Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden & Wistful Dream)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Saerrael on 19-05-2011, 02:30:37</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Saerrael</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:30:37</strong>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:32:29</strong>
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				It was that time; the time of day, of week that <em>he</em> would have been here, that he would have come to see her and spend their time in the haven that was her room. <br><br>The redhead glanced around her at the large, airy bedroom that she had earned over the years, largely because of William; that she had decorated and made into a place where her world was her own. This was the sanctuary she invited each of her clients into; with the cream and gold and violet, with the elegant touches, her books, the flowers scattered around. She wandered through her room, hands trailing over the furniture as if feeling it would ground her, call her back to herself. But she didn't want to be there, in the present. She wanted to deny the truth that she knew, that William was truly gone, dead and taken from her. Fiona's throat worked as she stopped in front of her sewing wardrobe, picking up a stray length of sage ribbon that had tumbled out and tucking it back into place before closing the doors. <br><br>He had loved her in that color. <br><br>Frustrated with herself for being so melancholic and unlike herself she stood and muttered, pulling her plum silk robe tighter around her form. She was foolish, she knew that, to even dress in one of her exotic outfits beneath her robe on a rainy day, dressed like a harem girl to dance and spin away the thoughts of Ivore and the stark truth. "He's gone.." she told herself, sinking to perch on her bed with a sigh and no desire to do anything. <br><br>She knew she should be downstairs, available should a client come, she should be working on a dress or her novel, but when the times that were William's, that had been his, rolled around it was like the world turned into some waking nightmare for her. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:34:36</strong>
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				The teacup was a warm, delicate weight in his palm, one of a half dozen the cook kept sending up as she often did when the the morning had been particularly hostile. He had been thoroughly soaked by the time Master Bradoon had finished with him, and the Cook had clucked over him, warning about chills and colds and fevers... he had borne it with a smile, enjoying her concern. <br><br>He sipped the aromatic, bitter tea and glanced towards his open bedroom door to be sure no one lingered to listen before he picked up the novel on his bedside table and parted the pages. His bookmark was a faded lemon-coloured silk ribbon, fraying at both ends. Had he a hand free, he would twist it through restless fingers as he read, though with the tea he couldn't. Reading was not a pastime he found much pleasure in, but he was as adamant about having time to read as he was about taking sword practice, no matter the weather. <br><br>A habit he had come to under the roof of the Teahouse was something he took great pride in, but the one he had come to when still at the Briars was something he found rather shameful. He didn't wish it known. He feared the ridicule.<br><br>In a voice softer than his usual, he started to read aloud, carefully shaping each word as he spoke it, in an accent that was courtly and proper. He read from the crisp pages for several minutes, an account of a war they had engaged in some years before he was born. It was rather drab, but he didn't buy books for their content. Several pages in, he stumbled. The word was one he had never seen or heard before. The end of it was familiar but he couldn't get his tongue around the start of it. It seemed to loom at him, mocking him for his failing. <br><br>He stared at it. <br><br>He loathed it.<br><br>He slid the ribbon in place and closed the book, turning it to glare at the author's name.<br><br>"May your cock rot," he hissed with sadistic venom in his perfect, well bred voice. <br><br>Still, he couldn't rest. He wanted to know how to say the poxriddled word. He needed to know. He would be distracted all day otherwise. He put down the teacup and stood, passing one hand through his hair. Ryan would know, but to ask him... he couldn't. He couldn't bare to have the Master look at him like he were stupid. But... who else?<br><br>Fiona had books. Had a great interest in them. She would know... and she was not malicious as the others were. <br><br>Still holding the book, he left his room, not bothering to pick up his overcoat on his way. He closed his room's door as he left it. A little way down the corridor was her room, and he paused, listening to be sure she wasn't entertaining before he rapped on her door.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:35:55</strong>
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				A soft rap on her door caught her ears as she fidgeted in her window seat, watching the rain with a skirt in her lap and needle in hand to sew though she couldn't focus. Sewing she had thought might help, she had often sewn with William here, reading to her after all. She had sewn him handkerchiefs and pressed them on him, a small token for when he was gone. She had let him take a garter she had made once, and a lock of her hair another time. <br><br>Still the rap meant that someone needed her. She put her sewing aside, tucking the needle back into her pin cushion and getting to her feet; she did pause, looking down at her robe clad self and thinking of the outfit beneath. If it was one of her clients though it wouldn't be an issue and if it was a line up then it just made her exotic which was a appeal of the Teahouse. If it was a summons to the Master he had seen her in all manner of clothing. She shrugged and moved toward the door, idly running her fingers over the delicate gold stitched knot work hems of one sleeve. <br><br>When the door opened and she saw Atticus standing there with a book in hand she blinked, her pretty pale blue green eyes confused for a moment; was he here to bring her to the Master or to ask for a book? <br><br>Still it was Atticus and she gave the handsome bodyguard a soft smile, moving back to invite him into the tulle decorated entrance into her room. "Hello Atti, does Master Ryan need me or is it something else?" Her voice was soft, light with easy good humors, the facade she so easily wrapped around herself.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:38:02</strong>
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				Despite his aggravation, Atticus smiled at Fiona as she greeted him. He gave her a shallow bow, and stepped into her room. “Miss Fiona. Ah, no, Master Ryan didn’t send me. I was wondering if you might do me a favour, if you’re not busy.” He lifted the book in his hand and his smile turned wry. <br><br>“I remember you enjoy reading.” He remembered how her voice had wove into his dreams, the first weeks he had been brought to the Teahouse, bedbound and drugged under the worst of the pain. Hearing her had warded off some unsettling dreams. He sometimes borrowed books from her, but he never truly mentioned what she had done for him. “Ah, I came across a word that... evaded understanding. I don’t understand who to pronounce it.” He paused, hearing the unsure tone in his own voice. “It isn’t important, but it has an awful way of bothering me.”
