona he had picked up when he had fled his ancestral home and when he had become a cabin boy on a merchant vessel at the tender age of thirteen. Now, decades later, he was a changed man but what he had learned in his formative years had allowed him to become the most feared pirate in the world. He ever wondered if people would put two and two together. The heir of Suravia disappearing to become a pirate? Not a chance.<br/>
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She was close to him, nearly pressed against him as he saw the back of her legs actually touching his bed. He broke eye contact with her to see the proximity between them having diminished to nothing before his eyes tracked up her body and found hers once more. He reached out and gripped the hand that held on to his shirt. Applying the right amount of pressure, he forced the hand back on to itself, bending the hand towards her wrist painfully. As he did so, his other hand gripped the offending elbow of the limb holding on to him and bent that as well until she was forced to let go of him. A small smile tugged on his face as he saw the pain this caused. If he bent wrist or elbow anymore he could easily break the bones with just the right amount of pressure applied. Instead, using the leverage this gave him, he suddenly shoved her on to the bed. More in a way to get some distance between them and so that he could gather his bearings.<br/>
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She sprawled out on to the bed and he felt a smile curl his features once more. She looked good in his bed. He pulled loose his shirt from his pants and pulled it off to toss it somewhere behind him. With him now bare chested, he felt more relaxed. In the dim light, she would not be able to make out all of the scars and tattoos that covered him, but she would be able to tell they were extensive. Blade, shot, and fire had marred him as well as the ritualistic scarring he had suffered as a child but they in no way hindered his movements. He moved with a lion's grace, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, as his eyes gleamed down on her. The way she sprawled on his bed, with blonde locks tumbling everywhere, had aroused him and he felt his favorite member pressing hard against the confines of his pants. However, doubt had entered his mind and he was not entirely sure if he should take her as he originally intended. He was worried that it would quench her fire all too soon if he did, however the fear and quivering in lip in her eyes and body language had been a welcome aphrodisiac. <br/>
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Instead, he chose to take his time. He walked backwards towards the table, ever wary of turning his eyes on her. Reaching behind him, he pulled the chair nearest him and turned it around so that it faced her. He sat down slowly.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"They call me Longknife because,"</span> he began to untie his right boot,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">" when I was fifteen a gunner's mate stabbed me in the ribs with his long knife."</span> He finished untying his boot and set it to the side before he started working on the left,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"The blade snapped off buried halfway inside of me. I killed him with what remained of the blade."</span> He shrugged out of his left boot but just as carefully set the shoe down next to the other one. He spent a moment, enjoying the feeling of being barefoot, wiggling his toes on the plush carpet before he rose to his full height once more. He began stalking towards the bed, a predatory light beginning to shine in his eyes.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"Few months after that bout and, surprise, I'm in another fight. In the middle of the fight, I feel something work loose in my chest. Next thing I know, I'm spitting a blade point in to the face of a pirate."</span><br/>
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He stopped at the edge of the bed and began to unbutton his pants.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"I'm going to break you." </span>He growled and pulled his pants down, revealing another reason for the moniker <i>Longknife</i>.</span>