<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br/>As she rose from her seat with the grace only Eldar can possess, Synaerihl stooped in one slick, seemless motion to pick up her fallen heavy bladed mono-sword, a falchion, from there floor where it had wound up after rattling off the nearby table during the warp transtion. Unlike the razorsnare still in hand, wound into a tight coil, she had thought it imprudent to keep the sharp blade in her lap.<br/><br/>Syn tossed the sword in the air a few times, simple small hops at first, then end over end to ever increasing heights, her feet always in motion; her ritual to feel the balance, to settle the weight in her hand, before practice. Practice. One of her few respites, the only 'vice' she could truly indulge in as much as she wished, <em>here</em>, among the mon'keigh. Sword still flying, now with broad sweeps cutting the air between high tosses, braid whirling as she spun through the huge room she had chosen today, and caught the sword, sliced behind her with a blindlingly fast motion at an imaginary foe, she finally unfurled the razorsnare. True, there was other vices, at times, drugs, when she could find things to make them - the ones the humans made were so dull to eldar senses- and sex, on occasion, but the vast majority of these pitiful creatures were simply too frail, even the ones that weren't just too afraid to try. The razorsnare snapped at the air, a dangerous weapon to practice with; barbed and hooked all along it's length, it was a painful weapon meant to ensare a foe and pull it close, into the reach of the falchion. Without something to grab, the expanding whiplike weapon had to be kept constantly in motion, or carefully slowed in order to wind it back up safely, without injuring oneself.<br/><br/>Her kin were of some interest, sexually, but as of yet nothing had occured. The pilot, the Eldar woman, was of course a very alluring prospect to Syn, the wych couldn't help but envision helping Arianna to experience all the sensations she must surely have denied herself all the centuries the Eldar had lived. Such sad cowardice, Syn thought as she slowed coming out of a spin, pulling the razorsnare back. She flipped herself with liquid grace onto a table, crouched, splinter pistol already drawn in her left hand, and fired at a handful of pre-chosen targets along the walls, never stopping as she let her momentum carry her over as she rolled off the table and back to her feet, splinter pistol already returned to it's holster at the small of her back. The other, the harlequin, was a different puzzle. Soulless, grim,  a solitaire, she had to wonder if he could even feel pleasure. Did the Great Enemy already have his soul? If so, what hidden dangers could their be in coupling with him? They were both exiles of a sort, both extraordinary fighters and killers, the solitaire and the wych, which Syn had to admit left her feeling an odd...comraderie for him.<br/><br/>Then, of course, was the Space Marine. How interesting was he? How much extasy would Synaerihl feel in the work required to make the massive mon'keigh scream in pain and pleasure? How delicious would it make that strong soul...? She smiled at the wonderful fantasy as she whirled and flipped through the cavernous chamber, falchion and razorsnare slicing the air as she vaulted over or slid under any obstacles in her path, her inhuman pace never faltering. With a snap of her head, Syn felt the delightful sting of the barbs in her braids as they bit into her back, a warm flush at the exquisite sensation spreading through her svelte figure. The Captain was her only even remotely regular partner, when Syn allowed; the restaint she had to maintain could be painful at times, but there was still some fun in it. She was a too worried she'd harm the other humans in the 'command crew' to have tried anything with any of them, not wanting to be put off the ship. Here, she at least could manage to to find a proper 'diversion' or two on each planet they stopped at; there were enough mon'keigh, she doubted that she would even notice one or two soulless husks left behind in the wake of the <em>Void Bound</em>.<br/><br/>Finally she stopped, Syn spiralled out of her routine in an elegant victory pose, sword up and high as she balanced on the toes of one foot, the other long leg hooked, knee out to the side and toes barely touching the knee of the first. Razorsnare coiled, she held it, still ready, at her waist. <br/><br/>Relaxing, the wych dropped her arms and stood, feeling the cool air on her sweat slick skin. A bath, she though, would be nice. It would also give her an opportunity to indulge her only other freely available vice, and self-pleasure was always such a fine end to a stimulating workout. <br/><br/><br/></span></span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><em>Note: Please forgive any tense shifting...I'm trying to get myself used to past tense again... :P </em></span>