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:39:06</strong>
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				The smile drew her more from her own thoughts and the slight bow drew a pretty blush to her cheeks; even if she was a whore she loved being made to feel a lady and she dipped a curtsy back in her robe, the fabric parting to reveal a glimpse of the teal and gold harem girl outfit beneath that clung to her pale skin. "Oh, well then please do come in; I don't mind at all, you know I love to be of help in any way I can."<br><br>She shut the door behind them, giving some privacy for if he was seeking her out for help with reading she would hate for him to feel self conscious and have anyone else over hear. Such a tender thing it could be a times, that flickering pride of a whore. She glided deeper into the room, settling down on her lounge chaise and patting it to invite him to sit next to her. "I do, my father was a author and my mother a scholar you know, I think it would have been impossible for it not to rub off on me." <br><br>Fi chattered brightly, easily when in front of another person, her own sorrows banked as she gleamed and sparkled like a ray of sunshine people expected to see. Speaking of her parents meant that she excused her own book learning, the extent of which was uncommon for whores and meant she did not see it as a requirement for people. She was trying to say, without saying, that she thought it admirable he was teaching himself so much. Her smile was easy as she smoothed her robe and held a hand out for the book. "Well then, let us see what vexing word it is that has stumped you, probably one with more ancient roots, those were always the worst for me, still are sometimes."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:40:19</strong>
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				The colourful flash of her outfit caught Atticus’ attention, and his gaze swept down as she curtsied. Her outfit under the robe was bright and beautiful, something that her clients must adore. The dower fashions were rather stifling, especially for the upper classes. To see such light, flowing fabric must have them drooling. Even for Atticus, it was quite breathtaking and he felt a heady thrill go through him, his mind and skin conspiring together, hinting what it would be like to touch her. <br><br>Lust, he was familiar with, but desire... it was as poisonous as hope. He swallowed, and focused on the book in his hand. She shut the door and led him deeper into her room, and he couldn’t help but look around at it, her personality seeped into every inch. Was it a stage, to help give her clients what they desired, or was it for herself, to remember who she was after each liaison?<br><br>&nbsp;He turned to her as she started to speak, bright and fluid and joyous. It was a good mask, seamless and true, but there was something he couldn’t pin that rang false. Still, his smile widened and he let her happiness sooth him a little. He passed her the book, not bothering to open it first. “Second page, third passage down. Two lines in. It vexes when I can’t figure it out. The context has it mean some sort of surgeon or doctor, and I doubt I’ll ever speak the word again after, but...” He gave a low growl.&nbsp; &nbsp;
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:41:45</strong>
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				The girls pale blue green eyes were curious as she accepted the book, opening it even as she pulled her legs up off the ground to sit with them crossed; it wasn't proper posture by any means but she was in her own room and in garments that made it easy enough to do. The robe split open the, the rich plum setting off the sheer layers of the 'pants' that clad her long toned legs. The fabric was bound at her ankles with a golden band of beads, her ankles also decorated with golden bands that mimicked the bracelets around her wrists as she scanned the page to find the word that gave him such issues. <br><br>Absently she bit her lower lip, teeth working it back and forth as she contemplated what she knew, it was a tricky word no doubt, and an old one which made sense that it had caught him up. It was also nothing like what it sounded. Once she had mentally pieced together all she could think of about the word she glanced at him, another one of her trademark gentle, bright smiles on her lips. <br><br>"You really shouldn't feel bad, its comes from the archaic form of the old tongue from the country across the sea; that language was hard to learn, and it still trips me up. It doesn't even sound right when you say it really, least not compared to how it looks." Her finger tapped the word on the page even as she pronounced it carefully, slowly so he could pick up on the phonetics. "<em>Chirurgeon</em>, and you are right, it means a surgeon; which is so much more a proper word don't you think?" <br><br>Her eyes crinkled a touch as she let her mirth show in her eyes; it was easy enough for her to make jokes and poke at the forms of language considering how she had been raised on it as mother's milk almost. The redhead's attention went back to the book then, to read the page that was open in a time that was likely a fourth what it would take most people, the hand not holding the book idly toyed with a lock of her coppery hair. That was a sign of her not being as much at ease as she usually was, toying with her hair, or with anything on her was nervous energy, something she usually managed to block out, but now she was denying that there was anything wrong. "This book doesn't seem very much for pleasure reading, I could always lend you something more exciting should you care for it, and less likely to force you to unravel archaic tongues." <br><br>Fiona glanced at Atticus again then, closing the book softly and offering it back up to him, leaving off on winding her golden red hair around her finger over and over again. "We can practice saying the word if you like though, I know you like to get everything just perfect. I admire that about you, how much you strive."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:42:37</strong>
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				His traitorous eye jumped to the flash of colour as she folded her legs and let her costume show, the brief glimpses the robe gave lending the outfit something more, making him feel like he was seeing something private. The near taboo of it made his breath catch, which was idiotic. He has seem a lot more of a woman that her legs before, had seen the tricks of whores for years... but this wasn’t a trick. Fiona wasn’t trying to lure him. She was just relaxing. She was being herself. That made him enjoy the glimpses even more. <br><br>He was able to drag his gaze back up again – though his was snared once more as she bit her lip. White, even teeth sinking into soft, rosy flesh. How would it feel to have that mouth under his, to gently crush that soft lip with light bites, to feel those teeth teasing his own flesh... He couldn’t think these things, nor should he. Talking with her, making friends, that was all right. Fantasising about her? She would not welcome that. People paid to give her body tribute. Paid to treat her gently, make love to her like she were a princess made of glass and enamel. It wasn’t right for him to feel like this. <br><br>Her smile caught him off guard and his gaze jumped up, back to her ocean coloured eyes. <br><br><em>"You really shouldn't feel bad, its comes from the archaic form of the old tongue from the country across the sea; that language was hard to learn, and it still trips me up. It doesn't even sound right when you say it really, least not compared to how it looks</em>. Chirurgeon, <em>and you are right, it means a surgeon; which is so much more a proper word don't you think?"