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 exhaled sharply, teeth bared, nipping at the inked flesh of Ihaana's shoulder. Little, wet kisses spiced with sharp, little bites on the aasimar's exposed neck and throat. Ihaana's textured touch felt illusory. Sublime in a way few of her lovers could have matched. Rysse adored the sensation on the small of her back, the full curve of her bottom - even, and perhaps especially, if it was the absent-minded, half-affectionate caress in the playful lull between bouts of coupling. But oh what those fingers could do inside of her, teasing, fucking, strumming her sweet spots - the very thought made Rysse shiver. "You know my centre well, don't you?" Rysse purred, her mind distantly gathering her thoughts. "Does she mean that we make the Multiverse when we think it and feel it, and so we're all at the centre - maybe there are as many Multiverses as there are thinking sods. I'm clueless one way or the other, but you know, I'd never turn down an offer for a vulgar show - I guess that makes me a vulgar woman, which being a tiefling and all, is sort of a given. Vulgar's interesting though, it's this highfalutin screed that needs to prove it's more than a show."<br/><br/>She rocked with Ihaana - a strange, half-dance to the languid pulse of the aasimar's heart. The water and the colours refracted there swirled with the movement, leaving long, glimmering trails like a shower of comets in Rysse's vision.<em>All the same - these Factions</em>, she thought, nuzzling Ihaana's throat,<em>godspoke words, just-so stories - don't bother thinking, we'll just tell you the fucking answer.</em>