<strong>Will of the One</strong><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/>"Yes -" Rysse breathed, her voice a hiss like hot steam, "so it is. The theatre. Where we'll all see the centre of all things, the old wheel hub from where everything's spun, no?" The tiefling chuckled, half-supporting Ihaana and half-leaning on her. "Oh, we'll be there. Count on it - I've heard my fair share of extravagant screeds, Prisine, but it's only once in a while I've heard them rattled off by someone who half-believed what she's saying."<br/><br/>Rysse arched her back and drew in the warm, humid air. The ridged contours of the skin of Ihaana's fingers felt delicious on the skin of her tail, skimming the juncture between the small of her back and the full curve of her bottom.<em>So rare to find someone who knows how to treat a tiefling</em>, Rysse thought longingly. She'd never wanted - and never tolerated - anyone who could<em>put up with</em>her horns, or<em>pretend</em>her tail wasn't there. No, that would never do.<em>I'm a tiefling, and if you don't like the package, go paw at someone else, berk</em>.<br/><br/>Her thoughts were momentarily distracted by the almost unnaturally composed presence of Prisine. Vaguely, and in the corner of her eye, she saw a flutter of coloured fabric. A proffered dress - and a glimmer of dyed cloth, flickering in her eyes. It was like the dye was running, cascading in streaks, threads coiling like droplets of condensation. Rysse squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and blinked. "Getting dressed already?" A teasing laugh. It was a shame. Water, perhaps naturally, flattered Prisine's form, infusing her skin with a rich, brilliant glow.