</em><br><br>He winced as she said the word, drawing it out piece by piece. “It sounds like the Ratking. Or like you’re trying to spit out your own back teeth.” He was glad he’d never been shipped out to another country – there were whoremongers who sent their lest popular stock over the seas or beyond the mountains, offering them up as exotic fancies. <br><br>She went back to reading the book, her fingers winding a heavy lock of her hair. Oh pox rot it, not her hair... he looked away, not caring if it was rude. He couldn’t bare to think about her fingers, her soft long hair, soft and scented and perfect. His hands fisted and his nails bit into his palm – he had left his gloved in his room. <br><br><em>"This book doesn't seem very much for pleasure reading, I could always lend you something more exciting should you care for it, and less likely to force you to unravel archaic tongues." </em><br><br>“Mmn,” he started, then cleared his throat. “Ah, reading for pleasure... it’s not for that, no.” What a strange thing to enjoy doing. “My intention is to expand my vocabulary more than anything. Not that I have reason to speak much,” there was something bitter there. There were not many people who he could speak to, truly. The only people who didn’t treat him as part of the decor were the servants, and they were as distantly respectful to him as they were to the whores. It was a very odd reason to miss having clients for, but they had paid him such rapt attention...<br><br><em>"We can practice saying the word if you like though, I know you like to get everything just perfect. I admire that about you, how much you strive."</em><br><br>She was still playing with her hair. He snapped his attention to the book and he took it back with a small smile. “I would appreciate that, thank you. My nightmares are rife with impossible to pronounce words. If this one were to swell their ranks, I will tear all my hair out.” He flashed her a teasing grin, pretending there was no truth in what he had just said.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:45:11</strong>
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				There seemed almost to be a weight to how he looked at her; was it that he was wondering why she chose this life perhaps? She had seen him when he had first been brought to the Teahouse, had helped tend to him through those first few weeks. Fiona had even read to him then; a few times taking her sewing to just sit and sing softly or weave her own stories for his ears. He doubtfully remembered much of any of that though. It did not make her uneasy though, the study, the weight, she was use to it, and here in this room it ruffled her little. His words though, so sharp and ready did draw a peal of laughter light and free from her as they fell into the air. <br><br><em>“It sounds like the Ratking. Or like you’re trying to spit out your own back teeth.”</em> <br><br>"How apt, I always thought so, it makes me marvel at those lackwit poets who write in it as if it gives their work loftiness and worth." The redhead wrinkled her nose slightly at the end of the statement, mirth easy on her features as she jabbed at her contemporaries. For the fact that she herself was a published poet was naught no one in this house needed to know. Unlike her father she did not want fame from her work, or for her name to be known but merely to express herself; besides she would be mocked, a woman and a whore, not even a full courtesan. <em>Ah what foolish webs I weave even for myself...a mistress, to be a wife perhaps? And then a poetess, a authoress but never in the light of day. I think some part of me fears going outside this stage I crafted, beyond this part of life.</em> The thoughts rose and fell away, dismissed easily as her lively eyes drifted over the features that had always caught her fancy since she had first seen Atticus. <br><br>He was so dark, so different from her first lover, but in his brooding, wounded way something about him tugged into her soul and made her want to offer comfort, healing. What could she do other then offer him books and words though? He had forsworn the life she lived; and likely thought her foolish to live as she did. What man who had been through the whores of the slum brothels could ever think highly of one raised gently and to books and knowledge, who had fallen into this life and been so gifted? Her first patron had wooed her, courted her. Tragedy had only come to her in form of death claiming her loved ones. She was naught to him but her brains, but oh what a fierce intelligence those cornflower eyes contained, sparks of wit she wished she had more skill in drawing out. <br><br>Atti was far more intelligent then he gave himself credit for; yet that too she could not offer, how so without seeming to be condescending? He fit in here more then she did; even her William had been proof of that. <br><br><em>“Mmn,” </em>Fi noted then, with sighing resignation that even how the guard cleared his throat made her thoughts want to stray. Perhaps she had been too long without a client that made her burn, perhaps it was the rain, perhaps it was the memories.&nbsp; Her eyes trailed over his shoulders, wondering if he remembered how she had bathed them through his fevers, such strong shoulders. <em>Fool, foolish thoughts Fi.</em> She scolded herself sharply, paying attention once more to his speech. <em>“Ah, reading for pleasure... it’s not for that, no. My intention is to expand my vocabulary more than anything. Not that I have reason to speak much,”</em><br><br>Her eyes went back to his good one then, a slight furrow of confusion on her brow, head tilted as her fingers took once more to her fidgeting, this time tracing the soft pattern of golden thread over her plum silk in the form of a flower that draped over her knee. Long pale fingers moved over and over; he had given her a puzzle of sorts. Many would love to speak to him from what she had noted. The other whores found him tempting, mysterious and yearn worthy, the servants whispered and sighed over him. Did he not know how many eyes he had caught, nor hearts he could pull should he wish? Perhaps not, it was not something he would want to see or know after what he had lived through from what little she knew. And those observations marked her a whore as much as he was no longer one. <br><br><em>“I would appreciate that, thank you. My nightmares are rife with impossible to pronounce words. If this one were to swell their ranks, I will tear all my hair out.” </em><br><br>"You are always welcome to speak to me Atticus, you know I'm not so popular with the clients these days and my whenever my time is free I do hope you know I find delight in your company and indeed as well your discourse. You have a rich voice, the cadence is so..." she hummed, seeking the right word. His smile seemed almost too teasing, too on edge. But then she was the same, that brightness she spilled forth called because it was her trademark. He had once been in the same position, only better? Or stronger, something of the like. Maybe that was why she read him so well. "Alluring, yet soothing, your voice makes me think of protection and strength."<br><br>She chose her words to weave her spell of compliments, yet each ringing with the sincerity of her feelings, false positives she never gave but with her gentle touch and easy way she often restored people's confidence. Softly she reached toward him, the expression on her face serene, open, making it clear she could let him push her away. "I would gladly offer my services and gift of tongue to slay what monster words I may for you. No nightmares should trouble the sleep of a guardian so bold." Her smile dipped her lips, slightly lopsided, impish, to lighten the moment when she sensed too much gravity might make him reject her. She feared that rejection for clients paid to see her, but other people? No, she was not wanted, not needed; she gave to the clients yes, and brought in high prices and good money for Ryan with her work, Lessard was her mentor, her elder brother of a sorts, but there was no true need for her. Ah the melancholy she normally reserved for the poetry she wrote at night when rest did not come. <br><br>It must be the rain. Still her eyes sparkled as if gems alight with delight and she laughed softly "Like in a tale, the faerie maiden gifts her chosen hero with weapons he might not think to need and he slays the beasts."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:45:38</strong>
