Will of the One<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Guest Quarters, Civic Festhall, Sigil<br/><strong>Time</strong>: Mid-morning<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Closed for Ihaana & Bryseis<br/><br/>Rysse's eyes focused on the shear of reflected lamplight on Prisine's needle. A fine, shimmering point that sowed dark ink on Ihaana's skin.<em>It's not inscribing, but revealing something already written there and simply hidden from view</em>. The thought occurred to Rysse in a flash of tremulous inspiration. She chuckled and nipped, this time, hard on the sleek hill of Ihaana's bottom. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she observed Prisine's work, admiring the water genasi's speed and precision whilst always questioning whether the process had, in fact, been quick at all, rather than a temporal distortion birthed by the Gehenna Thistle.<br/><br/>She scanned the room and saw light, fabrics and bodies merge. A sinuous mass of energy, movement and colour. Rysse could still taste the hard, tarry alcohol on her tongue. It burned. Spicy and raw, like that fire genasi's sex, leaving tiny little pinpricks on her tongue and lips. Prisine's ruminations were familiar enough. Time and the Hive had taught her the various screeds of Sigil's factions. It didn't change the fact they all lived with a hollowness at their centre. Everything could be made to make sense to a poor sod, flowing and adapting to her need until it became the philosophical equivalent of the narcotics she smoked incessantly and the alcohol she drank copiously. Prisine was pretty enough - though she didn't quite have the powerful swimmer's shoulders and thighs Rysse adored in water genasi women - but the Sign of One had yet to give her anything approaching the sublime oblivion of her Gehenna Thistle, or of her Stygian Moss, or her Dispater Blue for that matter.<br/><br/>Only hazily aware that she was being ushered into another chamber, Rysse moved, feeling weightless. Her eyes focused on the new design on Ihaana's skin. It seemed to move again, serpentine and with a mind of its own. It was then that she noticed that the humidity and temperature had changed. There was a gurgling sound - a cascade of water and a fine, damp mist. A mineral scent, too - clean to clear away the miasma of smoke, sweat and sex.<em>What a shame.</em>She finally decided to tug off her breeches, feeling the cool, humid air soothe her sweat-slick thighs.<br/><br/>Ihaana seemed disorientated. Ryssed edged closer, embracing her from behind, tail coiling playfully around the aasimar's calf. "It looks good on you, angel, this one is a fine artist," she murmured, her tongue flickering and wet on Ihaana's ear, "but this one," her molten gaze hovering on to Prisine, "this one would show us the centre of the Multiverse. A grand claim, no?" Rysse's hands rested on Ihaana's belly, dark red skin streaked with thistle-ash on the paler, celestial tones of the aasimar's abdomen. She kissed the skin of Ihaana's throat, her tongue tracing the carotid - the primal pulse of life itself.<br/><br/>The glint of the fine scales studding Prisine's scales seemed dazzling - flickering like droplets of water splitting the light into its component colours. Rysse felt hypnotised, caught in a trance of the play of light and water and the rhythm of the beating of Ihaana's heart.