<div class="floatleft">(http://orig15.deviantart.net/d37d/f/2017/190/5/2/elora01_by_ravagedgirl-dbfqlnd.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Location: </strong> Half in August's lap at a table<br/><strong>Company:</strong>  See above<br/><strong>Attire:</strong> Skirts and cotton top, all in some semblance of sliding off<br/><strong>Approachability:</strong> Focused on seducing the poor bookish mage</span><br/><hr/>"Oils?" She leaned forward a little more, her foot pushing his knee outward. Ever so slightly and without aggression, but nearly impossible to resist. "Oils are wonderful for a good firm massage. They make the skin so soft and slippery and they smell absolutely delicious. One should always have a supply of oils at hand. Don't you think?"<br/><br/>Her foot slid up, then back down, as if mimicking a massage-like motion. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla rose from her as she trailed a finger over the hand holding the book. Something else, too. Something spicy, something sultry and intriguing. Again, easily dismissed if there were no interest. But if there were... and the state of the scholar's lap indicated there may be... she became intoxicating.<br/><br/>"August Brightmoor." Had his name ever been purred across such lips? "Call me Elora, if it pleases you. I am a waitress here. Eager and happy to tend any of your hungers."<br/><br/>She wasn't terribly subtle, but she wasn't meant to be. She was meant for enthusiasm and heady pleasures and she wasn't shy about inviting company. And so, she stopped speaking with glittering eyes looking directly at his growing discomfort before meeting his gaze.