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				<br><em>"You are always welcome to speak to me Atticus, you know I'm not so popular with the clients these days and my whenever my time is free I do hope you know I find delight in your company and indeed as well your discourse. You have a rich voice, the cadence is so... Alluring, yet soothing, your voice makes me think of protection and strength."</em><br><br>&nbsp;He couldn’t help but give a soft bark of laughter. “Is that so? Then I’m pleased.” It was good to know the hours of practice and the punishments he had weathered during his elocution lessons had not been wasted. He felt a strong desire to tell her it was a lie, that his true voice was coarse and vulgar, common as shit under boot. But he liked her, and didn’t want to ruin something she enjoyed. Even if it were a lie. <br><br><em> "I would gladly offer my services and gift of tongue to slay what monster words I may for you. No nightmares should trouble the sleep of a guardian so bold. Like in a tale, the faerie maiden gifts her chosen hero with weapons he might not think to need and he slays the beasts"</em><br><br>A slow smile of delight lit his face, relaxing at her playfulness, and he flourished a bow. “Then your hero is indebted.” He straightened and pushed his hair away from his eyes, his brow quirking upwards. “Though how to compensate? Only fools take a fae’s gifts without thought to the cost. You might steal me away in the night, or turn me into some vile beast.” <br><br>For a fleeting instant he saw the glance of light in the dead dark of his left, but he didn’t flinch or shy. No her. She didn’t do that. She was light and grace and tranquil smiles. There was no poison burning behind her eyes. His smile altered slightly, not so sure of himself any more but still calm and curious. “How might I please you?” He felt faintly selfish to ask, as if he would be safer somehow trading one favour for another. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:48:38</strong>
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				<em>“Is that so? Then I’m pleased.”<br></em><br>His laughter washed through her, sharp but also bright; she was glad to have earned that sound of mirth for whatever reason she had been gifted with it. He didn't often relax enough to laugh from what she had observed. "It is Atticus, you know I never say things I do not mean." She smiled, shifting on the chaise as he moved and bowed to her, laughing herself in delight as she noted the smile on his features. The robe had parted, revealing a narrow gap of aquamarine veils bound to her body by gold and pale smooth skin as she looked up at him. She liked him like this; he seemed almost touchable. <br><br><em>“Then your hero is indebted. Though how to compensate? Only fools take a fae’s gifts without thought to the cost. You might steal me away in the night, or turn me into some vile beast.”</em><br><br>Fiona lifted an arm, draping it over the back of the chaise and resting her head on it, her neck exposed by the position as she watched him brush his hair out of he way, giggling at his words. "A vile beast then? Are there not too many of those already?" Her elegant nose wrinkled slightly, mirth dancing in her bright eyes. "Would you truly protest if I stole you away? Though I fear I am no mastermind as such fiends usually are, I'd only have endless poetry and clothing fittings to torture you with."<br><br>She mocked herself easily there, her mask slipping some to show the insecurity of being perhaps too tame, too soothing. She fell a little in love with her clients, and they with her, but she was their haven, their soother. Not since William had she felt that she made someone burn for her, ache, want, need. There was no epic love to be had in the endless nights that now lay before her, how foolish a girl was she to have believed something so impossible would last. His question, so softly asked drew her back and she smiled, shaking her head even as she raised it from the pillow of her arm. "You owe me nothing Atticus, I simply enjoy your company and books are ever my delight." He was not a client, they both knew what she was, exactly what she was. "I never said you were my hero though, that would presume far too much, and after all whoever heard of a whore having a dashing hero."<br><br>One arm raised then, parting the plum robe further and showing more of the body beneath it as she gestured to her room, the smile on her lips sadly rueful, that flash of something that was not serenity. "What more could I want then what is here? A whore needs no more then clients desires no? To desire more is foolish, so...so very foolish." her last words trailed off, and the girl was unaware of the look in her normally bright eyes, it was pleading, lost, desperate, yearning. It was all the things she never allowed herself to be. Her head settled back onto her arm, this time her gaze turned, focused on the windows that made up the wall gazing out into the rain as if it would yield her answers. <br><br>"What other words may I slay for you brave one?" 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:50:03</strong>
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				<br>Seeing the flare of exotic colour, the glitter of gold, the flash of skin made his blood run hot. How would she look to writhe beneath him, all brightness and joy, burning and eager. Her skin so fine and fair would bruise as easily as those over complicated words twisted over her tongue. They would bloom in violet and soft browns. Would she whimper or moan if he kissed them to make them ache... <br><br>He blinked and refused to let his breathing stop or shake or come to shallow. He had no right to those thoughts. Even worse to wonder at damaging her. It would hurt her image as a princess in her bower - and if would hurt her, literally. He knew he was infected by the sickness of his patrons, longing both for pain and to give pain, but he knew there was a third way that was without causing any hurt at all. He had even experienced it, before the Briars. Even if he could do it, he had no place to be thinking like that. He was staff. He couldn't touch her. <br><br><em>"A vile beast then? Are there not too many of those already? Would you truly protest if I stole you away? Though I fear I am no mastermind as such fiends usually are, I'd only have endless poetry and clothing fittings to torture you with."</em>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>His smile twitched back up, desperately masking his desire. His mind tracked back to what he had said in the first place and he wondered at her lack of venom. If he had been given such an opening a year ago by someone so damaged and below him, he would not have hesitated in pointing out that he was already a vile beast. Would hearing her say such a thing have hurt him? He didn't know. "Only if you read the tripe of the Jerric brothers. I'd suffer a corset just to avoid <em>that</em> fate."<br><br><em>"You owe me nothing Atticus, I simply enjoy your company and books are ever my delight. I never said you were my hero though, that would presume far too much, and after all whoever heard of a whore having a dashing hero."</em><br><br>His smile faded the instant she said it. "Forgive me, I was..." He didn't know what to say. It had been presumptuous of him. And he found out that she could hurt him with words, and it was a slow, nauseating pain like having skin rubbed raw on rough wood. Just because she had invited him to playful banter didn't mean he could forget himself. His voice was softer, more demure. "I was overeager, I did not intend to make you feel discomfort." <br><br>He should bow, and leave. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be talking to her. Shouldn't be thinking about her hair or skin or the sound of her voice as she lost her reason in an oblivion of pleasure and pain. But he couldn't withdraw. Not yet. <br><br>"But... forgive me again, but I know of one such whore." He wanted to laugh at the thought of Master Ryan dressed in the theatrical garb of a hero, stained leather breastplate and sandals. But he didn't, and held his tongue against his truth that Fiona knew some of, at least. He didn't know how much she had been told or had found out, but he would not bear it to her. <br><br><em>. "What more could I want then what is here? A whore needs no more then clients desires no? To desire more is foolish, so...so very foolish." </em><br><br>He heard her tone and looked at her, not quite sure how to unravel her. She might not have meant to hurt&nbsp; him, and now it was her that was in pain. A weary soulache. He had a very strong desire to slap her or shake her. Lamenting about a lack of direction in life while sitting in the lap of luxury was utterly disgusting to him. He couldn't say anything for fear of letting his anger at her be heard, nor offer any compassion without sounding mocking. Had she no desire, no point on the far horizon to fight towards? If not, why did she let people defile her day after day? <br><br>He didn't see bruises anymore, but blood. He was glad she was not looking at him. His face was stiff with the effort to keep it emotionless. <br><br>When he felt like he might be able to control his tone, he said, "No, no more words." Maybe he was thinking too big - he had offered her something from himself. Maybe it wasn't life she was directionless in, but maybe it was him that she was shunning. Overthinking and doubleguessing were two nasty habits. He shouldn't encourage them. He clenched his teeth - the worst she could do was speak to Master Ryan, wasn't it? - and said rather tightly, "Desire is powerful. Important. It is the blinkers of a carriage horse, letting us see nothing but our goal. It is a tool that should not be over used. I <em>am</em> sorry if I offended you." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:51:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She laughed at the mention of the Jerric brother's work, crinkling her nose at the very thought. "As if I would read such disagreeable and florid prose, thank you but no." She had to bit her lip at the thought of him in a corset, she knew some men enjoyed cross dressing; after all she was known by some for her clothing and had had clients come to her for insured privacy in commissions. Ryan had never seemed to mind just what people sought her out for, so long as he got the money for it. "I'd dress you like a Prince, not a princess..." she confessed, thinking that with his dark, almost savage 'beauty' he would be any woman's dream. <br><br>Atticus asking her to forgive her drew her attention, a furrow in her brow before her eyes widening at the thought of him being overeager. Color stained her pale cheeks even as her eyes swept downward to conceal the thoughts, the way that her heart leaped in her breast. Could he want to be such to her? "I...please, you were not over eager, nor did you discomfort me, I simply did not believe myself to be...in that way desirable to anyone. I've been realizing lately that, well I am a whore, not a princess to have a hero." Nervously she tucked some of her loose hair behind one ear, her eyes still downcast. <br><br><em>"But... forgive me again, but I know of one such whore."</em><br><br>Perhaps they all did, Master Ryan was of who he spoke and he had saved them all in one way or another. They had a very gentle, plush life here in the Teahouse, she had seen that more and more over the years and never so clearly as when she had helped to tend and sooth the newly brought in Atticus. Did he hate that she had seen him like that? He always tried to be so strong, to seem invincible. She never spoke of those moments. They were his and not hers, for all that she had been a part of them and another's privacy was never something she would wish to infringe upon.<br><br><em>"No, no more words."</em> The cool tone that next emerged from his lips did draw her eyes up, guileless, concerned. Had she upset him then somehow? So much for being so vaunted as a soothing personality if she could put him on edge so carelessly. Shame stung at Fiona; she should have kept up her facade, never letting it slip. People, whether they be patrons or not, only wanted to be around happy people, not those who were sorrowful in their thoughts. Even her William she had kept parts of her sadness from, she never pushed, never asked for more then he wanted to give. But he had wanted to give so very very much and in the end it had destroyed a little part of her heart. <br><br><em>"Desire is powerful. Important. It is the blinkers of a carriage horse, letting us see nothing but our goal. It is a tool that should not be over used. I am sorry if I offended you." </em>&nbsp; <br><br>"I...forgive me Mr. Cross, for I fear it was I who offended you. Offense would be the last thing I wished from my lips in your presence." She set the book he had brought on the coffee table, a smile on her lips that contained by far more sorrow and weariness then most ever saw. Quietly the redhead got to her feet, the robe parting around her again to reveal a flash of the scantily clad body beneath it. She moved away from the couch, from him, her emotions a tempest within her breast and so the woman wrapped her arms around herself, leaning into a window sill to stare out into the rain. "Desire burns though; if not carefully watched then it can mar, ruin and destroy. Better then to be but a bed of embers that makes all comfortable, soothed. No one seeks me for the flames of desire, but for the embers of soothing understanding. A banked fire, comfortable, servicing but not demanding of attention nor watching. That is my goal Mr. Cross, or it was after the loss of a particular client. And now the rain reminds me of what once was and I wonder if I have been banked too long. That is what I meant, by desire being foolish."<br><br>One hand raised, to caress the cool glass, eyes half closed as she remembered the first time she had been brought into this very room, on William Hatch's arm. "I did not say such things for pity or to make you scorn me; surely you must already so safe a life I have led, so pampered and cherished in many ways. I'm well aware of my luck, the blessing I have in this place. I speak too much, please forget my words. Next time you seek my help I shall make certain I am composed and offer naught more then you request." Softly, she bit her lower lip, not brave enough to turn, to face him as she murmured against the glass, fogging it with her breath. "Perhaps you should go, I am not fit company this afternoon I fear."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 02:52:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>"I...forgive me Mr. Cross, for I fear it was I who offended you. Offense would be the last thing I wished from my lips in your presence. Desire burns though; if not carefully watched then it can mar, ruin and destroy. Better then to be but a bed of embers that makes all comfortable, soothed. No one seeks me for the flames of desire, but for the embers of soothing understanding. A banked fire, comfortable, servicing but not demanding of attention nor watching. That is my goal Mr. Cross, or it was after the loss of a particular client. And now the rain reminds me of what once was and I wonder if I have been banked too long. That is what I meant, by desire being foolish."</em><br><br>He gave a slight, acquiescing nod, to show he understood and he held no grudge. Desire for money had taken its toll on him, clear as day. Though Fiona, perhaps, was talking more of carnal desires. He wasn’t sure how to word it without causing her more hurt, but she did appeal to the sort of clientele too shy or too straightlaced to see Zara as desirable. Fiona had an old world charm that the dark haired whore lacked, though he saw too clearly how that might twist whatever knife was sticking in her gut. <br><br><em>"I did not say such things for pity or to make you scorn me; surely you must already so safe a life I have led, so pampered and cherished in many ways. I'm well aware of my luck, the blessing I have in this place. I speak too much, please forget my words. Next time you seek my help I shall make certain I am composed and offer naught more then you request. Perhaps you should go, I am not fit company this afternoon I fear."</em><br><br>He blinked, a small pinscratch of a frown tugging his eyebrows. Things had become so very tangled. And she was in such a low, grey mood; he could not leave her so. He pushed his hands through his hair, lips twisting down. Why was this so difficult! If she were a client or Mistress of a House, he could draw her out, away from her own thoughts. If he were another whore, he’d drop the accent and gossip shamelessly or share a stash of Dragon to make her cease these dark thoughts. But she was not, and he was not. It meant he had to guess, and he really hated that the most.<br><br>“Well, fuck me for a ha’penny an’ a poxy kiss,” he said after a stretch of silence, his accent no longer blue-blooded but the gutter slurry of the east dales. “Thine ‘ent got to worry, lass. Nothin’ a banked fire needs but a waggle wi’t poker t’ bring up the flames, ay?” He tilted his head and a playful grin hitching up one side of his mouth, the right side, the teasing tone making the innuendo clear. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 03:25:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She had expected him to murmur something polite and excuse himself, to leave her to the rain and her dreary thoughts. She had expected to be able to sink into herself, perhaps write some until dinner and then force away the thoughts of her dead lover and focus on the future and her duties as part of the Teahouse. She had not expected for Atticus' familiar voice to come from behind her, lacking the elegant accent she had almost always heard and find it replaced with gutter diction. <br><br><em>“Well, fuck me for a ha’penny an’ a poxy kiss,”<br></em><br>It was enough to turn the redhead around, her eyes wide in her face, lashes blinking quickly as she tried to adjust to the surprise. She had heard him speak like that before of course, in his fevers when she had tended him, but never to her, never when he was waking. <em> “Thine ‘ent got to worry, lass. Nothin’ a banked fire needs but a waggle wi’t poker t’ bring up the flames, ay?”</em> Fiona's lips were parted in a soft 'o' of surprise; and it took her cultured mind several long moments to unravel the thread of his slurred words to figure out just what he had said. Once she did her cheeks flamed, the words playing over her in mind, crude and blunt and something that she had so little experience with. <br><br>Nervously she gave a flash of a smile that didn't quiet reach her eyes, summoning a half breathless laugh to her lips. "That was um...very educational Mr. Cross." Her cheeks stung with color still, as she realized he might be mocking her, but this was Atticus, surely he wouldn't? She took a tentative step back toward him and the couch, away from the window. Her fingers of her left hand wound cooper hair around and around them in a flash of the nerves that fluttered through her, ones she normally allowed no place in her life. He was trying to make her laugh, surely that was all, the grin on his face making her heart pick up a beat and she found herself caught by how handsome her brooding friend was. It was enough, with that glint in his eye, to make her wonder what it would be like if he was the 'poker' he so lewdly mentioned. But she had no right to such thoughts, and her eyes dropped, hoping to veil the sudden, surprising yearning that filled her breast. <br><br>"You are likely correct, perhaps I should go down stairs and inform the Master that I am in need of a ....poking." She tried to make a joke of it as well, laughing softly but here she stumbled a touch, to make lewd jokes returned her nearly to the point of her blushing, trembling virgin's night. Which made her think of William again, the line of her lips, so slightly lifted in mirth drooping once more. <em>Fool</em>. She seemed to excel at desiring what she could never have, William Hatch was dead and gone, and Atticus...what use did he have with a overly educated and sweet young woman? <br><br>But that made her angry, at herself for thinking such thoughts, at him for not leaving her alone. She was beautiful, how many had told her that? How many paid high fees to spend but a night in her arms? She was talented and witty, she was a excellent lover, and she was kind and thoughtful. Even if she was not a sensual knock out like Zara, she was tempting, arousing and feminine. She moved to stand before the couch and then sank down her knees with a dancer's grace, kneeling in front of him and glancing up at him with a laughing, yet horribly shy look in her eyes. Fi bit her lower lip, trying to think of how to word this, she knew how to flirt she did so often with clients but for some reason she felt more nervous here, like she was fumbling in the dark. "And what of your fire's my hero?" <br><br>Oh, she winced inwardly, dropping her eyes, blushing hard, not exactly the most enticing of lines, not anything like his playfulness. Too eloquent, too formal. Stupid. Stupid, stupid stupid. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 01:01:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her alarmed look and her blush made him want to laugh from wickedness. As fond as he was of her, Fiona was much more straight laced than anyone he had encountered for such an extended time. To bring a whore to blush had its own thrill, too. He was surprised she didn’t slap him, but smiled uncertainly. He didn’t laugh out loud, though, and softened his smile to something more his usual, and let the abrasive, feral accent ease back down his throat, though his next words were quite clearly a hybrid of the extremes. <br><br>“Perhaps not that wording exactly, but who knows, he might be inclined…” He knew Master Ryan rarely, if ever, took one of his own whores to bed, simply because he had never seen any of them receive special treatment. It seemed unnatural for a Master to be so cloistered. <br><br>She seemed to be thinking rather a lot, her emotions chasing over her face one after another, too swift and far too guarded for him to read. Perhaps teasing had been the wrong thing to do, but just as he was about to apologise, she moved towards him, and sank to her knees before him. And that look she gave him, like she was doing her very best to brave some terrible fear by doing this. It made his breath catch.<br><br><em>"And what of your fire's my hero?"</em> <br><br>His mind went utterly blank. She was flirting, with him? There was a dark, sickly pulse through his mind and he was tempted to shy away from her. She was tempting, oh, so tempting. Her uncertain desire, her coy teasing, as if this were her first time. She wanted him, wanted his trust and that terrified him.<br><br>He blinked and forced the panic down, back to where it couldn’t hurt anyone else. It was his demon, he would not let it control him.<br><br>He realised he had been quiet too long, and swallowed before saying softly, “Ash and embers. But,” he reached for her, letting his fingers gliding reverently over her cheek, into her hair, his gaze moving over her features like he had never seen such beauty offered up to him, “when I look at you… when you speak… laugh… tease…” His hand moved down from the soft tumble of her hair and he slid his thumb over the plump round of her lover lip, glad all at once he was not wearing gloves, “…I am stirred.”&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>23-05-2011, 06:38:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The mention of Master Ryan as if she would ask the owner of the Teahouse to bed her made her almost laugh. Ryan had never taken a whore into his bed that she knew of, and she rather got the feeling that her gender was of little interest to him. No, if there was one in the Teahouse she would ask to bed her it would be the man before her. After all hadn't she just done something that basically was that? She couldn't believe her own nerve, reckless, silly. But he had stayed when she bid him go, he had tried to make her laugh; and he had offered to be her hero earlier hadn't he? She had touched on that with her words, showing that she did want it, she hoped. Sweet heavens it was never ever this hard with a client. But then she was serving them, she was focused on what they wanted and how to bring them pleasure; this...this was something that she wanted. <br><br>So perhaps it was only fitting that it be nerve wracking. <br><br>Certainly the silence that fell around them after her daring made her nerves bundle tightly, made her mind sound over and over with a litany of <em>Stupid, stupid, stupid</em>... Still the redhead did not get to her feet, did not drop her eyes, perhaps if she stayed frozen it would turn out okay. If she had words she would have begged him to say something, that or laugh, say it had only been in jest but she couldn't not yet. Her pale blue green eyes showed just how sincere that question had been; she didn't try to guard her thoughts or emotions from him at the moment. Atticus was guarded, if she was as well then there would be no hope would there? She had to open herself up, to show that she was the vulnerable one here to hopefully put him a bit at ease. <br><br>And then finally, when she expected it never to come his words came, soft as the rain fall. <br><br>&nbsp;<em>“Ash and embers. But,”</em> With those first words she nearly pulled away, thinking she had made a utter fool of herself. The but caught her though, hope flaring in her eyes as she held still when he reached to touch her, her breath catching as his fingers so softly touched her cheek and into her hair. There was a look in his eyes she had no words for, one that made her stomach knot itself, made her cheeks flush and her body tremble slightly as she waited. <em>“when I look at you… when you speak… laugh… tease…"</em><br><br>Fi's lips parted slightly when his thumb glided over the bottom one; and it trembled for that touch, for the warmth in it and in his eyes as she waited for him to finish. <em> “…I am stirred.” </em> Perhaps she was not a fool after all. Her aquamarine eyes stayed fixed on him, her breath coming back and she offered him a slight smile, warmth flaring in her features even as her shoulders shrugged, first one and then the other. The silk robe slid down her arms, baring her shoulders and a good portion of her midriff for the top garment of the custom was little more then a breast band of teal chiffon and silk, decorated with gold thread and bangles. Slowly one of her hands lifted, to caress her fingers down the strong line of his jaw and then up his cheek, to reach and feel his hair; her cheeks were bright pink and she let the awe of what she was doing show. That was part of her draw, her secret, to be artless, to be honest and give all of herself to a moment, to a person. It was all too easy to with him. <br><br>"Perhaps....perhaps together we can rebuild both our flames then?" On such a soft voice the words came, but they came, gentle, offering, affectionate.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>27-05-2011, 07:55:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Seeing her react to his words was like seeing a flower bloom. Her soul was bared on her face and the vulnerability of it was a gift he was unworthy to receive. She was beautiful on any day, but in that moment she shattered all his ideas of what feminine perfection was and showed him something deep and heartbreakingly lovely. <br><br>At the same moment, his body was reacting, the glimpse of pale skin, her position, her offer, exciting his blood and flesh. He hated his basal instinct, loathed how it made him desire to damage that loveliness, and her trust in the same blow. Why couldn’t she see what he was? Why couldn’t she see how he longed to drag her from her perfect life and sully her?<br><br>“Fiona…” He should warn her, tell her what he wanted, desired, craved to do to her. This was not what Master Ryan had brought him here for. A person deserving of his position wouldn’t hold his tongue. But he knew he didn’t deserve to be cosseted in a place like the Teahouse all ready. No matter what the urgent voice said, he couldn’t form the words.<br><br>He couldn’t form those words of warning, so he spoke ones that led further down that wicked path. “… Come here.” His words had the softest shake to them, and his hand twisted to cup the side of her neck under her jaw, urging her up to her feet, to join him on the chaise.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>27-05-2011, 09:02:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her name upon his lips was seduction, simply that. It was laden with such rich depth, velvet upon her skin, within her ears and mind in its caress; it made her want to shiver, want to swoon as she looked up into his bright blue eye and had to remind herself to breathe. Her cheeks were flushed, Fiona knew that, but it felt like all of her was flustered. She had been a whore for three years but he reduced her to this state too easily, to where she felt her heart leaping in her breast and her hands wanting to tremble. Clients had of course induced similar reactions, but it had not been done by so simple a thing as merely saying her name. <br><br>There was darkness there, in his bright gaze, desire, want for things she didn't know much at all. But she knew enough to read the look, she had seen it in others who came for Zara or Lessard, or even Anel. For those who came for nearly everyone but her. That might have been different if not for William but she had been exclusively his for over a year and then still mostly his alone with only a few outside clients. Would Atticus share his darkness with her?<br><br>She found herself visualizing what it would be like to lay beneath him, to surrender her body to his possession for a few stolen moments and she knew somehow once he took her, once he claimed her just a little so would the darkness. It did make her shiver, looking up at him as he sat there with such an intense expression upon his striking features. But even if his darkness claimed a little of her, then some of her light might be given back to him and that was a trade she would happily make, anything to bring laughter to his eyes, to ease his soul....to express the affection she hadn't been aware lay so deep. The redhead pushed away those thoughts though, they had no place in the here and now. <br><br>Atticus spoke then, the words like a command but with a slight tremor through them, she showed no doubt nor notice of it in her own eyes though, merely eagerness to comply to his desires, to have more of him. Her knees pushed her up, her legs unfolding as her silk robe fell to rest about her elbows and she lost her grace for a moment, tumbling onto the chaise and gasping softly when the line of her body connected with his. <br><br>Fi's eyes glanced up at him, wondering if she should apologize and yet not wanting to. She shifted, pressing closer, trembling openly as her gaze seemed to at once shine with delight and beg for indulgence. One of her own hands came to cup his jaw rather like he had hers. Daring, reckless she was, as she leaned in and set her lips against his in the softest of kisses, a whisper's brush, chaste yet promising. Her lashes had lowered, her cheeks flushed bright as only a natural redhead could. Her voice was breathless as it slipped from her lips "Anything you desire...my hero..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>20-06-2011, 10:04:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As the delicate redhead rose, her robe slid away from her body, and it was like seeing a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis, bright and beautiful and elegant – for all of two seconds before she fell onto him, her grace fouled by her clothing. Atticus grunted softly as Fiona bumped into him, his arms bracing against hers, holding her in place. <br><br>She was so close her breath coiled with his, her eyes large and coy. There was no malice in her, no poison she looked to drip into him, no pain that waited to be poured out. She wasn’t the wolf here, but the doe. Open and vulnerable to him. And it made his heart race to know it. He could hurt her. He could make her like it. He was confident of that. Yet the desire not to was stronger. He use to catch butterflies for his sisters as a child, holding them in the cage of his fingers until they stilled, resting on his palms. He hadn’t crushed a single one, though he could have. <br><br>Her hand was soft and gentle on his face. She moved, easing closer, and let her lips ghost over his own. Her cheeks flushed, virginal almost in her coyness, though that was impossible. And she gave herself to him, like it was simple, easy. He wondered at her naivety again. <br><br>He moved one hand from her arms, easing his hold now he was sure she wouldn’t fall any more, and slid fingertips through her red, soft locks. Anything he desired. He desired... not sex. Oh, he wanted it, the serpentine heat curling in his low belly, spider silk tendrils winding through his veins, but he desired something that he had less experience with. <br><br>He parted his lips, and softly he said, “Give this to me.” He closed the distance between them, catching her lips with his own, letting the kiss be simply that, a grazing of soft skin, the gentle sensation being the only element for the moment. He caught her lower lip and suckled on it, drawing it between his own and licking it with his tongue, savouring her taste. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>21-06-2011, 01:30:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				How to put to words the way his arms felt around her own; they were words she lacked at the moment though her mind searched in vain all the same for them. So eloquent so often, and yet now here wordless and flushed in the arms of the last man she would have thought would wish to hold her. There was so much strength in his arms, power, sorrow, tenderness and just a hint of danger. And ode could be written about them. And likely it would, should her words ever find her again upon the subject matter of Atticus Cross. <br><br>Fi shifted slightly against him when one of his arms moved, hands clinging to his broad shoulders to hold them close together even yet, not wanting to surrender the closeness that had somehow come to be. It would end all too soon, fleet away like a summer butterfly. The girl let her eyes half close, a tender smile curved upon her lips as his fingers found the silken cooper of her hair and played with it. <br><br><em>"Give this to me.</em>" <br><br>In that tone, in his voice, she would assent to anything she found herself thinking even as he closed the inches between them again and took her lips with his own. She sighed into the kiss, the tease of it, surrendering without thought as her body pressed closer and shifted, squirming, enticing in a way that was instinctive, ardent but clearly unplanned, unplotted. There was not artifice in how she respond to him; certainly not as his lips caught her lower lip and suckled on it, making her shiver and whimper happily, eyes shutting in truth as she let herself get swept away in his touch, his scent and the taste of him. When her lip was her own again she cupped his face in both her hands and dusted her lips against his over and over again, soft sucking kisses to tease, to invite him deeper. Her hands moved up, sinking into the thick dark wealth of his hair. <br><br>She found speech then, wanting to tell him, to show him how he affected her and so against his lips, her eyes fluttering open she began to speak in the softest of whispers. Her melodic voice husked with her desire, her affection and the bright blue green of her eyes shimmering like ocean waves caught in the sunlight or a vivid butterfly in flight. <br><br>"It is yours, yours and yours, as much as you desire. To give to you is all I desire in this moment, to savor in the forever thought to be unknown wonder that is your touch, your scent, your taste. I have not words to express...express the truth of this moment and of us. I fear, my dearest, unlooked for hero, all I may do in this moment is to offer, and that offer be not reserved but rather unending. What have of me would you? But speak the words my dark guiding star..." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>25-09-2011, 02:30:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				His hand moved from her arm to her back, stroking her back, tracing the path of her spine down to her hips then coming to rest on the soft round of her rump, squeezing the lovely flesh lightly then stroking his thumb back and forth. He felt her give in to him, surrendering just for a kiss, offering herself like a flower to the sun. It was a heady thing, being given power so readily. This... this might have been a mistake, he thought, distantly, feeling heat and weight grow between his legs as his manhood filled with his lust. Her innocence was so deeply appealing. A part of him wanted t see how far he could push her. <br><br>He was distracted from his guilty desire when Fiona broke the kiss, though didn’t go far. He tried to chase her mouth, but she was speaking, and he paused. <br><br><em>"It is yours, yours and yours, as much as you desire. To give to you is all I desire in this moment, to savor in the forever thought to be unknown wonder that is your touch, your scent, your taste. I have not words to express...express the truth of this moment and of us. I fear, my dearest, unlooked for hero, all I may do in this moment is to offer, and that offer be not reserved but rather unending. What have of me would you? But speak the words my dark guiding star..."</em><br><br>&nbsp;“...what,” he said, dumbly when there was a cease in her speech. He pulled back far enough to see her face, his own tilted slightly to a side. “I... don’t understand what you just said,” he said, hating how suddenly stupid he felt, loathed to admit he was confused by her, but knowing there had been some question in the babble. “Are you reciting poetry?”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>25-09-2011, 03:08:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Breathlessly she laughed softly, her fair cheeks tinted with a blush anew as she realized just how she had let her tongue run away from her. Fiona kissed his lips again, sweet and lingering before caressing her fingers down his cheek so lightly, feeling his hands upon her body as well and savoring them. Her smile was as bright as sunshine, though different then any smile she had yet turned upon him. <br><br>"I fear I spoke too much, too quick...forgive my poet's fancy will you?" She begged for forgiveness with her lips and hands as well, fingers gliding to caress his strong shoulders, lips teasing against his cheeks, down his neck and up again, drinking him in as if she could not get enough. And indeed she could not.<br><br>Eyes the color of the sparkling ocean waves flashed to him as she pulled back slightly, though never leaving his hands for all that the touch on her rear had her flustered and aware of just how intimate they had become. She would regret none of it though, he was her friend and she trusted him. And desired him. Something in Atticus Cross tugged at her heart and urged her to be the sunshine, to show him life was not all that he had ever known and yet...it tempted her as well to find what pleasures his somber scared soul had. She had meant it...not reserved and unending was the offer. <br><br>Leaning back in again she let her lips trail with the slow kisses meant to feather awareness to different parts of the body up the line of his neck and to his ear. Her torso was pressed against his and Fi was certain he could tell just how quick her breath was coming, could feel her breasts against him. Lips parted and her tongue teased out, shaping the rim of his ear, teeth delicately nibbling as well before she murmured simply, in words that had her poets eloquence struck from it to be but bare and honest.<br><br>"I have no words for how you make me feel...I never expected this.....and so I offer anything you would ask or desire of me. Let me give to you dear Atticus."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Teahouse - Character Background -  To Be Wicked (Eden &amp; Wistful Dream)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nadir</strong> on <strong>04-11-2011, 02:44:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;She laughed softly, not with cruelty. He let a grin play over his face in response to the sweet, happy sound. That sort of joy, it was beautiful. To see and hear her relaxed and joyous was a privilege and one that made him want to bring it out of her again. More than that, he wanted to have her, to taste her laughter on her mouth, to feel her carefree delight as he caressed her. He met her kiss with his own, darting his tongue against her lip in a brief lick. <br><br>“If I forgive, it means I cannot tease, doesn’t it?” he asked, mischievously. “You’re a babbler,” he said, with very clear amusement though with no malice. “I honestly hadn’t expected that. I expected quotes from lays and sonnets, not such sweet ramblings.” He smiled. “I like it.” Now that he understood, he did like it. <br><br>She retreated and blushed, and he wondered if there was something the matter, but it seemed she was merely composing herself, for she moved closer and started to explore his neck with her mouth. It licked and sent brilliant sparks of pleasure through his flesh. His body had reacted with an adamant demand, his manhood pressed against his breeches – and then her teeth – “Mercy,” he groaned softly, his hands moving to her waist and holding her as his hips rocked, wanting desperately to break his celibacy and take her to the bed, hitch up her&nbsp; skirts and sink into her. <br><br>Anything he would ask... such trust, such freedom. Such willing naivety. “I ask this,” he said after a moment, his hands moving up to her face, cupping her jaw. “I desire this. Your happiness. Your joy. I would bask in it. I crave it more deeply than my body craves yours. Give me your smile.” He kissed her, delicate light brushes of his lips against hers, as she had brushed against his neck.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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